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

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Meeting
​

Rebels should have known that the smart play was to fall back, disappear underground for a while, wait for a better time to strike. Shit was about to get messy and they were used to playing a long game. Like an occasional driveby, not an open battle.

Not anymore. Not with their fucking leader set to swing. Especially if for some of them, Weston was more than that. But Toni didn’t let that thought get close, he couldn’t afford it now. Not anymore.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, stepping forward. “I say we do small groups and strike all at once. It’ll keep us spread and mobile if shit pops off. They can’t track us all at once, eh? But first, yeah, me and my boys gonna take the armory. I don’t think there’s much riot shit left, most of that stuff they used in the first days of the outbreak. Idiots trying to fight zombie with tear gas.” He scoffed at the memory. “But Black brought new stuff. I’ll see if I can get a list before we raid the place.”

Toni swept the room, scanning people’s faces. He could see doubt in the eyes of some of his soldiers and he didn’t like it. But he knew at the end of the day, it would all be worth it. Every fucking sacrifice. Would be worth it. It had to.

He looked back at Madison, locking gaze with her like it was just them in the room. No place for bullshit, no second thoughts. His upper lip twitched, showing teeth in a sneer-turned-smirk. “Lets take this fucking Kingdom.”

Tool Namazu NanLia kaileaf Miaow ​

 

[Miaow]

THE ROADTRIP
Blackwater Creek Nature Reserve​

Nari's sudden reappearance made the girl jump, as if rejecting her gentle touch. Part of her wanted to yell. If she had wandered into the woods, Nari would be furious. Well, not furious... She'd do that thing where she'd get all sad and tell her how disappointed she was which felt worse than anger. Minnie had never expected to find something worse than the anger of a parent, yet she had. Her body vibrated with rage, though it manifested as the trembling of a chihuahua against Nari's side.
You LEFT me. I could've gotten shot and you weren't even there! A tire popped and you thought that was the perfect time for a pee break?! You could've died! I could've died! We all could've--

She took a breath. She couldn't remember which wise adult had told her, but someone had suggested she needed to break the cycle when her thoughts began to spiral. Take a breath and think of literally anything else. She swallowed the lump in her throat, easing her way out of Nari's grasp, a remarkably restrained response from an angry teen. She felt like if she touched that woman for any longer, she'd cry. She opened the closest passenger door and leaned inside, retrieving the plump ball of fluff that was Momo. She held him firmly to her chest, waiting for the go-ahead to head to the carts... whatever that meant. She secretly hoped for a horse-drawn cart, or an ox-drawn cart would do...

Bullyboy Squad Good_Morels Crono Not Meat NanLia
​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
Solitary Cellblock

​

Chole’s body convulsed with a wracking sob, her side leaning against the cold metal cot in the small cell. She didn’t even try to quiet herself, try and conceal the pain and terror she felt. She wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t a fighter. Fuck, she wasn’t even a prisoner. Just a girl, a bartender and a wanna tattoo artist. She’d known years ago that the deal with the devil would be the end of her and somehow she’d played pretend all this time. That this would never come to pass.

She cried out in surprise as her hair was yanked, craning her head back once more. Pain burned in her neck and shoulders, her hands clawing at the bed to push herself back, toward the fist that held her. Cabrera.

Chole had nothing in her to fight or beg him to stop, those words had died some time ago. Hot tears rolled down her cheek as King’s Right Hand cut back her hair, uttering promises of future violence before leaving her with just the sound of her own sobs.

She willed her mind to drag herself up onto the thin cot, a promise that it would be better there than on the floor. There she could hear voices on the other side of the wall, the one she’d seen Weston in before she’d been tossed into this one.

"I'm no terrorist, Ignacio! I'm trying to save us from a goddamn dictator! I don't regret what I did, I only regret I couldn't tell you sooner - because I did this for you too!"

She didn’t know what Weston had done to deserve a cell like hers but she didn’t doubt she was the cause of it, this entire war had started because of a rumour…

@Bullyboy Squad @Namazu ​

 

[Good_Morels]

FLASHBACK
The Reserve



The group of Samaritans that were still alive were more or less led toward the vehicles as the remainder were dumped unceremoniously in the woods, many with an extra bullet hole to be sure they wouldn’t rise again. The Reserve’s forces divided them into three vehicles, each with an entourage of soldiers to guide them. Wren found himself separated from the teenager who’d attempted to kill him, the kid joining the girls instead while Alvaro and a couple of older rangers led him away. Wren tensed at the tight grip Alvaro kept on his shoulder, studying his face as they walked. He looked older, his brows heavy and eyes hollow from stress, a total stranger whose grip reminded him more of Marx than his friend. At least, he was until he caught Wren staring, at which point he smiled with the same warmth he used to and relaxed his grip.
“Sorry, I’m…” He paused. “I think a part of me is scared you’re going to be taken again. Stupid, isn't it?”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s sweet.” Wren smiled back. It still didn’t feel real, but he was finally home.
The ride back was as bumpy as ever, especially with the slowly degrading tires, but he wasn’t nearly as focused on it as he was on the rising tension in his gut. He cleared his throat, one white-knuckled hand gripping the pole that held up the vehicle’s roof to keep himself steady.
“What exactly did I miss?” He managed after a long moment. Alvaro glanced towards him before looking back at the road ahead. He gave a low, humorless chuckle.
“A lot… It’d be better to sit you down at home to explain it…” He looked nervous for a minute before speaking again. “Pothole.”
The vehicle bounced over it.
One of the other rangers spoke up before Alvaro found the words. “We thought you were dead, there’s a memorial for you. I hope it doesn’t weird you out.” he chuckled. “You meant a lot to us, even while you were gone, you and Al kept us going.”
Alvaro cut him off before he could continue. “I’ll explain everything when you’re settled, it’s… It was a lot. I want you to recover first. You look terrible.”
“It certainly helps when you call me ugly.” Wren retorted, earning a snicker from the ranger and some flustered excuses from Alvaro.
“That’s not- You know that’s not what I meant.”
Wren found his attention stolen by the Reserve itself as it came into view through the trees. He saw the ropes course first, which was now decorated with scrap metal and camouflage walls on the main landing platforms. The fences were topped with crowns of barbed wire with wooden spikes bowing towards the outside. They had apparently worked; the wreckage of a truck decorated the right door of the front gate, one of the spikes poking through the windshield where the driver would have sat. The vehicles paused as the left gate slowly opened to allow them entry. The reserve looked deserted in comparison to how he had left it, paranoid eyes following the vehicle train as they began to park.
The girls were led towards the summer camp cabins while Hughes was led towards the back of the discovery center, whose windows were now barricaded. Wren noticed everything, but he didn’t react, wandering aimlessly behind Alvaro as if he were one of the dead. He paused as he noticed his old cabin had been defaced with a poorly painted red bird, the words “Send them back to hell” painted below it. Al squeezed his wrist.
“We… We really missed you. It was the last straw. You made a lot of good happen, even if you weren’t here. We’re free now.” Alvaro offered, his words soft and cautious.
Wren swallowed hard. Alvaro waited another moment for him to speak, but then continued.
“You don’t have to sleep there, we’ve got empty cabins.”
Somehow, that didn’t calm Wren’s nerves.

Not far off, the rangers guiding the girls began splitting off, leaving them with just two female guards. The two led them to an empty cabin and knocked before opening it. It didn’t look uninhabited, there were clothes folded by the beds and a stuffed bear sitting on one of them. One of them, a soft looking blonde woman, flipped the light on, revealing a couple of charcoal drawings on the walls. The other ranger backed off a bit, still watching the cabin, but leaving them be. The blonde forced a strained smile. “Welcome to Coyote Cabin C, I’m your cabin counselor, Ranger Emily. Sorry about the mess, it’s hard to clear everything out. Time-wise and.. Well, you know. Better than most I’m sure. You’ll be safe here, we aren’t like them. I'll have you bunking together for now, but we can see about getting you three your own bunks after you settle in a little more. ” She paused and looked towards Minnie. “I’m sure this is all super scary and you’re having a lot of emotions, do you know Ranger Walker? He’s the man that came with you. He’s really good at talking about things, but if he can’t help right now, I’ll do my best to fill in. In the meantime, we’ve got some charcoal pencils lying around if you want to write about it, I can even show you how to make your own if you want.”. She then gave a sympathetic look to Nari. “I was an EMT before things went down, I’ll do my best to help. Whatever you need, we’ll do.” she glanced towards Minnie before straightening her posture and clasping her hands together. “I’m sure you guys have a lot of questions, we’ll talk as long as you want to and then see about dinner.”

The rangers leading Hughes continued to a series of empty chain link enclosures that were attached to the discovery center by a glass wall. They didn’t say much as one of them unlocked the enclosure and pushed Hughes inside, locking it behind him. It was only then that the rangers relaxed, as if Hughes were some kind of rabid animal that was now contained. The one that unlocked the enclosure pocketed the keys.
“You should probably make peace with whatever god you have, Alvaro has a No Vermin policy. I don’t think he’s going to listen even if Walker cuts you some slack. Hell probably won’t be much worse than here at least.” He chuckled dryly before turning towards his companions. “I’ve got first watch. Have a good dinner.” He clapped one of them on the back. The rest of the group agreed and dispersed as the key holder made some distance from the cage and turned to watch him.

Crono NanLia
Not Meat
Miaow

 

[NanLia]

THE RESERVE

Nari followed the Rangers as directed, not fool enough to try and escape this place. At least not while she wasn’t certain exactly what was happening. Wren had looked surprised in it all, during the remaining transport to the Reserve, the other, who treated him like a friend, started showing him around.

Inside the cabin she paused, looking over the items left on the bunks, unhappy to know they would be sharing the space with strangers. As Ranger Emily spoke to Minnie, Nari moved between them, keeping silent and her face passive until the Ranger stopped and finally addressed her. “Don’t speak to my daughter.” She said calmly, she’d learned a fair bit from Cabrera over the last several months, even if he hadn’t intended it. Chiefly among them, keeping herself in check.

“I want to see Hughes and speak to Wren.” It wasn’t a request or a suggestion, she kept her chin raised, eyes focused on the Ranger. “You might not ‘be like them’ but you’re still holding me prisoner here, correct? I am not free to leave?” When the Ranger provided no answer, Nari shook her head. “You’re exactly like them.”


​

Good_Morels Crono Miaow ​

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[Namazu]

TIME TO DIE
Lincoln - Cells & Pit​

FLASHBACK: SEVERAL YEARS AGO...​

“Son, you’re as lucky as I am smart, and I hope you’re thankful for that. If not now, someday.” Wayne Johnson, the salt-and-pepper haired, freshly-shaven, pinstripe-suit-wearing public defender who definitely had heard his share of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson jokes over his lifetime despite looking more like a railroad baron than a wrestler, sat across the small conference table from Weston. Dozens and dozens of color-coded file folders sat spread out on the table between them, stuffed full of crisp white sheets of paper printed full of black-ink words that Wayne knew top to bottom, front to back, peppered with sticky notes, dog-eared, and added scribbled notes into margins. The “work product” he called it, whatever the hell that meant. All Weston knew was that those stacks of paper had kept him off death row.

Wearing his orange jumpsuit, manacled hands folded on the table in front of him - because those chains were secured to the top of the table and he had no other option as to where to put them; he couldn’t even scratch his own damn nose without leaning forward like he was begging for it - Weston had to take a moment to close his eyes and sit there with his head back, face towards the ceiling, and breathe.

“You still got the shakes?” Wayne asked, sitting back in his chair, studying his client. He’d seen a whole lot of men over the years as they processed their sentences, and their reaction to it ran the whole gambit. In his mind, the real unlucky ones were the ones also dealing with health problems at the same time.

“They upped my dose of methadone today. Special occasion, they said.” Weston replied as he breathed out, sitting back in his chair and opening his red-rimmed eyes.

“Good. Just like during the trial. I didn’t want you looking like a strung-out addict in front of a jury. That’s almost as bad as looking like a cold-hearted Neo-Nazi moron. You didn’t answer my question though. Shakes?” Wayne was tough, a straight shooter, and blunt. Weston liked that about him. He wished he’d met the man under better circumstances than this.

“They come and go. Cold sweats. Nausea. I couldn’t tell what was from withdrawals and what’s from anticipation earlier. Is it bad that I feel… better? A little?” Weston leaned forward, elbows on the table, manacles clinking as he moved. He hunched his shoulders as he shivered, uncertain if that was just the drugs leaving his system or something else.

“It’s never bad to feel better when something scary is over. We’re not here to play tough guy and have a dick measuring contest, after all. This is about doing right.” Wayne motioned to his stacks and folders with one hand. Weston hadn’t really understood or appreciated what Wayne’s role was going to be in his life until the day Wayne sat him down and gave him the straight talk about public defenders. Yes, they were paid for by the state, but their paychecks were shit. They were the redheaded stepchild whose funding always got cut first in tough years and came back slowest in good years. They were the men and women who went into this line of work because they were convinced it was the right thing to do, not to get famous or rich. They were committed to representing the accused, through hell or high water, no matter how big of a pile of shit the accused was. That included him.

Why? As Wayne put it: Because, Goddamnit, if they didn’t do the right thing, who would?

NOW, IN LINCOLN...​

Weston hadn’t thought about the prospect of death row in years. Not since West Virginia v. Weston Samuel Jones Jr. was dropped by prosecution, which was the nudge in the direction he needed for federal prosecutors to decide to not file charges too. Both sets of lawyers were plenty happy to let Ohio prosecute his ass on their own dime. It wasn’t entirely a win. West Virginia didn’t have the death penalty, but the feds sure as hell did. Ohio sort of, technically, did - you could get sentenced to death, but actually flipping the switch (or pushing the button, or whatever they did there) was suspended indefinitely by some governor’s order or something. Weston wasn’t really sure, he just knew he was facing down death at his sentencing and narrowly missed it. Life in prison looked better than death in prison.

Now, Weston was on death row again. Not thanks to any court or real law he broke other than King’s bullshit rules.

If only Wayne could see him now. He hadn’t thought about that guy in a long time, and now the realization made him laugh. Hopefully Wayne was doing okay. Or if he wasn’t, hopefully he wasn’t wandering around looking for fresh meat to chew on in a dirty suit. Wayne hated dirty suits. Then again, Wayne would hate the state of the world these days even more. Who knows, maybe Wayne would have been in the cell next to him.

It felt like early morning when the guards came for him - no windows here, but his internal clock and gut feeling told him it felt early. He hadn’t really slept last night, between the pain and the anger, but he felt like maybe he dozed off (or passed out?) at least once or twice. Hopefully he didn’t have a concussion. Just about everything hurt, it was hard to tell what got hit and what didn’t.

When his cell door opened, Weston laughed. There were six guards, all armed, all glaring at him.

“Six to one? Real fair fight. Bitches.” Weston spat in the face of the guard closest to him. The man flinched, immediately reaching out to punch him in the face. The guard next to him caught the man’s arm and shook his head, deescalating the situation. The two guards stared each other down before the first one unclenched his fist and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Only bitch here is you. Traitorous piece of shit.” The nearest guards grabbed him by his arms. Weston didn’t fight them off as they dragged him down the hall.

Weston knew what was coming. He’d known it all night, and as minutes and hours ticked by and the window for a rescue grew smaller and smaller, it became more and more certain. He was walking to his execution.

He wished he was high as a kite for this. It wouldn’t matter if he relapsed if he was going to die.

The guards were silent as they marched down the hallway, thick boots echoing down the otherwise-empty hall, accompanied only by the sound of his uneven breathing. He wasn’t sure if they’d simply take him out back and shoot him somewhere, bring him up to King’s room for a personalized beating, or if he’d get the Pit - but he didn’t have to wonder for long. The doors to the Pit loomed in front of him, and he fought himself to hold back the fear and the oncoming shaking feeling. Don’t think about fear, think about anger, and come up with a plan. If nothing else, he was going to go down fighting. He'd take down as many of these sons of bitches with him as he could.

The hallway was dim, so when one of the guards stepped forward to open the doors, the bright lights of the Pit momentarily blinded Weston. Squinting and turning his head aside against the lights, he only saw the outline of the gallows ahead. Whoever else was in the room, whoever was gathered in the stands to watch, he hadn’t seen yet even as the guards dragged him forward.

Bullyboy Squad NanLia Safton Miaow Good_Morels Crono kaileaf Tool ​

 

[Crono]

The Reserve
Back of Discovery Center/Chainlink Enclosure
​

Hughes remained silent on the transport into the Reserve. He'd been separated from the others in a different vehicle purposefully. His eyes took in everything they could as the vehicle went in. Making silent notes of things he might need to know later. Among them the amount of armed guards, locations within The Reserve, and possible exits. It was instinct, especially now that he was on edge.

After they'd stopped he was lead away to the backside of a building and into a chain-link enclosure, but not before his wrists were released from the zip ties. After the shove and friendly advice from the stranger he'd had to bite his tongue not to say anything that was going to make these people have less reason to like him. Blake watched the man take first watch, literally staring at him from a distance. The Marine had to let out a breath, his hands going to his wrists where the zip ties had bit into skin leaving marks. He rubbed them a little mindlessly, glancing about his new cage. There was humor to be found in giving up one kind of cage to be put in another. Hughes was looking at the corners for weaknesses, but he knew he was being watched so his eyes didn't linger too long. Turning around to the glass wall to the discovery center he could see the marks of others having tried to break it, scratches and chips in the glass but it wasn't your average glass.

Hughes wiped at the mostly dry blood trail over his eyelid that had started to harden, then up to the wound itself. Still a little wet but he could tell it wouldn't bleed much longer. It was then, with his hand on his forehead and hair the he realized his hat was missing. The man frowned as he gave a moment of thought to it, realizing it was likely still on the road unless someone had picked it up. It had been a gift from Victor.

"So when do I get to plead my case?" Hughes barked out as he walked back to the enclosures entrance, hands reaching up to grasp and wrest against the chain link fence. But was met with silence from the man watching him, a smirk even. Blake simply rolled his eyes, that was about what he expected.

Miaow NanLia Good_Morels​

 

[Good_Morels]

FLASHBACK
The Reserve ​

.


Emily tried not to take Nari's reaction personally. It wasn't her fault. She was a victim just like the rest of them.
"Of course, I understand. You're more than welcome to talk to Ranger Walker at dinner, but I really must recommend that you take a while to decompress first. You've been through a lot, but it's ok to rest now. Nobody is going to hurt you."

She smiled sympathetically and took a few steps away from Minnie. "As for leaving, that can be arranged once we're certain you won't be going back to The Samaritans. Stockholm syndrome can be a real problem after what you've been through, and it's just not something we can risk." She tried to sound as sympathetic as she could, but it came out as more patronizing than she meant to. She paused for only a moment before piping up again in an effort to smooth things over.

"Not that there's anything to be ashamed of. We all went through it. Wren was our leader when he went through it, it doesn't make any of us any weaker. Fawning is a response that keeps us safe, that's how Ranger Walker tried to stop the Samaritans from hurting us. What's important to remember is those feelings are a way your brain is trying to protect you, they aren't real. Whatever kindness the Samaritans showed you was just to manipulate you into obedience."

She paused for another long moment. "You can speak to your other friend later, with an escort. If he's a Samaritan, we need to make sure he isn't going to manipulate you. In the mean time, please feel free to whatever supplies are in here, clean clothes, ect. I think the little girl who was in here before was about your daughter's size. She'd be happy to share her clothes with someone in need." She looked distant for a moment before fixing her posture and swallowing her emotions. "I'll have to look for maternity clothes, we haven't had anyone pregnant here before." She paused once more.

"Do you have any more questions? Dinner should be in about two hours.”

NanLia ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber
collab with Namazu , brief mention of SA


The sounds, voices, footsteps—the dull, meaningless noise in the background felt distant. Like he was trapped underwater. Everything muffled except for the sharp beat of his own pulse. His gaze fixed on the rope. Hands sweaty. It felt like every breath he took was laced with crushed ice. Cutting deeper and deeper the closer they came to the moment. The moment everybody in the room was waiting for. They called him a traitor but they didn’t know the loyalty, the love that ran deeper than any of them could give.

Ignacio stared at the rope. Knowing what it would take from him.

***​

Flashback​

Hidden beneath the bottom drawer of Weston’s desk was a single letter, taped in place at the corners. The name ‘Ignacio’ was addressed on the front of the envelope in Weston’s scratchy, angular handwriting. Inside was a letter written on lined notebook paper, like the kind that was once in the prison’s library, and was several pages long. There was no date. It was written in black ink, and there were no spelling mistakes. Weston took his time writing this.


Ignacio,

If you’re reading this letter, I’m either dead, or going to be dead soon.

I can’t begin to guess what will kill me in the end. For my sake, I hope it wasn’t the pit. For your sake, I hope it wasn’t you.

I’ve been thinking for weeks about what to say in this letter, debating whether to write it at all. I’m not good at this kind of thing. You probably guessed that, seeing as how every time we fight it's because someone (probably me) said too much, too little, or the wrong thing the wrong way.

In the end I decided to write this because Lincoln and the world is dangerous and I figured when I do die, I’m not going to have a chance for any last words. Thing is, last words are really fucking hard.

There’s a lot of stuff I want to say and I’m not sure how to say half of it. God didn’t give me the gift of the silver tongue and my pa tried his best to beat empathy out of me. His belt only got some of it, but not all of it. So, you’ll have to forgive me if anything in this letter is stupid, but I figured the best place to start is with an apology.

I’m sorry I killed Andrew. I know now he meant something to you. You should have given me a beating for it when you had the opportunity to. He called me poison before he died, and not once have I forgotten that. I admit I am probably a piece of shit and always have been. I’ve been trying to be better. I don’t know if it’s good enough, but I’m trying. I’m trying to make up for it, even if it isn’t possible.

I am sorry I gave you the cold shoulder when the thing with Nari happened. I was jealous. It was stupid of me. Looking back now I’m glad you did what you did and tried to protect her and the baby. I was being a selfish ass, because none of that was about me. That was for the kid. (I also hope by the time you’re reading this the baby is born and is okay). If Nari is looking for a name, I had a sister named Jolene and a niece I think might have been named Lucy. Just a suggestion. Nari will probably hate those names.

I’m sorry about every single time we fought about anything, and every time we raised our voices at each other. Neither of us deserved that. We should have been better to each other. The world went to shit and we both lost a lot and were in survival mode. We should have been better to a lot of people but somewhere along the way we forgot that.

I hated that day you punched the wall next to my head. I hated the way the anger in your face made me think of my pa. I’m not sorry for what I said, because I was afraid it was true. I’m glad it isn’t and I’m going to keep believing you when you say it isn’t true. But there was a reason it was important to me to make sure that was not something you did. Which brings me to my next apology.

I’m sorry I never opened up about anything.

Maybe you would have understood why I needed to be damn sure you didn’t (there is a word beginning with R that is scratched out here) do what I thought you did. It’s because someone did that to me, and it wasn’t a long time ago either. I never told you because I thought you’d think less of me, or think I was weak.

Maybe you would have understood what I lost out there, and how, and why I don’t trust the Fallen Angels the same way you do even though they are your family. I never told you about Dave because it’s always been too hard to talk about. It's almost too hard to even write about, but I know I have to. Dave was the love of my life, and if I could have married him, I would have. We were running to Canada together when I got arrested. When the dead came I left Lincoln to find him again. I did find him, only for the Fallen Angels to kill him. They tortured him. That’s why I came back to Lincoln - there wasn’t anything left out there for me. Nothing worth caring about.

I won’t compare the two of you. Apples and oranges, like my ma would say. We met in entirely different worlds and I’m not the same person I was back then, but you both had something in common: You made my shitty existence happier.

Do you remember what you said after we got out of the cellar and I got you back to Lincoln? You said you’d show me heaven. To be fair you were feverish as hell and ready to pass out, and I have no idea how you managed to flirt with me while in that shape, but you did. Don’t worry, nobody overheard you. Even if you don’t remember that, I do.

I don’t claim to understand what you really feel about me. I’m guessing it's complicated. It's complicated on my end too. I choose to think that someone wouldn’t put in so much effort for a fuckbuddy. Maybe I’m just kidding myself and that’s all I am to you. But that wasn’t what you (were? are?) to me.

I do not regret, and will never apologize for, caring about you. Ever.

I don’t regret asking you that one time if you were with me. If you were mine. I’m going to sound like a fucking sappy bitch saying it but you broke my heart a little when your answer was no. I was always hoping in time you’d change your mind but I’m starting to think you won’t. You probably didn’t by the time you’re reading this. I’ll be okay if that is the case. We were good for a while at least, and maybe we kept being good for a while longer. No regrets, like I said.

While you’re reading this and I might be dead, I want you to remember that you aren’t. This place isn’t good for you. Please, if you can, if you ever get the opportunity - run. Leave Lincoln. Put as much distance between you and this place as you can. Start over somewhere better.

This place is as far from heaven as we can get, but you did make me happier. And I hope I made you happy too. Even if for a little while.

Thank you for that.

Weston

End of flashback​

***​

Cabrera’s heart twisted in his chest when they walked Weston into the chamber. Bruised and chained like a goddamn dog. Two guards on the front, two with Weston and two behind him, all securing his every move in case he wanted to flee or fight. They walked him towards the gallows like any other prisoner they’ve brought for slaughter in the past.

Ignacio sought his gaze as if with their eyes locked, Weston would know. What was in his heart. Even if he was seated next to the man who sentenced his friend to death.


​

Namazu NanLia Safton Miaow Good_Morels Crono kaileaf Tool BeyondDandy Not Meat silverwhere
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[Tool]

An Interlude
Lincoln Prison - Somewhere in the MS13 Cell Block​

Madison sat in a room, one of many identical rooms in this place, a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals laid out before her like a fucking buffet. Sand slid from the top of her hourglass to the bottom and the clip-clop of a pale horse echoed in her ears, the sound of her hollowed-out heart.

Love was supposed to fill the cracked places in human souls. When she'd been an engine of contempt and rage out there, life had been unbearably solitary, but there had been a simplicity of purpose, a DIRECTION to her life that Madison dearly missed. It had all gone wrong when she'd tried to make contact with other living people and found that the scarcity of humanity had perplexingly devalued its worth to nearly everyone she'd met in her time since. The few people she'd met and started to love, to CARE about were being whittled down to nothing, one at a time. One of the final few was going to die soon, but thank the good earth she had enough of her mind about her to try and do something about it.

The powders and pills, syringes and vials were the cost of action. When a syringe filled with clear liquid, Madison knew she was lighting her wick with a blowtorch. Pumping a body full of chemicals to force it to do things it couldn't otherwise manage was NEVER a wise move for health or sanity. But what the hell.

What was trying to save a single life worth?

Everything she had it in her to give.

"Fuck do I got to lose?" She muttered to herself before starting on her work. Madison was as methodical as she could manage; the cocktail needed to be perfect if she was going to do her job. Fly or fall, she was going to be professional about this.

A few minutes later, Madison got to her feet, her limbs limber and her blood molten hot in her veins. She moved easily, smoothly, energetically, her injuries a distant dream. Things hurt elsewhere (elsewhen?), the sensations thoroughly detached from her current condition, and for a long moment, Madison debated pulling off a fingernail to see whether or not it would cause her pain, and when she realized the absurdity of the experiment, she began to laugh, stifling her giggles by biting her tongue hard enough she tasted blood.

It didn't hurt in the slightest.

Madison grinned wide, teeth smeared with red and pupils pinprick tight, ready to take the weapons Toni had promised. Nerve endings danced electric blue in a timeless space.

Life was war in every way that mattered, and fighting human monsters was much like fighting undead ones. She would let the rage burn and the fire in her gut feed itself until there was nothing left.

The violence was in her.

Waiting.

​

 

[NanLia]

FLASHBACK
Solitary Cellblock Collab w/ Namazu ​

Chole slowly opened her eyes, a frown of confusion creasing her face as she stared at the cracked cinderblock wall. Her body ached, her mind was fuzzy and it took a painfully long time for her to remember just where she was. Damp had settled in, she was cold, dressed only in the ill-fitting boxer shorts and t-shirt she’d stolen from Connor weeks before.

The thought of Connor brought a flush of emotions. Rage, terror and sadness. She didn’t try to prevent the sob from escaping her lips or the tears as they built up and rolled down her cheeks, dripping off the bridge of her nose onto the thin cot she occupied.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, nor how long she’d been in that room with Cabrera, it could have been hours or days but the only thing she was certain of was that Connor was gone. She hadn’t heard him after they’d been separated in the bar and Cabrera hadn’t once mentioned his name the entire time he’d been torturing her.

A movement in the shadows caught her attention, the cracks in the walls led to the cell beside her and spoke softly, her voice wavering. “Weston?”


Weston had paced the length and breadth of his cell, occasionally banging on his door just to call out and tell the guards to go fuck themselves, much in the same way an angry caged animal paces it enclosure. There wasn’t a point to begging or pleading - the deck was too stacked against him for there to be any hope of getting out thanks to the assistance of the guards outside his door.

All he could do now was sit on his hands, hope that a rescue from the outside was coming, but more realistically prepare to die.

There wasn’t going to be any sleeping, not with how wound-up he was, but eventually the adrenaline wore off enough that the pains of his beating became actually bothersome. Finally, he had to lay down on his cot and give himself a rest. Laying down made him groan, but once he was stretched out it helped. Only a little. The cot was uncomfortable and narrow. He wasn’t sure how long he spent staring up at the ceiling, or staring at the inside of his eyelids, taking stock of his aches and pains inside and out, ignoring any wetness in his eyes. Eventually though, laying down became uncomfortable, and he rolled himself off his cot to pace again.

It was a small, muffled voice that snapped him out of his cartwheeling thoughts. It was a voice he almost didn’t hear, almost brushed off as not being real. Stopping next to the wall that had cracks in it, Weston furrowed his brow and leaned closer to it, swearing that’s where he heard her voice from.

“Chloe?” Weston angled his head this way and that, trying to see if he could peer through the cracks at his fellow prisoner. He tried to remember if he saw her when he was dragged down the hall to his cell, but his memory felt like a blurry haze of pain and anger right now.

“They got you too, huh?”


Chole held her breath as she listened to the movement on the other side of the wall and for a quick moment she thought that maybe she was wrong, maybe Weston had already been taken away and she was too late to tell him. To make amends

When he did speak, closer to the wall, the light now blocked by his shadow, the man still made attempts at soothing the other person. The soft drawl only made her tears fall faster.

She had so many questions but all she could ask was: “Why are you down here?”


It was a complicated question with a simple answer. Or was it the other way around? A simple question with a complicated answer?

"Why? Because King's bitches and lackeys realized I'm their boogeyman. How? Beats the fuck outta me." Weston breathed out, leaning one shoulder against the wall, eyes on the door just in case he was overheard.

"Why are you here?"


Weston narrowed his eyes at the crack in the wall, not quite seeing her through the gap. He shifted as well, crossing his arms as he heard her cot squeak. "What was the deal?"


She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip before puffing out a sigh and rolling back onto her side facing the all. She couldn't see him, only the occasional flash of movement in the shadows of his cell.

"When I first came here, when Freddie and Wesley brought me in they took to me to King. The other enforcers, the prisoners here, they wanted me to go to the whore house, but Freddie and Wes knew me, from outside. They didn't want that for me. They vouched for me, told King who I was, did what they could."

She swallowed hard, "King made me a deal. I'd stay out of the whore house if I passed along anything I heard to him..." Her lower lip quivered and her voice wavered. "I didn't know anything about him, what he was like. I got here after the riots, after it was all settled."

Chole paused, her heart aching. "I'm so sorry Wes." She whispered, unable to bring herself to speak louder and uncertain if he could even hear her. "I'm ... I ... I got Kenny killed. That poor kid was drunk and talking about making this place better, of getting rid of King and his men. I never thought for a second ..." An excuse, she'd been warned to be cautious, Freddie had told her to mind herself, she wouldn't give it breath. "I killed him, I told King what I'd heard."


Weston froze as he heard the truth from Chole, frowning first when the whorehouse was mentioned, then frowning deeper when Kenny's name came up. He felt his anger rising, his blood pressure shooting up, almost immediately.

He was silent for a moment, letting that silence hang between them long enough to be uncomfortable.

"Do you have any idea what you did? Were you there to watch him get executed?" He hissed out, leaning close to the crack in the wall, wanting to make damn sure she could hear him.

"Because - in case you missed it - I was the one ordered to hang him. And do you know what I learned that day? That if you don't weigh enough, your neck doesn't just break in a clean snap. There's no quick death. You dangle 'till its done." Weston's voice raised a bit, but he kept it under control so the guards wouldn't come check on them. He paused again, shaking his sore head and rubbing at a bruise forming under his eye.

"Kenny was a twig. So to spell it out for you - he fucking suffered. Because of you." Weston looked down at the dried blood on his hands, rubbing one palm on the thigh of his jeans. The blood wouldn't come off.

"Who else? Who the fuck else did you get sent to me?"


Chole couldn't speak, she didn't dare, as Weston hissed at her, recounted in explicit detail just how that kid had gone. She'd known. She'd witnessed it herself, seated in the elite area just behind King. Under the premise she was there to serve but truth was, she was there to witness.

She gaged, rolling on her cot to hang her head over the side but nothing came and she dry heaved and coughed until her body shook and all that was left in her was to fall back on the cot.

Vision blurred as she regained her breath and finally answered. "No one. He was the first and last. After that, I only shared enough of what I knew to keep King searching. Not enough to sell out anyone but enough to keep ..." She couldn't finish her sentence. myself safe.


Weston glared at that crack in the wall, wishing he could look Chole in the eye as she confessed what she did. Not that he was any angel himself, but it felt particularly bitter to learn someone he thought was keeping their nose clean was part of the problem the whole time.

"That kid's blood is on your hands, same as mine. Hopefully you can make up for that somehow before you die in that cell." Weston spat out before pushing himself away from the wall. He muttered a quiet "bitch" under his breath as he paced away to the opposite side of the cell. He was done listening to her.

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


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[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber
Mood Music - Click Here​

Weston was not going to go quietly.

It ultimately took six guards to escort him to the pit and towards the gallows: two in front, two in back, and one at each side. The guards to his sides each held a muscled arm with both hands. The guards behind him had their weapons out, and the ones in front had their hands on their guns in their holsters, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. Weston’s wrists were tied together behind his back by rope, rubbing painfully at his wrists no matter how he moved.

Still, Weston wouldn’t do this without a fight. As his eyes adjusted to the bright lights, he did a quick scan of the room. A full house - a whole crowd, possibly the whole of Lincoln, was here to witness this. No doubt it would be as many people as could be pulled from their duties. King would want to make an example out of him, make a statement with this. The faces in the seats blurred together - Weston wasn’t interested in looking at any of them - he couldn’t risk spotting any of his rebel compatriots in the stands, in the event the guards took a lingering gaze to mean something. He also couldn’t risk letting his resolve waver. If he caught a friendly, familiar face in the crowd… he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

It was bad enough that he saw exactly who was sitting next to King.

Ignacio was sitting there. Willingly. Not brandishing a gun at King’s head. Not being restrained by just as many guards as he had on his ass now. Not tied to the chair by miles of rope and being forced to watch.

Just fucking standing there willingly.

Was Ignacio still playing a part? Was he just biding his time, waiting for a moment to act? Because if he was, he was cutting it real goddamn close to the very end. Dangerously close. Close enough that, chances are, he wasn’t just playing. He wasn’t waiting. He had made his decision and was stepping back to let this happen.

Weston felt gutted. Wishing he could say something, wishing he could call out, he locked eyes with Ignacio. He wished he could read minds, or telepathically send him a message like those comic book superheroes. Did Ignacio care this was happening? Was he hurting too? Weston realized he had no idea. He hoped for it, he hoped that the look on Ignacio’s face was pain and fear for him. It had to be, right? Because if it wasn’t, if Ignacio didn’t… He didn’t know what came after that. He had no idea what he’d say if he really could, there was so much going on in his head, but it all boiled down to one thing.

Help me.

He gave zero attention to King, because that fucker deserved no space in his mind during what was looking like his final moments. Instead, he stared at Ignacio, hoping the look on his face conveyed anything worth saying, and trying to memorize his face. If that was going to be the last thing he’d see before an eternity in hell, he wanted to not forget it anytime soon.

Weston’s face - bloodied and bruised on the outside - showed all the hurt on the inside too. Not just for the fact Ignacio was seated next to King instead of standing next to him, but for everything. Every misdeed, every wrongdoing, every bad act that the Samaritans had done were resting on his shoulders and it was a weight he couldn’t hold up anymore. His eyes watered, red-rimmed, and a tear he was trying to ignore ran down his face and cut a path through the dried blood and grime from the cell he’d spent the night in.

“We’re not done with you! We’re not done here, and we never will be!” Weston snarled at the top of his lungs. He suddenly lunged towards where King and Ignacio sat, bound wrists and armed guards around him be damned. Words meant for King, eyes still on Ignacio, it should have been convincing enough to onlookers that he was after both of them, not just King. After all… if the charade couldn’t be kept up, if people suspected anything, Ignacio would be in danger too.

The guard at Weston’s right was the first to react. He grabbed onto Weston’s arm and tugged him backwards. Weston only used that momentum to swing around to face the guard, and immediately headbutted him as hard as he could. The guard’s nose made an audible crack as Weston smashed his forehead into the guard’s face, and the guard screamed out as he took a stumbling step backwards, holding his broken and bloodied face. The guard took two steps before tripping over his own feet and landing on his ass on the ground in a daze.

One of the guards behind Weston was quicker to act compared to the rest, who seemed almost startled that Weston did anything but mope and accept death. The guard grabbed Weston by the hair and yanked him backwards. Instead of shooting him, the guard pistol-whipped Weston across the face with his weapon. More bruises, more split skin, more blood didn’t matter, but it was enough to daze Weston so that the remaining guards could grab hold of him. Weston sagged in their grips, a thin trail of blood and spit trickling from his mouth and onto the floor as the guards held him upright, one of them hanging on to his hair to keep his head up.

"Fuck!" The guard on the ground cried out, voice higher-pitched from the pain and the broken nose, taking a moment before he rolled to his side and climbed back to his feet. The guard staggered a few more steps away, not daring to leave the pit until he was dismissed.

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

 

[Namazu]

Operation: Nerds Break Shit
Lincoln - The Garage​

Theo’s knee bounced nervously as he sat on the metal stool, arms wrapped around himself with an open toolbox at his feet. He was acting as Maren’s tool-hander-over and helper, to anyone who may accidentally catch a glimpse of them if such a thing happened - and hopefully it didn’t. But besides that, he was the lookout who would alert her if he saw or heard anything that meant they needed to get out.

This late - or was it early? - nobody was in any of the garages. Everyone who worked on the vehicles had turned in for the night, and the guards were few enough and far enough in between that they could slip inside unseen. At least one guard they spotted was asleep at his post - sitting in his chair, slouched back with his shoulders against the wall, chin down to his chest.

They had decided to put one of Theo and Nari’s devices inside the garage for better coverage, since they were going to be here anyway. As Theo played lookout and helper, he was also scoping out the room for a good place to hide it. It was a solid cement building, certainly something that would be cold as hell in the winter if it wasn’t kept full of moving people and space-heaters. No doubt it was stuffy and hot in the summer, too. Unfortunately solid cement doesn’t offer a lot of places to hide something.

Theo looked up at the ceiling, noting the placement of metal support beams from one side of the room to the other. They were high up, too narrow to walk, but wide enough he could place one of the devices up there - if he could just find a way up. He’d need a ladder, but Maren could be his spotter while he scurried up there with duct tape. It was also not an obvious place to look, like behind or under a workbench or attached to one of the vehicles. He didn’t admit it to anyone, but in deciding where to hide these, he had been thinking about all the stealth and adventure video games he played before the fall for inspiration. It was more helpful than he cared to admit.

“Y'know, in the movies they usually use a ventilation shaft or something. Stick it behind a little metal grate that nobody thinks to check. The camera changes to an inside-the-vent point of view and all you see is the fan rotating and the bad guys below. That’s often when we learn about part of the big bad evil guy’s plans.” Theo commented, partially to Maren and partially to himself. He didn’t want to admit to anyone that sometimes he talked to himself, because he had no idea what these people would do if they thought he was crazy. Throwing him out wouldn’t be the worst result.

This was totally not what he thought he was getting himself into when those not-so-nice ladies gave him a ride out of that little town.

“When you’re done here, I need you to hold a ladder for me. I think I know where it needs to go.” Theo looked down at Maren. Or more specifically, at her feet. Maren was laying on a mechanic’s creeper - a real simple one, just a thick wooden board on two sets of wheels - and she was laying under the vehicle she was working on. Theo had basically been relegated to handing her tools and having conversation with her feet for the past several minutes. A little weird, but Maren wasn’t exactly the chatty type and it meant he didn’t have to think about eye contact. He could just sit here and be nervous and weird in peace.

kaileaf Bullyboy Squad NanLia ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber

Cabrera watched, feeling like the air was sucked out of the room. Weston. Bloodied and thrashing in their grasp. Fighting. Resisting. Fuck, if that wasn’t what he was going to die for in the first place. Resistance.

Goddamnit, boy. Cabrera's fists clenched in his lap, knuckles white. Something tearing, twisting in his gut. He nearly flinched when Weston lunged in their direction. His mouth gaped and his heartbeat spiked up as thoughts raced through his mind. Signals getting crossed. Not for the first time. Knowing what was good and what was right. Knowing they rarely overlapped in his current, fucked up world.

Ignacio saw what was coming and his world went cold at the sound of impact. He sprung up, growling.

“Stop.” Watching his friend, a bloody mess limp in their grasp, his voice cut through the room, “I’ll do it.” He looked down at King and made sure Marcus recognized the determination in his eyes. “I’ll do it.” He repeated, calm but firm, and without waiting for a blessing, he moved in their direction.

He swallowed hard, his throat burning. His gaze fixed on the other, and in that moment, the world around them disappeared. Shrinking to Weston, to that blood-streaked face, to the wounded man in front of him. Cabrera’s hand moved, fingers gripped tight around his arm, squeezing muscle. “Come on, man...” Different words screamed inside his head, but he couldn’t say them out loud. All he could do was lead Weston up to the podium with the guards that held him. The rope hung ahead of them, waiting.




​

Namazu NanLia Tool BeyondDandy
​

​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
The Pit​

Dutchess paced the quiet room in the elites wing waiting impatiently for Wesely to get back. They’d heard, late into the night that Weston had been arrested and taken to the solitary cellblock but neither of them could get a clear answer as to why.

Wes had decided to go and find out, telling her to stay in the room until he returned. That had been an hour ago and now she worried that Wesley had been taken as well. If King was coming down on his own trusted core, what was to stop him for coming for Wesley or herself? After all, she’d been missing for months and suddenly returned. What use was she to him now, in this state?

She’d dressed in her ill-fitting clothing, it all belonged to her previously but now hung loosely over her body. Wes had even gone as far as to add notches to her belt just to keep her previously skinny jeans on her hips.

Dutchess was just lacing up her boots when the door swung open and Wes ducked inside. Her head whipped up, her heart racing. “Are you alright?”



Wes nodded quickly, gesturing for her to stay seated. “I’m good.” He puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath, removing the cap from his head to run a hand through his thinning hair. Wes glanced over at Dutchess finally. “They’re gonna hang ‘em, Dutch,” he said, his tone low and terse. “They think he started the outbreak to try and overthrow King.”


Dutchess stared at Wesley, lips moving but no sound escaped as her brain slowly processed what he'd told her. “Wait…. What?” She came around the edge of the bed only to drop down to sit, shaking her head. “Weston? Weston was going to overthrow King?” Certainly, they must have had their people mixed up, or maybe the info was bad, like the outbreak.

“I need to tell King.” She said finally, though the words escaped her, she didn't feel the confidence in them. “They're wrong about the outbreak, and If that's what's gonna get him killed…”. Her heart plummeted into her stomach at the thought of her replacing him on the gallows.



Wesley moved forward unnecessarily, placing a hand on her shoulder. “No, you don’t,” he said – his tone quiet, but firm. “You tell King the truth and you’re fucked, Dutch.” He swallowed hard, holding her gaze. “I don’t have nothin’ against Weston, but… if it’s between him and you…” he shook his head.



Dutchess felt her heart twist when hearing Wesley's tone and the pain and fear on his face. She knew all too well just how broken he'd been when he thought she was dead and knew that's what he was voicing now.

But she knew he was right, that King would hang her alongside Weston. Guilt gnawed at her but she nodded once, stiffly. She didn't trust herself to speak. She reached up and took his hand, pressing the palm to her cheek.

*​

Guilt kept her awake the rest of the evening. Guilt slowly ebbed away at her soul as the sun rose and the elite were summoned to the Pit to Witness.

She kept close to Wesley’s side, daring even to hold his hand in public just to give her strength. Dutchess willed herself to stillness, keeping her face impassive and cold despite wanting to sob.


Wesley chanced a small squeeze of Dutchess’s hand, finding himself strangely uncaring of whether or not they were seen – a prospect that would have filled him with anxiety not so long ago. He led them over to a set of seats at the back, away from other spectators and prying eyes before taking a seat… to bear witness. A heavy weight settled in his gut, but he ignored it – telling himself that this was the law of the jungle, the greater good, some shit like that.

Safton ​

 

[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber​

The world tilted one way while Weston’s heart tilted another. Shortly after that, his head followed - one of the guards punched him across the face, splitting his lower lip. The other guard that was holding him by his hair let go, letting him hang his head. It only added to the trickle of blood running down his chin and onto the floor.

Distantly, Weston heard Ignacio’s voice ordering them to stop, and he lifted his head. Finally. Finally he’d be okay. Ignacio would stop this, he’d fix this, he’d fight for him. He’d do something. He’d-

… He’d volunteer to do it.

Weston stared at Ignacio, wide-eyed with disbelief and reeling. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His heart stopped for a moment before resuming its racehorse-paced beat, and he wasn’t certain if he was going to pass out, throw up, or scream.

“You wouldn’t.” He wheezed out, studying Ignacio’s face, looking for any sign this was just part of a bigger plan. The hurt and betrayal was written all over Weston’s face as he lowered his voice to a whisper. He couldn’t do anything about the guards hearing, but he’d make sure King couldn’t. “Not after everything, you wouldn’t.”

Weston narrowed his eyes as one side of his face twitched and a vein bulged in his forehead and neck as the anger boiled inside him again. If Ignacio’s words were supposed to make him give up and go along with it, they had the opposite effect. The guards gripped him tighter as his whole body strained and shook against their hold, and he hissed at Cabrera, right up in his face.

“I will never forgive you.”

Weston didn’t give up even then, even as the guards dragged him up to the gallows where the rope hung. He didn’t give up or give in, he was merely overpowered and injured. An unfair fight, but a fight nonetheless. He stumbled a bit at the edge of the platform, using the opportunity to try and throw the guards off balance, but they were prepared now and fought back to keep him in place. The wooden platform creaked under his feet - a platform he’d been forced to help build - and he was close enough he swore he could smell the fibers of the rope.

“You’re a coward, Cabrera. A rotten fucking coward and I’ll see you in hell.”

Bullyboy Squad NanLia Tool Safton BeyondDandy Good_Morels ​

 

[spottednewt]

A worker bee's return.
Lincoln Prison​

|cw: blood
Running a singular finger along glossy concrete walls, Denver left a streak of copper-red trailing behind him. When the whine and squeak of friction etched to a halt, he stopped with it, reaching back into his shirt to prod and rub roughly at a gash just below his ribcage before returning a re-bloodied hand to the wall and continuing his stroll down the cellblock.

He’d been stabbed on his way home, and he wouldn’t yet let himself forget it. Denver had stopped at a ditch on the side of the road to take a leak, his shitty little Suzuki bike on its side and half slid into the gutter next to him.

It was common that he’d be alone, having long-since sent his company ahead of him while he made frequent stops for smashing car windows and trivial things. He liked to stand in thick forests or long stretches of field where the grass was so long that he could no longer see the road and snakes threatened his ankles at every turn. He liked to imagine that he’d joined the dead in those timeless quiet places. That he was ambling along aimlessly. That the last pebbles of the mind he suspected he was losing had liquified and oozed out of his body by way of a singular, clean bite; just like the movies. Denver never imagined a hero’s sendoff. He didn’t fancy himself the self-sacrificing type, or even influential enough for the opportunity. He’d tear at his eyes and clothes in the last moments - he was sure of it. Writhing against the maddening fever that he privately invited; that made his mouth water and his skin tingle when he thought about it. Like the final evolution of the new circle of life; to become something so simple and so obstinately single-minded had a divine quality to it, didn’t it? Not a cease to life, but a new stage of it.

The thought of it enveloped his mind when he was outside of the prison walls. So much so that even as he zipped his pants back up, his mind was elsewhere; elsewhere until a swiss army knife sunk into his side and tore its way back out. He heard it - heard the breath of another man over his shoulder - before he felt it.

He was sure to drop the guy’s body into the new puddle at the bottom of the runoff, and he was sure he wouldn’t forget his error.

~​

As much as he was enjoying his reintroduction to the cage he called his home, and the fingerpainting that some poor bastard would most definitely have to scrub off of the walls, Denver had places to be.

 

[BeyondDandy]

Lincoln
The Execution Chamber​

King leaned back in his throne-shaped chair, which he had placed in the middle of the pit into which Weston was being hauled. With his hands ready on his lap, Cabrera, his newly appointed second-in-command, sat alertly to his right, always on guard. Weston was dragged ahead by two enforcers who were grabbing hold of his arms, preventing him from moving freely on the concrete path. With headlights shining on a sea of apprehensive faces and their eyes darting nervously between King and the gallows, everyone had gathered thickly around the pit. This was not your typical punishment; King had ensured that everyone in Lincoln understood that attendance was required.

King enjoyed the mounting tension as he allowed the murmurs to wash over him. He heard the gasps and mumbled obscenities at Weston, and his smile turned predatory and pointed. For the crowds, this was a lesson as much as an execution. The pit, the gallows, the noose—all of it served as a reminder of King’s iron grasp on the prison that had become their kingdom.

As he was hauled through the dirt, Weston growled at him, his once-proud stature reduced to that of a beaten dog, his face marred by blood and grime. But even with the chains around him, King could still see the dangerous glint in his eyes—a cold, detached interest. That very same charisma and fire had made Weston popular with the populace. However, at this point, no amount of charm could save him. He was going to hang for undermining King's authority and betraying him.

King got up slowly from his chair, making deliberate gestures that commanded the attention of everyone in the room. As he stood tall, he threw his head back and let out a laugh—a sound that was broken, distorted, like an old record skipping over the same discordant note. The audience was silent, gazing in uneasy interest as the bizarre but amusing laughter continued.

"Take a look at him!" King yelled and pointed at Weston. “This is what betrayal looks like!” Sharp and menacing, his voice sliced through the atmosphere. “This is what happens when you think you can stand against me.”

When Weston fought back against the guards, King's smile grew even wider. He saw that Weston's disobedience was only an attempt at one last act of dignity. Soon, that too would be taken from him.

An unexpected event occurred while Weston was being led to the hanging. Cabrera stepped forward, calling on the enforcers and stopping them. Curious, King studied his second-in-command with narrowed eyes. Cabrera had shown himself to be dependable, unwavering, and faithful, but this was a risky move.

Cabrera gave King a slight head tilt and met his gaze. They were resolute instead of fearful. Cabrera desired to be the one to execute the victim directly. Something flickered in King's mind, perhaps pride or an understanding of Cabrera's aspirations. Not only was Cabrera acting loyally, but he was also taking the opportunity to declare to the populace that he was King's heir apparent.

The two men stood still for a brief while, staring straight ahead. King gave the request considerable thought. This was meant to be his spectacle, his triumph against the betrayer who had almost destroyed his empire. However, Cabrera had to leave his mark. King was aware of that. He sensed a change in the atmosphere—many eyes were on them. They needed to know who would stand by King’s side moving forward.

King nodded, taking his time and giving his blessing. They had a brief but deeply understanding silent exchange. King, ever the tactician, understood that Cabrera needed this and that it would strengthen his second-in-command's standing with the public.

As he approached the rope, Cabrera moved forward and motioned for the guards to hold Weston in place. King trailed behind, getting closer to the gallows now, hands behind his back, taking in the scene. He wanted to witness everything, including the crowd's response, Cabrera's ascent to prominence, and Weston's last moments. It was all very important. This was more than just a traitor's demise. It was an illustration of King's unquestioned rule and a strengthening of Cabrera's position.

King enjoyed a wave of satisfaction as Cabrera neared the noose with his hands. The people would remember this day, and they would remember who had delivered justice. There was no escaping King’s grip. Not for anyone, not even for Weston.

Bullyboy Squad
Namazu

 

[NanLia]

FLASHBACK
The Reserve​

Nari paced the small cabin after the Ranger had left, mind whirling on everything that had happened. Wren didn’t seem to have any knowledge of what had happened, he’d been surprised on the road when they were ambushed. She could only assume that either this rebellion had been kept a great secret or had been very recent, otherwise Cabrera wouldn’t have sent her here.

Despite being told this rebel faction was somehow different from the Samaritans, she found it hard to believe. She was still a prisoner here, with no free will to leave or return to the prison or anywhere else for that matter. She didn’t doubt it was just a matter of time before they would decide to use her as leverage to try and make Cabrera bend to their will and then what? He’d kept up their facade well enough but she doubted the man would go against King to save her or her children.

She turned to Minnie, who was somehow taking all of this far better than anyone should. A testament to just how much she’d had to endure already. All she and Xander had wanted to do was free Miinie and Haewon from that, give them back any part of their old lives and she was failing miserably at it.

Nari sighed, shuffling over to the only bed that looked clear of other people's belongings and settled onto it, sliding back so she could lean back against the wall. For hours now she’d have an ever-increasing ach in her lower back. While they’d been traveling she thought it had been due to being stuck in the truck on uncomfortable seats and terrible roads but the pain hadn’t ceased since arriving. She patted the bed beside her, offering Minnie a sad smile. “Come and get some rest.”


As the ranger left, Minnie stood almost helplessly in the middle of the room. Most of the beds had sentimental objects on them, teddies, pyjamas, toys... She didn't want to touch any of them. Those children were probably long dead, it felt wrong to move their things so she could sleep. She swallowed, trapped in a state of indecision.

She seemed to snap out of it as Nari ushered her over, silently obeying as she set Momo down and shuffled onto the bed beside her. Her legs were outstretched in front of her, to short to bend at the knee while fully on the bed. She was surprisingly tired from just sitting in a truck all day, her drowsy eyes watching Momo as he explored his new environment.

She took a deep breath. She was going to have to talk to Nari at some point.
"If I'd done what you did back at the truck... I'd be in trouble right now," She murmured.


Nari was thankful Minnie didn’t put up a fight at the mere suggestion of being near her. The girl's changed attitude towards her had been all too clear. She and her sister blamed her for the events that had happened, starting back when she’d been evicted from the high school and transplanted into the prison.

A frown creased her forehead as Minnie spoke and Nari thought back to the truck and the events on the road. “When I stepped out to pee?” She couldn’t think of anything else that she’d be talking about and Nari wasn’t certain as any and every time the truck had stopped she’d exited to relieve herself. Nari was thoroughly convinced the baby was squeezing her bladder at all times.


"When the tire popped and you-- you disappeared!" She retorted.
"It could've been like... like one of those muggings where they pop your tires so you have to get out to make it easier to steal your stuff," She explained, finally looking at her.
"You didn't even wait to see if the coast was clear!"

She let out a soft sigh as she looked down at her hands. She felt pathetic, like she was simply being dramatic, and she probably was... but the idea of being alone on the reserve, miles from her father and sister, without her mother... made her nauseated.


Nari winced and shifted on the stiff bed, her back spasming painfully. She sighed as she attempted to adjust, and find a position that would work. “I’m sorry.” She said simply. “I didn’t think anything was wrong, really.” The truth was, in the last few weeks of her pregnancy she felt she was losing her mind. Mistakes she would never make she missed jeopardized her work's quality. More than once Haewon, her apprentice, had questioned what she was doing and corrected her before she’d ruined a motor or circuit board they couldn’t replace.

“I hope you know that everything I do is for you and your sister.” She reached out to gently rub her hand along Minnie’s back. “I’m not the greatest at this; I haven’t had any practice and my own mother passed away when I was much younger than you. I have a lot to learn but I appreciate you and Haewon, for coming into our lives. I hope you know that I love you both, even if it seems like I’m distant. I just want to keep you both safe.”


Minnie could only glance over at her as she spoke, as if ashamed she'd even brought up the subject. It felt trivial, considering what was going on, but the last thing she wanted was for Nari to wander off and get herself killed. Anything could've been in that woods, the undead, more armed soldiers, a goddamn bear... Were they even in bear territory?

As the woman rubbed her back, she let out a slow breath through her nose before resting her head on her shoulder.
"I know this place is meant to be safe, but... I think we still need to be careful," She murmured. Of course, Nari's words towards the ranger hadn't gone unnoticed. This place was like a dressed up version of Lincoln, they still had a dictator, they still couldn't leave... so maybe they should treat it like Lincoln, too.


"We do," Nari agreed, rubbing her free hand over the side of her belly, the discomfort of her back seemingly growing by the minute. "We need to get to Mr. Hughes." She said softly. "He's like us, I don't know why Ig-Cabrera sent him with us but I know he was a prisoner at Lincoln too. Kept against his will."

She pressed her other hand to her back with a wince, stifling a groan. "If he's still alive we can trust him to get us-" Nari paused, sharply inhaling as the pain grew worse. She hiss through clenched teeth until it subsided. She panted softly. "Min, I need you to get that ranger." She shifted on the bed but paused as another bout of pain rippled through her.

Nari had experienced this pain before, back at Lincoln after the attach. She'd hoped it had been the same then as it was now but the pain wasn't subsiding but getting worse. "I think I'm in labour."


"Hughes?" Minnie murmured, a frown etched on her face. She knew her mother had befriended him, but she distrusted him almost as much as she distrusted every other Samaritan. Wren didn't trust him, either, so she wasn't sure which adult she was meant to believe.

She sat up as her mother gasped, air hissing through her teeth.
"Are you okay?" She murmured, her eyes glancing over her, trying to decipher her body language. As she requested she find the ranger, Minnie quickly nodded.

She got to her feet, quickly but carefully to avoid shifting the mattress and hurting her mother.
"I'll be right back!" She assured her, running to the door and disappearing from view.

Crono Good_Morels Miaow ​

 

[Bullyboy Squad]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber

Weston's words cut deeper than any blade could reach. Accusations burned like acid in Ignacio’s own throat. He had his shields up for so long that he didn’t notice when they started to crumble. Not now. Not yet god dammit.

Cabrera’s mind raced as he stopped behind his lover, the wooden planks groaning under their added weight.

“Stop.” He stepped closer and his chest brushed Weston’s back, the scent of fresh blood and sweat hitting his nose. “Stop talking, boy.” His quiet words ghosted moist skin on Weston’s neck as he touched the other’s side. When Weston stopped struggling against the guards, Cabrera showed them to back off and they reluctantly let go.

He shakily exhaled and put his hand between Weston’s shoulder blades, reaching the other around for the death sentence suspended in front of them. He grabbed it, fibers rough against his fingers. Bone pattern in the back of his palm showing with his fist closed tight against coarse rope. Stirring emotion that he feared to expose.

Everyone watched them in eerie silence. This was it. Point of no return. Time stretched, elastic and surreal and the world narrowed to just the two of them. His dark eyes bared Ignacio’s soul, lips twitching to a faintest smile the other couldn’t see.

“I’m ready to die today, Weston.” His hand slipped from Weston’s back and he leaned in to whisper to the other's ear when tension exploded with a shotgun round in the lock. The door burst in, splinters flying. Everybody swung their gaze in that direction, just in time to see the cans bouncing and clinking on the floor.

Cabrera’s instincts kicked in a split second too late. He shut his eyes. White-hot flashes blinded everyone by the entrance, stunning them with a skull-rattling thunder that drowned everything out for a moment. He was on the opposite side from the door but his ears rang, vision searing with bright spots as his brain tried to catch up. He couldn’t hear the crowd, other than disjointed screams and frantic movement in his peripherals as chaos erupted. He stumbled in front of Weston to cover him from whatever was coming, drawing his pistol.


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Namazu NanLia Tool BeyondDandy Safton spottednewt
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[Tool]

Lincoln
Execution Chamber​

Madison moved loosely, comfortably, a coiled spring of a girl waiting to strike. Bone scraped against bone like the bow of a violin against the strings, but thanks to the drugs thudding through her system, it didn't matter even a little. It was time. If Weston swung EARLY........well that would be one more notch in a long line of grinding regrets. What the hell else was new?

The weeks upon weeks (months?) of learning how to compensate for her busted eye paid off in fucking spades, and thanks to the blissful numbness wrapping pain and doubt and hesitation in crumpled tinfoil, Madison was more than capable of taking action when the time came. As soon as Madison's capable accomplices shot out the lock, busted down the door, and threw in twin flash-bangs, the ex-cop let her arm fall from in front of her face and rolled in with her guns drawn.

A sharp gaze caught the sight of Douchebag #1, a man she'd seen bullying slaves for no goddamn reason, got a double-tap in his temple for his trouble. Her instructions had been clear: no zombies. Finish what you started. Period, full stop. It would be real stupid to kill all the bad guys and end up getting bit.

It looked like Cabrera was going to be the lucky hangman, but he seemed both distracted and not in an immediate position to shoot anyone. Another familiar face that had stared out from more than one scrawled artwork emblazoned with the tag NO MORE KINGS shifted to Madison's right, and without hesitation, the woman lifted her twin pistols in King's direction. Unfortunately, people she assumed were guards were pulling the leader aside or covering him with their own bodies.

Hopefully, her compatriots in arms had King covered.

Madison was faced with a choice: shoot at King and leave the pair on the gallows to duke it out between them..... or turn her attention towards Weston. There wasn't any way to shoot Cabrera that wouldn't put Weston at risk, but that didn't mean she couldn't point a few barrels at the hangman's center mass.

For the first time in months, Madison spoke clear and direct and loud.

"Get away from him, you twerp!"

Bullyboy Squad Namazu

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[Namazu]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamber​

There was a time once when that light touch to his side and that voice in his ear had been comforting. A time when being told to stop talking was said with a grin and was a prelude to something good that he looked forward to. Now, the only thing in front of Weston was a dangling noose made of rough rope.

He’d tied that noose himself when the gallows was built. He remembered that day, crystal-clear. One of the enforcers joked that since Weston was “from the south”, he probably “knew his way around nooses pretty well”. Weston didn’t want to correct him that technically, he was from the Appalachian area. Mountainfolk with the legacy of coal in their veins, not some southern belle. He also didn’t want to admit that yes, the man was right. He knew how to tie a sturdy noose. His pa had showed him when he was little, and told him exactly what to do with it.

Now he was going to hang from it. Somehow, it felt fitting.

Weston’s shoulders sagged - hell, most of his body did - and he finally stopped resisting. Nobody was coming, nobody was helping, and this was it. Anger still burned inside him, but so did a lot of other things. Anguish at his failure. Disgust at the way this was all going down in a room full of people that were just going along with it. Regret that he couldn’t be here any longer for the others. Fear of death - the impending trip there as well as what came after. Honest to God, a whole lot of fear. The realization he was going to die in a few minutes hit him like a ton of bricks and he already felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Facing down death is an awful thing, especially facing it down like this. There wasn’t any last minute goal to fight for - one more obstacle to climb, one more shot to make, one more hand to grab and pull out, one more lumbering body to stop. He wasn’t fighting to save anyone, wasn’t pushing himself beyond his physical and mental limit to achieve something. Nobody was going to find his body surrounded by carnage and say, ‘Goddamn, he did all this? Good on him.’ Nobody was going to tell others they were alive only because of him. He was just standing there, beaten and bloodied and hurt, waiting for it. In a few minutes, he’d cease to exist. He couldn’t imagine not existing, not thinking, never waking up. He couldn’t tell if the warm wetness on his face was blood, tears, or both.

Letting out a heavy exhale, Weston raised his head and watched Cabrera’s hand grab hold of the rope, squeezing it so hard every bone and tendon in the back of his hand stood out. He didn’t want to see that, didn’t want to think about the fact Cabrera was going to be the one to put the noose around his neck, didn’t want to wonder what was going through the other man’s mind, so he closed his eyes. He tried to think of Dave instead of what was really happening around him. Going home to the only person that ever loved him back was the one light at the end of his tunnel.

Cabrera’s words hit him - and immediately, his eyes flew open as he started to look over his shoulder, the “No -” already on his lips. He didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. He had no time to finish his thoughts though, let alone get another word out, before the doors flew inward with an explosive bang.

'Grenades' was his first thought when he heard the tink-ting-tink-tiiiinnng of metal cans, and the sick humor that he has had grenades thrown at him twice in his life now despite never being in the military was not lost on him.

Even with his head partially turned, the bright white flash consumed his vision and the noise that accompanied it felt like it was splitting his skull. His head already was pounding from the beating, and all this only made it hurt more - and now he was blinded and deafened too. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop the pain ringing in his head or rub the whiteness out of his eyes, which were slowly fading into bouncing bright spots that made everything in front of him look patchy. Not with his hands tied behind his back, the rope digging into his wrists.

Legs unsteady, Weston took a stumbling step backwards when Cabrera was suddenly in front of him - some kind of weapon raised, at something, somewhere, he couldn’t tell what or where. Presumably by the door, not that he knew which damn direction the door was even in now because everything was flash and noise and screaming.

The sound of Madison’s voice, loud and clear (though accompanied by an incessant buzzing noise in his head) was like damn music. He had no way of knowing if she was working alone or with others or how big this plan even was, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Get King! Don’t shoot Cabrera, get King!” Weston shouted, hoping Madison and anyone else with her could hear him over the buzzing and the screaming and all the other noise that he couldn’t tell whether it was real or just inside his head. The plea might bite him in the ass later - for all he knew, Cabrera was willing to shoot and kill him - but he had to try.

It wouldn’t matter much that he lived if King got loose - him or his lackeys would just take a potshot at his head the first opportunity they could, and it’d be all over anyway. If they couldn’t cut the head off the snake of this operation, all of this would have been for nothing. He couldn’t risk Cabrera shooting Madison and stopping her, or anyone else with her, and he couldn’t risk any of his people wasting time on anyone other than King. Despite his anger and his earlier promise never to forgive, there was still a small part of him that didn’t want Ignacio to get hurt or killed either - though he tried not to think about that fact right now. Straining against his ropes until it tore his skin bloody, he still couldn’t get his hands free either… so he did the only thing he could do.

Weston took a step back on the platform and, because these idiots never did tie his legs together, he raised one foot, planted it in Cabrera’s backside, and kick-shoved him off the platform with a grunt.

He’d apologize later. Or maybe never. Probably never because he was still fucking angry at the bastard.

Knees bent, Weston hopped off the platform, ears still ringing some and lights still dancing in his eyes, but thankfully his senses were starting to come back to him slowly. He used his momentum to plow shoulder-first into a nearby enforcer who was still trying to get his bearings. The man, one of them that had escorted him from his cell to this chamber, never saw him coming. Not until he was bowled over and on the ground, mouth open in a shout Weston didn’t fully hear, while Weston stomped his foot down squarely in the man’s face.

He didn’t hear the crunch so much as feel it, but he didn’t stop to assess the state of what he left behind. He was too busy sprinting for Madison, and the blown-open doors. His run wasn’t a graceful one, limping, stumbling, and uneasy between his injuries and the shock of the grenades.

“Cut me loose!” he shouted, hoping anyone else with Madison could lend a hand and get him free.

Bullyboy Squad Tool BeyondDandy NanLia Safton spottednewt ​

 

[NanLia]

LINCOLN
The Execution Chamer​

Black sequins and and crimson rhinestones shimmered under the harsh fluorescent light as Temma’s hands carefully smoothed her dress over her thighs, nervously. This was as much of a protest as she could bring herself to display; a glamorous evening gown fit for a funeral. Her friend's funeral. She’d been thankful when Derek hadn’t demanded her to change when he saw it, despite his disappointed frown.

They’d had words, a heated debate - as heated as their debates ever got - and the subject had been Weston. Temma didn’t believe what she had been told, that he was a traitor and a rebel. Not only that but the rebel leader. There wasn’t a chance that Weston would have set fire to their supplies and put innocent people at risk, let children starve or forced the people living under his care to half rations and double work. Aside from that, Weston had kept their secret, their dirty bond, otherwise, King would have dragged both herself and Derek to join their friend on the gallows.

Weston would never have let loose the dead inside any cellblock inside the prison to cause chaos, despite it being MS13, she wouldn’t believe he had it in him. She’d told Derek as much and intended to speak with King on Weston’s behalf and seek mercy. She hoped to appeal to their leader’s sensibility and put off the execution, saving his life instead, even if it meant that life was being carried out in servitude.

This was what they’d argued about, long into the night and early morning until she relented. Derek had never steered her wrong, he’d never denied her of anything she asked for except for this.

Temma flinched back in shock as Weston screamed his protest at King, shouting his guilt for his actions and her heart sank. How could she have been so wrong about him? How could she have missed any signs that he wasn’t who she’d thought?

She felt Derek’s hand squeeze her side, his arm wrapped around her giving her strength and comfort and she was thankful for it. Despite everything, she still counted Weston as her friend, someone she trusted and loved. And someone she would miss dearly.

The next few moments were blur and confusion. The doors flew open and suddenly Temma was blinded, ears ringing, the next thing she knew she was on the floor, Derek leaning over her protectively. He was uttering something she couldn’t understand, shouting over the noise and commotion around them. “Stay down.” She heard finally and she nodded her understanding.

Bullyboy Squad Tool BeyondDandy Namazu Safton spottednewt ​

 

[Miaow]

LINCOLN
The Cells
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Haewon had considered some sort of face covering, a balaclava or just a scarf would do, so if she did survive this mission, no one could point her out in a line-up... but it almost felt cowardly. Madison and her team wouldn't be going in with their faces hidden, so why should she? She had a family, but that didn't mean she had more to live for... and she couldn't even be sure her family was still around. Nari and Minnie had been gone for weeks and Haewon had made it through at least the first stage of grief. Minnie's somewhere safe. If she was killed for being a rebel, they would have rubbed that shit in everyone's faces, she would be in the pit or getting hung like Weston... Until logic crept in from the back of her mind. They'd taken Victor and Chole and God knows who else... and they'd done it quietly. Maybe Minnie was down there with them... The idea made her nauseated. By the time their plan was set into motion, she'd moved into anger...

She'd been told there was only one guard on duty... but that felt too good to be true. Who the fuck would leave one poor sap to guard rebels, of all people. The whole point of rebels was that they broke the rules. Obviously, they'd come for their prisoners. Maybe they assumed everyone would be too focused on Weston's hanging. Haewon was glad she wasn't on that team, she didn't want to see a man hang if they fucked it up. At least this way, only she was at risk... well, her and Theo... but he was a grown ass man who wasn't about to stick his head in a noose, he could look after himself.

She stopped around the corner from the cells, double-checking her handgun.
"Right..." She whispered, leaning her head around the corner, peering at the door, "We go in, kill the guards, get the keys, get Victor and Chole, and fuckin leg it. Ready?"
Once she had a response in the affirmative, she pulled the hammer back on her handgun and turned the corner.

The group had dabbled with using a silent weapon, simply slitting the guard's throat or something along those lines, but enforcers were always armed to the teeth, they'd put a bullet in her skull before she could even get close. They were going to have to be loud and deal with the consequences later. She stood by the door, peering through the little rectangular window... One guard. She glanced at Theo, silently counting down...

Three.

Two.

One.

She slammed her shoulder into the door, the impact against the wall echoing down the corridor. She raised her handgun and shot. The first had the guard down, the bullet hitting him in the chest, but not a good enough shot to kill him instantly. She jogged a few steps forward, resetting her handgun and pressing it to his temple. One more shot and he was dead.

"Get the keys, I'll keep watch," She told Theo, standing at attention as she scanned for danger.

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[Crono]

The Execution Chamber

Kurt didn't want to be here. He had no interest in this shit. But here he was, off to the side of one of the entrances into the area with his arms crossed across his chest. No doubt looking uncomfortable. But Cabrera had asked him to be here, and Cabrera's asking wasn't really an ask. And Kurt had learned to just go with it. So Kurt was one of the guys on guard duty to keep the peace, rather to keep people in line as far as he was aware.

For the most part he just kept his eyes on the crowd, opting to 'do his job' rather than watching the show on the stage. King's speech and Weston being dragged out. The Samaritan's liked their shows, he couldn't help but think back to his own 'show' with Arthur and the man back at the school. Despite having been their prisoner, life had been simpler then.

Kurt had been lost in that thought when everything went to hell. Suddenly all of his senses were attacked by what had occurred. Ears ringing, blinded, coughing from the small cloud of dust. He'd doubled over, "...the hell!?" came his voice with a hoarse cough. Hand already on the pistol to draw it out, but he couldn't even tell what was happening. Eyes watering as he tried to focus it through the chaos to make out the events unfolding.

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Namazu Bullyboy Squad NanLia Safton spottednewt BeyondDandy Tool​

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