S3, E5 | My Fellow Americans

“Coming in to check vitals” Julia whispers into the dark hospital room, a faint voice emerging from within to greet her. “Do as you will” Jaime replies, a dim light in the corner of the room switched on by the doctor, giving her the view of Jaime curled up beside her comatose fiance. “Can’t sleep?” Julia asks, starting a conversation with the obvious findings, Jaime speaking through the sighs of exhaustion in response.

“We’re sharing the same building with the guy that tried to kill us” Jaime returns, only offering a nod from Julia, “it’s pretty hard to sleep when I keep remembering that.” Giving her fiance a peck on the head, Jaime tosses herself out of bed, both feet tapping upon the ground as she reaches for her boots. “He’ll make it, right?” Jaime asks, her hope being for him not to die without having lived in misery first.

“He’s still here twenty-four hours later, I’m sure he’ll be fine” Julia responds, admitting that they need to keep him back for further testing. Letting the conversation die there, Jaime wraps her thigh-high boots around her legs and laces them all the way up, her mind set on returning to city hall and getting ahead of the workload. “Has the rain started yet?” Jaime wonders aloud, Julia of the assumption that there is still an hour left before the clouds form up ahead.

With a nod, Jaime pushes her shoulders back and begins to stretch, the tension in her back forcing her legs to tense up with every step. Returning to city hall, Jaime begins walking for the front door, a disgusted look on her face prevailing over all else, the stench she takes in something that prompts her to inquire over it to Julia. “What smells like burnt popcorn?” Jaime asks, Julia immediately looking up to her with wide eyes, surprised at the woman’s findings.

“You smell that too?” Julia asks, concluding her vital check and approaching Jaime, the smell beginning to encompass the room. “What the fuck is that?” Jaime asks, watching Julia dash into the section’s kitchen to find nothing burning, the stench coming from somewhere within the building itself. Shooting through the stairwell, Lazarus begins to run for Jordan’s room, his efforts quickly dashed when he finds Jaime stood in the middle of the hallway.

“Ms. Morris, we need to get you out of this building now!” Lazarus exclaims, reaching for the hand that Jaime pulls away. “What’s going on, Lazarus?” Jaime replies, watching the man’s face scrunch up in a concoction of anger and disappointment. “Ryan’s escaped” Lazarus responds, the broken restraints and self-removed tubes suggesting a planned evasion since the moment he arrived.

Hesitant, Jaime tells Julia to get the hospital in lock down before running after Lazarus, the gun in her boot being loaded mid-run for the stairwell. Dashing into the concrete tunnel, Jaime and Lazarus begin to descend the staircase, her heart set on returning to city hall until the sound of a struggle emerges from the top of the shaft. In a moment of panic, a man screams out in horror, his shouting getting louder until his body falls past Jaime’s own level, plummeting to the bottom.

In a single moment, the sound of the door higher up in the stairwell slamming shut presents the danger she assumes it to be. “Go help Julia shut down the building, I’ll take it from here!” Jaime shouts, her orders to Lazarus almost immediately disobeyed. In a moment of anger, with little time to argue, Jaime turns toward her guard and aims the barrel of her revolver at his head, the surprised look in his eyes suggesting this to not have been something he’d expect to see.

“Ms. Morris” Lazarus begins, attempting to argue against her orders, Jaime’s instructions made clear for a second time. “Go” Jaime replies, slowly ascending the next few stairs before breaking out in a sprint, her weapon held to her side as Lazarus stays behind, knowing the consequences of persistent disobedience. Climbing the stairs with no room for error, Jaime finds herself at roof level, the splatter of blood sprayed against the wall suggesting she’d found her target.

Kicking in the roof entrance, Jaime takes a quick look around before finding the slow-moving sight of something soaring off back into downtown Los Angeles. Dashing for the lip of the roof, Jaime looks out over the edge and finds an orange parachute soaring back to the city, the great escape presented only attributed to one person in her mind. In a moment of overwhelming anger, Jaime slams her foot against the rooftop and turns back toward the stairs.

Her breaths heavy and filled with genuine hatred, Jaime begins to notice the smell of burnt popcorn returning, the smell stronger now than it had been before. Turning away from the stairwell, Jaime looks at a massive bed of crops burning beneath the midnight sky, her eyes widening as the gravity of the situation returns to the height it had just recently come down from.

= Dire is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 Media from the start of Season 1 onwards =

“It’s been six days since departure and we’re just now entering the state of Colorado” Chevy calls into the radio, the roof of his vehicle being pelted with heavy rain, “we’ll be stopping for reprieval soon, entering Denver by tomorrow as expected.” Pausing for a moment, Chevy tells the driver to take the next exit, an order easily agreed upon by the lower-ranking convoy mate.

“Copy that, Chevy… Next line” the man on the other end responds, the next words not coming to Chevy immediately, what he wants to say not being something he feels strong enough to. Looking to her other half, Kayla notices this pause, as do the rest of the mates in the convoy, his heart set on the mission too fully for anything less to be acceptable.

Willing to say what her boyfriend will not, Kayla takes the radio from Chevy’s hand just as the other end of the radio calls out for Chevy’s reply, experiencing what he believes to be a technical difficulty. “We’re tired, we want this to be over so badly, and we really miss Los Angeles” Kayla replies, Chevy looking at her with concern for a brief moment before letting a faint smile trickle in, “we’re hoping for the best possible result for tomorrow's mission. That is all.”

Understood on the other line, Kayla returns the radio to Chevy’s hands, the man graciously attaching it to his belt loop, both of their eyes remaining on each other’s despite the horribly rugged conditions of the terrain beneath them. One hour after arriving at an abandoned motel, Chevy and Kayla occupy their own bed, the man’s right arm draped over the smaller woman, both well awake despite their clenched eyes.

“What are you expecting out of tomorrow?” Kayla asks, her boyfriend struggling to truly come to a singular conclusion. “I think they’ll still be there” Chevy responds, the optimism he wishes to have unable to outweigh the acceptance of how much the country’s government is truly willing to withstand. “Even if a few of the fuckers got unlucky, there’ll still be plenty left behind” Chevy concludes, his girlfriend using this answer as an excuse to spin around in his arms, now laying face-to-face.

“The little spoon doesn’t usually stare eye-to-eye at the big spoon, Kay” Chevy quips, his humor brushed aside in favor of a kiss, Kayla’s lips refusing to leave the man’s own. “Can I ask what this is about?” Chevy wonders, finally opening his eyes to find Kayla staring back at him, her lips returning to his without a second thought. “I love you” Kayla whispers, breaking the kiss for a mere moment, looking into the man’s eyes and smiling when he says it back.

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“No one can know about this, let me make that abundantly clear” Jaime explains, the small gathering of her inner circle now expanded to include Julia and Chris, both of whom share the same worry as the rest of the group. “Ms. Morris, unfortunately, we cannot guarantee any such thing now that Ryan is free in the city” Lazarus explains, assuring her that he can offer as much as he can, but certainties are no longer accounted for, “all bets are off now.”

Frustratedly raising her finger toward Lazarus, Jaime pulls away and turns around, her want to lash out at the man overwhelmed by the understanding that he did all he could. Leaning over at the front of her desk, Jaime gently slams her fist against the desktop calendar to calm herself down, a more composed woman turning back to the gathering behind her. “How did this happen?” Jaime asks, recalling the assurance that security was monitoring the prisoner.

“We had every exit covered and two guards in his room at all times” Lazarus replies, the stairwell not having been looked after due to its lack of a direct exit. Biting reply into her bottom lip, Jaime asks of the current state of the two guards, neither of which living to tell the tale. “The first one was strangled to death with an I.V tube and left in the room” Lazarus responds, Jaime’s head hung as he continues, “the other was stabbed in the stairwell and, well- splat.”

Nodding, Jaime begins to pace around her office, the rain now beginning to reach Los Angeles, the storm ranging a very wide portion of the continental west coast and mountain time zone. “The crops that were lost, how much of our stock did we lose?” Jaime questions, all eyes being directed to the back of the room, both Julia and Chris becoming the center of attention.

Worried, the siblings look toward each other, hoping the other would be the one to break the news. “Please- just one of you- give me a number” Jaime explains, tired of the lack of answers, her only desire being to figure out how much of a setback she’s dealing with, “neither of you are going to die for telling me the truth, now give me a fucking number.”

“Sixty-five percent” Julia quickly replies, the number raising even the most-cynical of eyes, the surprise of the number exposed to Jaime making her even more speechless than before. “I’m sorry, I’m hoping I didn’t hear you right” Jaime explains, truly in awe at the damage done, “you said sixty-five percent?”

Having made herself the source of answers from the Avallone camp, Julia explains why she’d come to the figure. “He didn’t just set the crops we were growing on fire, he set the supplies preparing to be shipped off ablaze as well” Julia explains, four months of work, by a rough estimation, burnt to a crisp, “so, of the crops we were harvesting, sixty-five percent is the most likely estimate.”

Mouth agape, Jaime watches the eyes of the crowd look upon her, jaw quickly closing as she stumbles backward and into her desk, both hands wrapping around the edges to keep her upright. “Sixty-five perc- fuck me, really!?” Jaime shouts, head shaking as Lazarus assures her that she’ll have the full backing of the militant support. “No, fuck it… I’m gonna go farm peanuts” Jaime responds, rounding her desk and sinking into her seat, “I’m gonna reverse-Jimmy Carter with an FDR-inheritance.”

Pleading with the woman to let the military handle things, Lazarus finds himself shut down, the woman immediately recalling her conversation with Ryan. “That chin-drivel piss stain said ‘rule with an iron fist or a velvet glove’, and I’ll be damned if this is what forces me to make that choice” Jaime shouts back, both hands resting on the sides of her chair, the loss for direction baffling her, “letting the military direct the tides of this sea is exactly what he’d want.”

Speaking out from the crowd, Kennedy lays forward the best approach, avoiding the ‘iron glove and velvet glove’ analogy entirely, giving the power to the people rather than herself. “He’s still the evil villain in their eyes, so let them find him” Kennedy explains, the declaration of pinning this attack on Ryan being the easiest way to take the eyes off of Jaime herself.

“If they know he burned their food, they’ll be out for blood” Kennedy explains, the time bought between their success and now imperative, “then we tell them to work together and it’s like nothing ever happened.” A smile forming out of the corner of her mouth, Jaime takes immediate interest in that conclusion, a pat on the shoulder from Amelia telling Kennedy directly that she’d changed the tides of the conversation.

“You’d still have to answer for the lack of security in his room” Julia responds, the credibility in both Jaime’s regime and the armed forces called into question along with that play, “they’ll see him as the cause, but you as the answer for why.” Countering Kennedy’s argument, Julia lays the opposing approach into Jaime’s lap, a confused glare given back to her from Kennedy.

“If they see you as incompetant, what will stop them from wanting you ousted?” Chris wonders aloud, making sure to reference the group of potential assassins, “you won’t be starting a public relations heaven, you’ll be launching your own war on terror.” Quick to argue in favor of Kennedy, Amelia cites the willingness to overlook potential weaknesses when the narrative is controlled by the people in power.

“No matter what, Ryan burned the crops” Amelia explains, admitting the anger will be present, “but they’ll care less about your oversights and more about the man that doomed them to starvation.” Attempting to argue against that course of attack once more, Julia finds herself silenced by Jaime, the woman stationed behind her desk with one hand raised toward the group, admitting that both bring promising points.

Unwilling to make her decision right now, Jaime thanks the group for their efforts and asks to be left alone, her mind set on deciding which course of action she deems most suitable. One by one, the collection begins to empty into the hallway, Lazarus’ being the final presence in the room other than Jaime’s own, his hands closing her doors as he leaves. Alone to her own devices, Jaime turns back to find the midnight sky still blackened, a new day still far away.

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“Day seven, we are minutes away from approaching the blast doors of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex” Chevy radios, the sloppy, post-rainstorm conditions being described accurately, “if this log is not updated, assume the worst.” Lowering his radio to his hip, Chevy takes Kayla’s hand into his own, the pair preparing for whatever appears over the hills they currently drive upon, their answer soon presenting itself.

Turning a curve, Chevy’s car comes to a screeching halt, an overturned vehicle appearing in their path, forcing the convoy to a stop at the last minute. Uncertain of how to respond, Chevy directs the driver to continue forward, giving the order for all other vehicles to hang back in the event hostility is discovered. Looking Kayla in the eyes, Chevy smiles and runs his thumb over the back of her hand, promising her that they’ll find a way to deal with whatever they find.

Continuing to progress, Chevy's vehicle finally discovers the sight they’d been hoping for, the concrete tunnel entry sat behind a broken security gate. Calling for his units to progress forward, Chevy directs his own vehicle to stop at the gates, the curious sight calling for further investigation. Exiting their vehicle, Chevy and Kayla approach the guard’s station directly inside the gate, the seat empty, however, the pod is not.

With one quick look through the window, Chevy and Kayla find the decomposing body of a man dressed in a complex guard’s outfit, whatever death had come for him proving to have been a violent one. “We’ve got dead” Chevy calls out, his accompanying fleet quickly catching up. Reaching into her pocket, Kayla removes a screwdriver and pierces the glass with the very tip, one simple reach over the plastic encasing allowing her to press down on a bright red button.

“These cameras still on?” Chevy asks, his question directed to the driver, the only one with an informed perspective of the complex. “This place has its own power supply” the man replies, watching Chevy approach the nearest security perspective, “if someone’s stationed at the cameras, they’ll be able to see you.” With a nod, Chevy looks away from the lenses and sets his eyes on Kayla, a moment of clarity ensuing as he raises the peace symbol with his right hand.

Returning to the vehicle, Chevy and Kayla allow their fleet to progress forward, their cars submerged by the darkness-clouded tunnel in an effort to reach what lies within.

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Pushing the door to his office in, Chris finds Alex sitting at his desk, waiting for his inevitable entry. “I guess you’re the one paying me a visit today?” Chris wonders, the woman leaving his chair and walking into his arms, planting a kiss on his lips as she agrees. “I figured- with everything as tense as it is right now- it’d be nice to take a break from the world” Alex responds, both edges of his medical jacket taken into her hands, “what better way then with a quick stop?”

Agreeing with the woman, Chris finds himself giving into the temptation of forgoing his duties to tend to the woman’s own, a knock at his door abruptly ending their fun. “Why does this keep happening?” Chris mutters beneath his breath, gathering himself up before approving the entry of the individual calling for his attention. Emerging from the hallway, Julia finds Chris fixing his jacket with Alex standing beside him, her immediate conclusions something she refuses to bring attention to.

“We’ve got a quota waiting in the backrooms” Julia explains, her statement short and simple as she disappears behind the wooden fixture again. With a sigh, Chris turns to Alex and apologizes for having to skip out on their moment. “These guys only come once a month, and they’re the closest thing we have to an external trade partner” Chris explains, his excuse immediately understood as the woman tells him to do what’s asked of him.

With a smile, Chris pulls the woman in for a kiss and departs, the lower levels of the hospital calling for his attention. Ducking into a supply cabinet, Chris shuffles through a few syringes and other liquid injections before returning to his hurried pace, the cafe at the least-ventured depths of the building allowing him to duck inside unseen.

Rattling their metal cages, the prisoners Chris has cooped up like rabid dogs call for his attention, the moment he presents the vials from behind his back bringing a silence upon the room. “Do we have any volunteers?” Chris calls out, a sadistic gleam in his eye presenting over a pin-drop silent cafeteria, the syringes and injections shaking in his hand with glee.

“Me” Clayton’s rough, abused voice calls out, the offering immediately falling upon deaf ears, Chris quick to suggest otherwise. “Anyone other than Clayton?” Chris replies, prompting the starved survivor to slam his hand into his cage, demanding that Chris accept his offering. “Please, kindly eat shit Clayton” Chris responds with a smile, “you don’t get to go with the rest of your friends because I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t trust me to what? Die?” Clayton replies, the unamused reaction on Chris’ face suggesting the imprisoned man’s attempts to be working. “This is the last time I’m going to tell you, Clayton” Chris responds, slowly turning his head back toward the man, the look on his face meaning business, “shut up.”

Staying quiet, Clayton plays nice and allows Chris to go about his work, the syringe-carrying man immediately trying to get enthused once again. “Okay, who’s-” Chris begins to speak, his efforts thwarted by Clayton immediately, the sudden change of heart having been anticipated. “Eat shit, dickhead” Clayton calls back, prompting Chris to gently place his belongings atop one of the cages, his feet turning toward the prisoner’s cage and charging in his direction.

Eyes widening, Clayton prepares himself, eyes on the door’s lock until Chris’ hand is atop it, the eagerness to deliver a beating to the caged animal dissipating the moment he recognizes the man’s reaction. “Come on, dickhead” Clayton growls, Chris’ quick-tempered display of violent intentions fading as he looks into the man’s eyes, attention paid back to the lock.

“I see what you’re doing” Chris replies, letting the lock drop from his hand’s reach, keeping Clayton in his cage, the response immediately bringing an anger over the survivor. “I’m not gonna give you the chance” Chris responds, Clayton immediately looking up and spitting at him, the doctor easily dodging the oncoming wad and returning to his vials. “Come on” Chris exclaims, noting the lack of volunteers and insisting upon choosing himself, “let’s get this show on the road.”

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“Thank you for joining me here today” Jaime exclaims, stood before a massive crowd of people stood at the bottom of city hall’s stairs, Kennedy and Amelia stood in the back to her right, Julia and Chris stood in the back to her left. Beneath the hot summer sun, Jaime begins to address the ongoing concerns the public has already been made aware of.

“Last night's rainstorm has, thankfully, put out enough of the wildfires to regain control of the landscape” Jaime explains, the crowd beginning to applaud, “a control line will be set up to pre-empt any future attempts.” Listing off the growing stockpile of medications and converted gasoline made in-house, Jaime feels a ball begin to form in her stomach, the moment to make her decision quickly approaching with each bullet point list item given.

One by one, talking points are knocked out, the only two that remain being to address Ryan’s current cooperation and the ever-present food crisis she’s bound to oversee. “Ryan Mulaney, unfortunately, is not cooperating as we’d like for him to” Jaime explains, her half-truth at least not a deliberate lie, the final stage to approach being the ultimate decision she’s left with.

“As for our current target of September to find ourselves fully operational once more-” Jaime begins, a brief look into the mass gathering below prompting her most natural choice to present itself, “-I have no reason to believe that deadline will not be fulfilled.” With a smile on their faces, Julia and Chris nod to themselves, a greatly-disappointed Kennedy and Amelia immediately looking toward her with visible ire.

“That is all for now, please return to your civic duties” Jaime concludes, turning back and immediately looking toward the young pair of girls, an apologetic face given to them instantly. “What the fuck was that!?” Kennedy shouts as she follows Jaime into the hollowed halls of the capitol building, her question answered without hesitation from behind. “It was smart, that’s what it was” Julia replies, quickly pointing out that a happy crowd is better to control than one set out for vengeance.

“Graduating med school doesn’t make you a genius- just an uptight ass at best” Kennedy responds to Julia, not another word reserved for her, attention given back to her sister, “what happens when they find out?” Quick to respond, Jaime places her cards in the hands of Chevy and Kayla, faith given that their mission will find itself to be a success. “They won't find out as long as we can replace the food through trade” Jaime explains, her hopes resting on Cody’s end of their bargain.

“Okay, what happens if the city finds out about the shortage before we can agree to that deal?” Amelia replies, Julia’s attempted answer shunned by the younger girl, who tells her to stay quiet. “We tell them that Chevy and Kayla have made a discovery that will lead to the agreement of a trade bargain” Jaime responds, failing to see the irony her younger sister’s side points out immediately.

“So you lie to the people- after promising to be honest- and the answer to being found out is to lie more?” Kennedy replies, stopping her walk in the middle of the hall, her sister, Julia and Chris continuing forward, “you’re a fucking moron.” Stopping in her tracks, Jaime looks back to her younger sister and looks into her eyes, telling her that she has no understanding of what it takes to lead a city.

“You’re a middle schooler that reads bedtime stories with Amelia, not run a fucking government, Ken” Jaime quips, “you don’t know enough to lead people like I do.” Quick to call her sister out, Kennedy responds in a way that silences Jaime where she stands, both Julia and Chris looking at the younger girl with scowls. “I don’t, but they do?” Kennedy replies, her retaliation aimed at the pair of doctors, “the honest truth is, you’re just aggravated the smart decision wasn’t the easy one.”

Raising her finger to her sister, Jaime attempts to speak before finding the words refusing to leave her mouth, a simple shake of her head preceding her retreat. As Julia and Chris follow the woman back to her office, Kennedy and Amelia stand in the passageway of city hall, Lazarus quickly walking past them. “For what it’s worth, I agree with you” Lazarus quips as he steps past Kennedy, stationing himself outside Jaime’s office door and giving the young girl a nod.

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“If the government’s still around, it’s certainly not here” Chevy exclaims, entering a room with a large table, empty chairs left behind at a once well-populated room. “The place smells so fucking bad” Kayla says, her mouth and nose covered with her sleeve, Chevy’s awe keeping him from being too concerned with the putrid stench. “I found something!” one of the convoy mates shouts from within the empty chambers of one of the most secure buildings on the planet.

Hurrying into an ultra-technical room, Chevy and Kayla begin to feel out of place, the highly-advanced machines at their disposal making them feel like they have no right to be there. “Keep an eye out” Chevy directs the men at the forefront of the room, the interior they stand within so big that anyone could appear without having been noticed until now.

“What did you find?” Kayla quickly asks, she and Chevy approaching Ben, who has stationed himself at the command center, reading through a log of orders handed out from the same seat he sits upon. “Project 1172 has backfired, all government officials should seek refuge immediately” the first warning calls out, the log providing a description for only the most-important conversations to be held, all the answers seemingly lying at their fingertips.

“Government aid has been dispersed to major cities at the order of Renegade, await further instructions” Chevy reads aloud, his finger running down the screen in front of him. “Who’s Renegade?” he asks, looking around for an answer, not a single soul able to provide one. With a nod, Chevy takes the silence for what it’s worth and directs Ben to keep reading, nothing unfamiliar being offered until the logs from day three are presented.

“Renegade and family are leaving the White House, in bound on AFO to Cheyenne M.C” Ben reads aloud, the looks on every face changing one by one, beginning to paint the picture out for themselves. “Renegade’s the president?” Kayla mutters aloud first, Chevy quickly turning toward her with a slight worry on his face, his eyes wandering into an empty corner of the room before ordering Ben to continue reading.

“Fires and riots have occurred in Los Angeles, New York and Miami. Total abandonment has begun in D.C, Detroit, Seattle, Denver, Los Angeles, Chicago and Miami” Ben continues, pausing for a moment as he reads the next line internally. “Keep going” Chevy insists, looking back at a hesitant Ben before glancing at the monitor, his eyes beginning to stagger as he reads silently.

“AFO to stop for abrupt medical emergency in Nashville, awaiting word” the next log reads from the same day, not another word offered for the next six days before an update is finally transcribed. “Renegade has fallen, confirmation is made. All government officials are being ordered to depart for Cheyenne immediately” the second to last log reads, preceding the final log that answers the curiosity-laiden concerns that had led them to where they currently occupy.

“International dispute imminent, militant forces are unoperational” Ben begins to read aloud, Chevy’s head dropping as he reads the final line to himself, “cease function.”

“That’s it?” one of the convoy calls out from the back of the room, the relieved, yet defeated Chevy turning around to address him, “it’s over?” The call logs suggesting all they could, Chevy and Kayla’s convoy has its answer, an immediate declaration made from their appointed leader. “Get on the nearest connection to Los Angeles and get me Jaime” Chevy orders, expecting a radio from somewhere within the complex to cut their journey in half.

Falling into a chair, Chevy looks at the plethora of screens afforded to him, one monitor after another lining the walls like the concealed lair of a movie villain. In disbelief, Kayla walks to one wall and tears down the American flag, the once-symbol of freedom now the only remnant of a country that showed cowardice in the face of self-issued adversity.

“The international dispute” Chevy suddenly mutters, his interest beginning to settle elsewhere now that their main objective has been reached, “what international dispute are they talking about?” With a shrug, Ben admits that he doesn’t know how to use the machine before him, only read the text that was already present. “Guys!” a voice shouts from the depths of the bunker, Chevy, Kayla and Ben all quickly arming themselves and hurrying through the halls.

Coming across the source, the trio enter a room filled with televisions, most of which are labeled as news feeds from other countries, over half of whom are blackened out or unresponsive. On the monitors that are still operational, most are occupied in a language foreign to them, the screens of news feeds from Canada to South Africa presenting a dead feed. “That Australian one!” Chevy shouts, his finger pointed at a screen depicting an english broadcast, “raise that volume!”

Fumbling around with the side of the screen, Ben finally engulfs the room in a newscast they can all latch onto, the news they’re offered leaving very little encouragement. “We are still monitoring the ‘death wave’ as the local media is describing it, a global catastrophe sweeping across the globe” the news anchor begins, his description accurately portraying what Chevy, Kayla and company have been referring to as ‘the catalyst.’

“It’s not just here…” Kayla mutters beneath her beath, Chevy quick to approach the television, staring directly into it’s screen before drawing his conclusion, finishing her statement, “...it’s everywhere.”

== Dire ==