S4, E4 | Behind Closed Doors

-> October <-

“May glory befall the Republic,”

Waving in a slight breeze, a bright, red flag waves atop what once stood as Los Angeles’ city hall, but now hosts the regime that looks after a nation of its own creation. Streaming out from a white and black sphere near the flag’s centre, rays of gold streak across the red background in a representation truly unique to that of the republic, giving colour to a day otherwise cast with dark, stormy clouds.

Behind her desk, Jaime sits with a paper in hand, reading a long list of names that stretch from the page’s top to its bottom. Letting a sigh leave her lips, the chancellor leans back in her seat and places the document atop her desk, looking past it to the woman across from her. In silence, Julia stands with her hands to each side, waiting patiently for the woman whose orders she operates on to speak.

“May she stand in spite of those who did her wrong,”

Pushing loose hair behind her ear, Amelia digs her knuckles into the damp rag she runs across a coffee-stained countertop, fighting against the tight, yellow waitress outfit she’s dressed in to get as deep into the issue as needed. With the sound of a bell, her eyes take to the establishment’s entrance, watching a large man with a familiar face enter, not a soul sharing the dining room with them.

“I’ll be right with you” the woman cheerfully remarks, passing the man a smile as she sinks her knuckles further into the rag, squinting her eyes as she grinds into the stain before her vision is cut off behind the weight of a second damp cloth. Struggling, Amelia kicks her feet as the man hoists her off the ground, holding her in the air as he smothers her with the cloth, quickly feeling the tussle cease as she slips into unconsciousness without a set of eyes to notice.

“May glory befall the Republic,”

Departing his counter with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand, Wade makes the trek across his living room and to the nearest window overlooking much of a once-lifeless Los Angeles, now occupied by various people and vehicles. Tucking a granola bar into the pocket of his sweatpants, the man digs his toes into the soft, fur carpet that lines his floors as a satisfied smirk comes over his face.

Surrounding the charred remains of a skyscraper that no longer burns into an abandoned sky, those who’d once looked to the city for refuge in the face of refusal from the republic now occupy its streets, walking amongst the city as if no different from the sovereign nation. Alongside pedestrians, vehicles with the branding of an American flag represent a much different overarching force, one emblazoned with the name of ‘the New Democratic Front’.

“May those she loves never stop singing her song,”

Staring out the window of her room in what once stood as her daughter’s hillside mansion, but now claims the title of the family’s new home, Alex turns her attention away from the dark skies in favour of the distant towers, which shine once more- restored to their former glory. “Are we sight seeing out here?” Chris asks with an approachable smile, his shirtless chest pressing against the woman’s t-shirt clad figure.

With a smile, Alex turns around and presses her lips to those of her boyfriend’s, feeling his arms wrap around her as they look into the distance together. “Just a little bit” the woman whispers, sharing a laugh with the man whose chin nestles into her neck.

“May glory befall the Republic”

The peacekeepers continue to sing, their stowaway bar crowded to near-maximum capacity as their numbers prove to have grown greatly, the souls that surround the cramped corridors singing their song for each other to hear. Still torn by the war that had ripped through many moons prior, the streets they occupy remain barren, still standing as the dark side of the Angelino Republic’s history.

“May justice befall those who smother her name,”

On the porch of his storefront, Cody nods his head toward a small group of armoured militants that step past him, still branding the American flag on their shoulders, whilst their backs sport the white print of the N.D.F. Letting his smile settle a slight amount, the man watches the small gathering continue to walk for a few extra paces before gently taking a swig from his cup of coffee.

Beside him, the republic’s red, white and gold colours fly with pride beside his establishment’s entry, his allegiance not necessary to sacrifice in the face of old world occupation. Rinsing out a glass in a large, wooden bucket just a short distance away, Jasmine tends to her bars’ utensils and platters with a curious look, squinting in Cody’s direction unbeknownst to him, not taking a liking in his demeanour.

“May glory befall the Republic,”

Walking with the rest of her peers, Carly passes what remains of the central LA tower and its burnt exterior, listening to the various voices and roaring engines pass her by. Plastered on windows of buildings they’d not assumed control of just months ago, stickers and markings of the Angelino Republic bare a presence across the entirety of Los Angeles, its influence having spread much like the wildfire that had destroyed much of the city she currently walks in such a short amount of time.

“May those she loves forever love her the same,”

Weak and frail, Clayton’s face drips sweat as he struggles to turn the press a piece of leather is settled into. “Pick up the pace, 436!” a casually-dressed man with a semi-automatic weapon shouts, slapping the man on the back with a stinging force. Groaning and wincing, Clayton falls to his knee, which wears bruises much the same to the ones that appear across his half-naked body, his privates only covered by a pair of dirty boxers.

Pressing his teeth together, the man pushes himself off his knees with all his might and pushes the press forward, compressing the leather with a sigh as he struggles to live yet another day.

“Live or die, fight with pride- she stands tall,”

Sitting in a library, Kennedy’s eyes stretch from one side of a book to the next, reading each line silently in her head as she soaks up each word. Completely alone, the young woman reads at her own discretion, making quick work of the hefty book she sits before, keeping herself aware of what is to come through the decree of what already has.

“Heart beating- no retreat in the face of war,”

“Cut them off” Jaime finally answers, bowing her head in Julia’s direction as she finalises her decision, “every single one of them, I don’t care how many. Whoever’s a part of it, give them enough to survive and that’s it.” Sliding the document across the table, the chancellor relinquishes possession of the list of known peacekeepers back to the woman that approached her with it, remaining assured in her decision of ruling with an iron fist.

“Should I just take them all and give them to the volunteers?” Julia inquires, waiting for a reply that the nonchalant shrug from the chancellor suggests isn’t important. “Do whatever you want with them. Throw them away, burn them, give them out- whatever” Jaime replies, making her only demand toward what’s done with the rations known, “-just don’t give them to the peacekeepers.”

“Glory, Glory to the Republic...”

Hiding in their stowaway, the peacekeepers remain defiant in the face of adversity, not allowing the iron fist that rules them to be left without something durable enough to withstand the blow. Together, they form a community that stands just as defiant as the nation they devote their love to, one that keeps to the shadows to avoid being vilified in the light.

Sharing a seat amidst the sea of dissatisfied citizens, a single couple shares the same sentiment as those that surround them, though they could never risk letting it be known. Her pregnancy not yet beginning to show much, Kayla sits beside her husband, eyes directed toward the man at the very centre of the group, their lips parting to join those around them in bringing the anthem to its conclusion, their agreement with the cause just as hidden as they are.

“...Or may she fall defiant forevermore.”

= 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 =

“This isn’t right, Clark!” a man exclaims from within the cramped corridors of the long-abandoned bar, his devastation resoundingly clear. “Of course it’s not!” the man in questions responds, forced to speak over a chorus of additional voices, all barking for the same attention.

“I understand all of your frustration, but it’s not going to change” Clark explains, the many voices of disapproval making their thoughts clear through collective groans, “Jaime’s made her decision on us, and she’s not changing her tune.” Angry and bitter, the group begins to speculate amongst themselves away from their leader’s ear, individual conversations being had amongst a crowd of others, both similar and dissimilar alike.

“For those of you who haven’t had your rations limited, I ask that you share with the group as we find a solution for this mess” Clark announces, prepared to leave the conversation there before another set of voices call out from the gathering, finishing each other’s thoughts. “We already know how to fix this!” a woman exclaims, the same conclusion she was going to make uttered by a masculine voice on the other side of the room, the answer bringing an agreement amongst them, “we kill her!”

Shaking his head in refusal, Clark waves his hands at the raucous crowd in hopes of settling the hostility, though more than understanding behind its motivation. “And what happens after that, Jared?” the man inquires, calling out to the source of the declaration, “someone else becomes chancellor, follows the same rules she set, and we get the same result with even more blood on our hands and less food on our plate!? Is that what you want!?”

Met with silence and additional sighs of discontent, Clark fans the group away from the scene of their discussion, not wanting anything more to do with the conversation than what he’d already heard. “Everyone go home, come back tomorrow and we’ll speak with a clear head” the man proclaims, lowering his voice to keep his follow-up beneath his breath, “let’s hope that’ll help with the empty stomachs.”

Reaching for a near-empty bottle of scotch, Clark takes a plastic cup in hand as his attention is called for by a much more friendly-sounding man than what he’d been hearing from throughout the day. “You got a second to talk?” Chevy asks aloud, his now-wife standing closely beside. With raised eyebrows, the disgruntled leading voice of the peacekeepers turns himself around and takes a seat near the bar, pouring himself a small cup of booze.

“Yeah, what’s up Chevy?” the man asks exhaustedly, feeling deprived of the energy to even speak with the slightest hint of enthusiasm, a mood the couple takes clear notice of. “Well, I just wanted to know- how did they find out?” the expecting father inquires, both he and Kayla wearing large, black jackets with their hoods halfway over their heads, “it’s not like you guys are running around handing out flyers.”

Sucking on his tongue as the first shot of liquor runs down his throat, Clark hangs his chin low for a moment, staring at the floor as he shuffles through his thoughts, lacking the energy to care much for the reactions his questions result in. “I’m not sure, Chevy- but I’m sure some people talk” the man replies, slowly glancing up to look each side of the pair in the eyes, his suspicion unwavering, “you wouldn’t happen to know who those people are, do you?”

Almost instantly shaking his head whilst dropping his eyes, the man responds in kind. “I already told you, we haven’t talked to Jaime in months. I don’t even think she knows we got married yet” Chevy replies, answering with absolute honesty, “and even if we had said anything, it’d only be a matter of time before some of you would find out. Do you really think I’d bring my pregnant wife here if there was a chance any day could see us beaten with clubs?”

Scoffing, Clark lets out a laugh as he pours himself another drink, the bitter expression of a man just trying to hold himself together continuously trying to poke his way through. “You know damn well she’d make you bring her along regardless. Your wife is one tough bitch” the man grunts, taking down another shot as each face of the couple ahead light up with an agreeable smirk, waiting for the second take-back of booze to hit bottom.

Clearing his throat and wiping his nose, Clark sets his scepticism aside, knowing the pair well enough to drop the inquisitive demeanour of his aside. “I know you two didn’t squeal” he confesses, clearing any suspicion in the air as he glances back toward the larger group, various discussions being shared as many of those who remain do so without anywhere else to go.

“They still not liking you much?” Clark wonders aloud, his glare soon shared by the standing couple, neither of which can deny the truth behind the remark. “It’s bad enough that we’re ‘close’ to her, it’s another thing that we don’t share their outlook” Kayla replies, the details of her confession one finished by her husband. “We’re only here to try and understand you. That’s good enough for them to tolerate us” Chevy quips, “accepting us is an entirely different- unnavigable- road.”

Nodding, Clark smacks his lips as he stands from the stool, taking both the bottle and cup into his hand as he steps around the bar for a second time. “Give acceptance and you’ll get acceptance- that’s how the saying goes, right?” the grizzled peacekeeper replies, discarding of the cup in a plastic bin before returning the bottle to a nearby shelf, “-give understanding, and you’ll get-”

Interrupted before his thought can be finished, a collective hush comes over the closeby group as the bar’s door opens, bathing the largely-dark room with the light of a rainy day, prompting his voice to drop as his eyes widen. “Get down!” Clark hisses, waving his hand in the couple’s direction to shield them behind the bar, protecting the expecting parents he’d initially let into the group to begin with.

Armed with semi-automatic rifles, Jaime’s security detail steps through the parted sea of peacekeepers, the well-outnumbered but superior-supplied militia led by Blake’s command. In silence, the man slowly steps through the room, passing what had once been the dining area and now stands as the centre for the peacekeeper’s operation. “Who is it?” Chevy whispers, holding his wife close whilst whispering to the man standing beside him.

“Your girls’ militia” Clark replies in an equal whisper, staring angrily at the impeding group of men that soon direct their gaze toward his direction. Coming to a standstill, Blake sets his eyes on the man behind the bar whilst the rest of his crew keep their focus on the various revolutionaries, all waiting with bated breath to see how the events unfold- hoping just to live through it.

“Greetings” Blake remarks, speaking to the group whilst only keeping his sights on Clark, feeling the hostility that sits in the empty space between them, “any of you starting to get hungry?” Nostrils flaring, Clark seethes as his hand slips below the counter, a gesture Blake notices but doesn’t care to call out, knowing the man and his large, yet powerless guerillas to be far out-matched.

Returning to the surface with a knife and stone, Clark looks Blake in the eyes as he presses the blade to the rock, running it down the steel’s edge carefully before repeating the process. “I’m here to let you know that it doesn’t have to get to that point” the militia leader remarks, offering an olive branch to those that surround his small army, “you and your families- they can keep their plates full if you help us out with something.”

“We’re not surrendering!” a lone voice calls out from one side of the bar, her fellow rebels split in half by the detail’s appearance, though they stand in agreement as cheers back her decry together. “That’s not what we had in mind” Blake responds, turning to face the woman as he does, offering Clark the opening to get the pair out of dodge. Tapping Chevy with his knee, the peacekeeper’s vocal figure gives them the signal to take themselves out of dodge.

In a sprint, Chevy and Kayla dart out from the barside and hurry into the back of the establishment, ducking into the shadows and bursting through the backdoor in one swoop, leaving whatever altercation lies ahead to fate.

|

“I love what you’ve done with the place” Julia exclaims with feigned glee, sliding her finger down the fibres of the flag that waves upon the store owner’s patio. “What are you doing here?” Cody inquires, pausing the classic flick playing on his tube television as he sets his attention on the curious visitor. “What? Am I not allowed in Lancaster?” the woman asks aloud, stepping through the door much to the man’s displeasure, “I’ve been banned from too many places to keep count.”

With a dissatisfied grimace, Cody pulls himself out of his seat and rounds the counter to approach the visiting woman, suspicious of her intent. Dropping the off-putting humorous facade, Julia takes a plastic bag of gummy bears into her possession and slaps them atop the countertop, “I’m here to make a purchase” she answers, flashing the man a smile as they come eye to eye for a few moments.

Inherently disliking the woman, Cody nods his head and returns to the register, waiting for the other shoe to drop that doesn’t take long to. “I was also interested in seeing if you wanted to make a deal” Julia quips, watching the man get halfway before a sigh leaves his lungs, the head he wears proudly upon his shoulders dropping at the suggestion.

“Oh, don’t be such a diva. We already have one deal on the cards, what’s another one gonna hurt?” Julia wonders aloud, quickly receiving her answer from the disgruntled town overseer. “Because our first one is already bad enough” Cody replies, sliding his hand along the wooden surface as his free palm recollects the package of candy, “and knowing how sick your head is, I already know this one isn’t going to be much better.”

“I’m the sick one? I mean, I don’t disagree- but I’m not the one building a town off slave labour” Julia argues with a cheerful undertone in her voice, one Lancaster’s owner cannot bring himself to match. “No, of course not- you just catch them for me, right?” he responds, watching the pleased expression on the woman’s face drop halfway- still present, though less obvious.

“I need more food and I don’t have the space at the hospital to make it myself. With Jaime getting more from the N.D.F than you already, I figured you could afford to part ways with some” Julia remarks, cutting to the chase in a way that makes Cody wish they’d stuck to their sly banter.

“What makes you think I can do that?” the man genuinely inquires, pressing his hands against the counter as he tosses the plastic-wrapped package back to the woman, “you do realise that I have a town of my own to feed, right?”

“A town built off the back slave labour that- as you pointed out- wouldn’t be possible without me” Julia retorts, a counterargument that immediately finds itself argued against. “And without that slave labour, you wouldn’t have enough drugs to keep your hospital in operation, would you?” Cody replies, immediately hearing the silence of verbal defeat fill the air, “that’s what I thought. You need me just as much as I need you. That’s why this works.”

“Then let’s make it work again” Julia remarks, giving into the truth behind the man’s statement before setting her sights on following through with the reason behind her trip, “I need food, and seeing as Lancaster has sort of become the vacation hub for the republic- you need more room.” Though not much pleased with what’s being said, Cody is incapable of arguing against it, the woman he stands across from not having fed him a single lie throughout the duration of her stay.

“What are you proposing?” Cody inquires, finally giving into the temptation of what’s been offered to him with open ears, the snake that Julia represents having guided his teeth into the forbidden fruit. “I’ll get you more labour and help you expand into Palmdale, and in return- I want a third of the republic’s supply” the woman responds, the deal laid out already favouring Lancaster’s owner inherently, “all I need is food. Stay out of my business and I’ll stay out of yours. Deal?”

Looking to the woman’s hand, Cody thinks quietly to himself as he ponders the potential of what could lie in store, none of what he can picture capable of outweighing the gains he stands to make. As if stripped from the pages of a religious novel itself, the man’s hand finds the refuge of Julia’s own, their terms agreed upon in a morally-bankrupt deal capable of turning heads away.

|

Sat in silence around the dinner table, the Morris family digs into the oven-roasted ham and steamed broccoli that sits atop their plates, not a word spoken from the mouths of mother’s children. “Ken, I’m glad you’re finally reading again- but can we do when we’re not at the table?” Alex requests, watching her daughter read the final few lines as she slowly removes the book from beside her plate.

“And Jaime, can’t you-” she begins to wonder aloud, watching her daughter’s eyes lift from a set of documents without her chin moving a muscle from its direction toward the table, “-well, I can’t really- ugh, nevermind.” With a nod, her eldest daughter returns to the work beside her whilst eyes set upon Kennedy. “You riding solo now?” Alex inquires, watching her daughter pick at what sits on her plate aimlessly, “where’s your reading buddy been?”

“Busy with work” Kennedy answers, shuffling a small piece of ham onto the stem of broccoli before sliding it between her teeth, “but she gave me a list of books to read, so I’m just going in order.” Mid-chew, Alex pauses as the silence resumes once more, their family dinners becoming increasingly less manageable the more life catches up to the new normal she’d been holding out hope for.

“And how about you, Jaime?” Alex inquires, turning her attention away from the youngest and onto the eldest, only half of the grown woman’s attention paid back to her mother, “anything new with work?” Clearly preoccupied with other business, Jaime looks to her mother with uncertainty over what to say, a slight part of her having assumed the answer was already clear.

“Uh, yeah?” the chancellor answers, slowly turning her head to the nearest window, where the once-dark towers shine vibrantly in the midst of a rainy night, “-obviously.” With a slow nod, Alex takes the answer as an indicator that conversation is a luxury hard to come by from at least one side of the table, the other occupied by a girl who wants little to do with the food or family connection.

“How’s Chris?” Kennedy suddenly asks, staring at her mother’s surprised face the moment her question is raised, the change in direction freeing Jaime to return her attention to the reports at hand. “He’s, uh- he’s good” Alex replies, slightly pleased her youngest had taken part in the conversation at all, let alone initiated it, “he’s doing good.”

With a nod, Kennedy presses her fork into another stem of broccoli as her mother asks a question of her own, “why do you ask?” With a loose shrug, the girl begins to make work of what remains on her plate, answering in total honesty. “I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks, that’s all” the girl replies, chewing the vegetable that sits between her teeth before leaving the floor open for her mother to respond.

“Yeah, he’s- uh, he’s trying to give you two some space” Alex admits, splitting her attention between the two girls to each side of her. “Why?” Jaime queries, slicing off a piece of ham whilst continuing to overlook her report, an eyebrow raised as she pulls the fork toward her mouth, “I don’t have a problem with him.”

With a shrug, Alex’s face drifts in Kennedy’s direction, her eldest daughter too preoccupied with the papers beside her to notice the implication her mother had been hinting at. “I don’t have a problem with him, I just-” the youngest daughter begins to argue, defending her stance before realising she doesn’t have much else of a defence, “-I just don’t trust him.”

Taken aback, Alex pulls her head away with a squint, “what?” she wonders back, almost unsure of whether or not her youngest is joking. “It’s just- ugh- his sister’s a fucking brat and he’s just sketchy as fuck” Kennedy replies, quickly lowering her chin when told off for cursing by her mother. “I don’t trust him, mom. That’s it. I said it, that’s that- I don’t trust him” the girl remarks, lowering her utensils to her plate and pulling away from the table, trying eagerly to depart the table.

“Hold on, where are you going!?” Alex exclaims, not having anticipated such an escalation in such quick fashion. “What is she talking about?” the woman turns away, looking to her eldest daughter for insight, realising the explosion of tempers to have been great enough to lure the chancellor’s eyes away from her work. “If you weren’t so preoccupied with having his dick in your mouth, you’d know what I’m talking about!” Kennedy exclaims, offending both women she leaves behind.

“Ken, get the fuck back here!” Jaime shouts, hearing enough to justify stepping in, though she receives as much cooperation as her mother does. “No, I’m done being treated like I’m the idiot here. The two of you have your heads so far up your asses you can’t see what’s right in front of you!” Kennedy refutes, turning her attention to the mother that raised her before finishing her declaration, “if you trust him so much- go tell him to show you what’s in that cafeteria!”

Without as much as another word, Kennedy slams the door shut, locking herself away in the depths of the home as both her sister and mother look at each other at a loss for words. “What the fuck’s gotten into her?” Jaime asks in astonishment, looking back to the girl’s room as Alex shakes her head in as much uncertainty.

Though she rests comfortably in her bed with the ambient sounds of raindrops hitting her window, Alex’s mind stammers around her daughter’s outburst hours after it had occurred, keeping itself too lost in a sea of thought to power down for the night. Earning herself a headache for the trouble, the woman’s body turns toward her side where she reaches for a bottle of pills in the nearby drawer.

Unable to see past the darkness that surrounds each corner of the room, Alex fumbles her hand around the mostly-empty drawer before grazing past a piece of metal, its presence cold to the touch. Finally taking the bottle into her possession, the mother of two thinks to herself quietly for a moment, curiously relieving the bottle from her grasp and relocating her hand to the unaccompanied mystery key.

Her hair dripping wet from the rain that comes down hard over the republic, Alex steps through the doors to the quiet, unoccupied portion of the hospital she’d seldom ever visited, the most recent memory she can recall being the night prior to Jordan’s murder. Walking the halls of the compound, the woman follows its signage toward the cafeteria, Kennedy’s words sticking to the back of her mind as if permanently glued to it, the allure of the unknown that’s fixated her daughter drawing her in.

With the turn of a corner, Alex arrives at her destination, the unassuming doors sitting at the end of a lobby with no one to keep her away, the only thing separating her from seeing what sits behind them being the small key in her hand. The odd feeling in her stomach refusing to go away, the adamant mother steps up to the entrance, pushing her key into the lock and grabbing a hold of the metal handle, a single, unimposing female voice sending shivers down her spine upon calling out.

“Hi, Alex” Julia greets, turning the same corner she had whilst holding her hands to each side, the posture she holds giving her a lean to the side. A small puddle forming just beneath her, Alex stands frozen for a moment, almost as if she were a child caught with her hand buried in the cookie jar. “I said, Hi Alex” the doctor repeats, watching the fearful mother turn back as if having met her match, caught red handed with no way of explaining herself as the woman continues, “can’t sleep?”

== Dire ==