S4, E6 | Smear Campaign

Handcuffed at the wrist, a woman is led out of the rear of a box truck by a large group of armed men, their casual attire differing drastically from the republic’s uniformed garb. Her face concealed behind the cover of a black spit hood, the woman joins a litany of others- most of whom struggle against it- in being sentenced to their undeserved, unrequested imprisonment.

Relenting to the will of those that beckon her toward their intended destination, the woman simply hands her head as she follows the guide that leads her onward, not a word shared between herself and the captor she resides in the control of. Grimacing beneath the hood, the woman reacts to the nails of the man whose hands hold her wrist, still feeling a lingering pain that she’d been forced to cooperate in the wake of.

Barefoot atop the hot, sandy asphalt, the woman is soon led down a small, grassy hill before finally being freed from the autumn, mid-noon sunlight by the shade of a busy, bustling warehouse. “Wake up, Kessler!” a guard exclaims, lashing the back of a man with a leather belt, earning a grunt that far fails to reach the level of response most in such a scenario would bellow, implying it wasn’t the first time his sweat-covered flesh had been assaulted by those that watch over him.

Though she’d initially been able to see the ground in light of the sun making the ground outside too bright not to see even from behind her cloak, the woman is now left in utter darkness, the ground she walks ahead left entirely up to those that hold her captive. “Heads up, people! Keep your fucking heads up!” another man shouts, earning a much louder yelp from a man whose back he lashes to a number of laughs, the small gaggle of armed patrol taking amusement in their display of power.

As machines exercise their designed purpose in the background, the various chambers of suffering she is led through pass by one after the other, none any dissimilar from those she’s blindly navigated, the sounds of horrifying negligence sung like a twisted melody throughout.

Finally reaching the culmination of her journey, a chain around the woman’s waist is tugged at by an extension that soon connects to the degrading belt-like restraint, allowing guards the pleasure of removing the cuffs from her wrists. Red marks worn around the base of her hands, the woman’s arms drop to her sides as the bag is ripped from her head, fully releasing a wave of white light from the overhead bulbs to her delicate eyes.

Pressing her lids shut, the woman turns her head away, looking to the ground as her chin is taken into the hand of her captor, his fingers pressing against each side of her face as he pulls her eyes toward him. Looking at his light brown skin tone, bushy eyebrows, snarled lip and irritated eyes, Alex veers past the strands of dirty hair that falls in her face to see the visage of a man as evil as the surroundings they share, the torture in each direction presented to her incarnate.

“Work” the man orders, not caring to waste any breath he hadn’t already expended before turning way to walk back the way he came, leaving the cut and bruised mother of two to fend for herself. Left only with the machine that sits in front of her, Alex stares blankly at the many cogs without certainty of how to use it. As quickly as her captor left, another arrives, his belt already swinging through the air as he steps through the doorway to the cramped quarters she’d been left in.

“Aargh!” Alex screeches, falling to her knees as her already heavily-scratched back is met with the smooth, leather strap, her defenceless flesh left exposed in all areas aside from the bra and underwear her wardens had provided her with the decency of. “Work!” the large, pasty-white brute of a man exclaims, spit flying from his lip as his hand falls back toward the air on the follow-through of his lashing, ordering the woman to do precisely as he instructed.

“How!?” Alex exclaims, forcefully brought back to her feet by the man’s hand, which wraps around the back of her neck and violently pulls her upright. With his free hand, the man pulls the lid to a machine down upon a trey of medicinal capsules, applying force gradually before the device just refuses to relent any further, this signal allowing him to release his hold of the handle and return the press to its overhead position.

Without warning, the man yanks the plastic tray of freshly-pressed capsules off the machine’s surface and steps back, releasing Alex’s head after holding her face toward his presentation. “Get to work!” the man shouts, again spitting through the air as he walks off, leaving with the platter of pills as the mother is left to fend for herself once more, this time at least aware of what is being demanded of her.

Wincing, the woman struggles to keep herself standing upright as she guides her hand toward a stack of trays just off to the side, each brief movement prompting her to wince in pain. Shaking, the woman’s hand hovers over the tower of platters before finding itself held within the grasp of another, the trembling in the young lady’s hand equally violent and pain-induced.

Momentarily confused, Alex’s eyes lift toward the person that silently calls for her attention without concern, her eyes widening when she realises who stands just beside her. “They’ll kill you if you try anything” Amelia whispers, the look on her heavily-brutalised face one of great relief to finally see a familiar face, though one that comes at significant cost, “-but they’ll keep beating you if you don’t.”

Almost failing to recognise the girl at first, Alex looks at the girl’s right eye, which is beaten into such a discoloured state that it swells shut, her bottom lip puffy and cut, and the side of her face carved by the blade of a knife with an almost surgical accuracy. Feeling her chest grow tight and lungs be deprived of oxygen, the imprisoned mother finds herself starved for words, incapable of truly registering the world she finds herself incapable of escaping.

= 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 =

As his right arm presses into the side of his chair, Chevy’s left hand wields a fork that unenthusiastically pokes at a clump of mashed potatoes. Seated just beside him at one end of the dinner table, Kayla gently wipes at the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin to relieve herself of the barbecue sauce stain that sits in the meeting point between her lips.

“What’s got you guys so quiet?” Jaime queries, wiping the corner of her mouth with the knuckle of her thumb as she places a set of ribs back upon her plate, passing a curious look to the man she sits directly across from. “We haven’t seen each other in months, yet you’ve barely said anything all night” the chancellor remarks, shrugging her shoulders as another scoop of mashed potatoes are taken onto the prongs of her fork, “what gives?”

“We’re sorry, it’s just been a long few weeks” Chevy quickly explains, not wanting to encourage suspicions in the mind of the republic’s foremost voice, “we’ve just been getting into our own heads over the whole ‘baby-situation’ and, well- we haven’t really been ourselves.” From between her teeth, the fork is guided from Jaime’s hand to the side of her plate, a nod coming over her as Kayla remains silent, not something the chancellor is used to, but something she doesn’t question.

“We’ve all got a tendency to do that, don’t we?” Jaime replies, looking back down to her plate as she shakes her head, taking a short sip of wine from her glass before leaning back in her seat. “The world we live in doesn’t exactly make it easy to paint things out as black and white anymore. Hell, it already barely did before the catalyst” the woman continues, disheartened in having to admit what she does, “bringing a baby into it only further complicates things. Don’t worry, I get it.”

His hands folding over the plate that sits before him, Chevy looks at the expression on Jaime’s face slowly fall into disappointment, not one taken from himself or his wife, but something clearly rooted in something she doesn’t speak much of. “Everything alright, Jaime?” the man inquires, watching the woman’s eyes momentarily pass a glance at him as he proceeds with his question, “with how fast everything’s happened with the N.D.F, it’s understandable to take a moment to breathe”

Laughing through her nose, Jaime smirks as her head bows, her dominant hand reaching for the glass of wine once again. “There’s no breathing around here anymore” the woman replies, pausing as she takes down her sip of vintage red varietal, shaking her head as her hands return to the rack of ribs, “not for me, at least.”

“Why not?” Chevy interjects, watching the woman’s eyes take toward him once more, waiting for him to follow through on his counterpoint, “the people have food, you’ve got an organised militia propping up the republic- your biggest threats have all gone the way of the past.” Shaking her head, Jaime returns the dinner to the porcelain plate before her, wiping her fingers off as she leans back in her seat.

“The threats never stop. Never. They only ever get replaced with new ones” Jaime retorts, passing a glance to the luminescent towers just beyond her hillside mansion’s window. “If it’s not the catalyst- it’s the shortage of crops, if it’s not Ryan- it’s someone else, and if it’s not the peacekeepers- it’ll be someone else too.” 

“Woah, hold on” Chevy interrupts, waving his hands in the chancellor’s direction to halt her from progressing, “the peacekeepers are only a threat because you shot one of them dead in broad daylight.” With a bewildered expression, Jaime lowers her chin and shakes her head. “He killed Jordan, who thought I was going to let him live after that?” the woman responds, “if anything, he’s lucky I didn’t drive a knife through his chest before he could even get hooked up to an I.V!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that killing him in front of everyone was what made you an enemy to them” Chevy rebukes, not shying away from confronting a dear friend when it matters most. “I was an enemy long before I even brought Ryan into that dungeon. Again- they shot Jordan” Jaime doubles down, letting her hands fall into her lap, “-and had he not gotten between us, that bullet would’ve come at me.”

Lowering his chin as his eyes drift to the side, the expecting man falls quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts before his wife picks up where he’d left off. “Why did they come after you?” Kayla inquires, quickly becoming the centre of the chancellor’s refocused attention, “before they shot Jordan- and before all of what’s happened since- why did they come after you? Why was hurting you their goal?”

Parting her lips, Jaime pauses before she can allow herself to respond, already privy to the true motivations behind the peacekeeper’s actions. Bowing her head, the woman attempts to silence herself before a set of knocks emerges from the front door to her home, gathering the collective attention of the already-present audience. Departing the dinner table to greet those anxiously waiting for her answer, the chancellor is followed closely behind by her married friends.

Answering hurriedly, Jaime looks to a small grouping of armed security headed by Blake, whose composure is made resoundingly clear in light of Willy’s angry demeanour. “Chancellor, there’s something you need to see” the foremost armed detail remarks, standing at the forefront of his personnel with a rifle draped across his chest.

As time passes, Jaime’s feet collide with asphalt as she joins Chevy and Kayla in climbing out from the backseat of an armoured, black SUV. “Who the fuck was supposed to be standing guard?” the chancellor asks aloud, her lead serviceman the first to speak out. “The building was unoccupied at the time. We had no reason not to send extra units into the bigger city” Blake answers, “I made the call to send troops off into downtown.”

Letting free a sigh, Jaime lowers her head to keep her aggravation qwelled, trusting the man speaking to her to have made the right call- regardless of the outcome it’s left her with. “Do you see now?” the chancellor wonders aloud, stepping ahead of Chevy and Kayla whilst peering to them from over her shoulder, “-do you see now why the peacekeepers are a threat?”

Astonished, Chevy and Kayla join their dear friend in looking out at the front of city hall, its large pillars and marble face stained in a crimson mask, the blood that coats its walls also adorning the many steps that lead to its entrance, though the ascending staircase is made to stand out- the blood it’s splashed with forming the questioned group’s peace-sign symbol.

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“You’re a terrible driver” Kennedy remarks, stepping through the door to her sister’s hillside estate as Julia follows closely behind her, groaning at the young girl’s proclamation. “And you annoy me” the doctor replies, glancing around the empty room she joins the youngest Morris sibling in to find it empty, the cold food that sits atop three plates at the table making it clear that the home was left abruptly.

“Are you good to go for the rest of the night?” Julia inquires, the visible disgust she has for potentially requiring to look after the girl for any longer than she already has, making it clear which answer she hopes for. “You still haven’t answered my question” Kennedy replies, stacking the used plates from the dinner table atop each other before carrying them to the nearest sink.

“Which is?” Julia responds, watching the girl continue to trek from one side of the room to the next, cleaning up after her sister and the unknown company she’d recently shared. “Where’s my mom?” Kennedy repeats, the question drawing an eye roll out of the doctor as she struggles to handle remaining in the same room as the child for even a second longer.

“Ugh. Kennedy, I don’t know” Julia responds, clearly irked by the incessant questioning raised by the young girl, “just stop trying to go into that goddamn cafeteria and you won’t have to see me anymore, alright?” Clearing the unfinished food into the bin whilst waiting for the tap water to heat up, Kennedy flashes the doctor an unassuming smile as she breaks out a bottle of soap.

“I heard you loud and clear” Kennedy replies, taking the soap to the rough side of a sponge as Julia nods her head, pleased enough with the girl’s answer to show herself out. Without another word shared between the two, the doctor steps through the front door whilst the teen girl stands still for a moment, listening to the engine outside roar as the car it belongs to is taken back to the hospital.

Her content expression fading, Kennedy turns off the water and returns the sponge to the side of the sink, her eyebrows furrowing as her unassuming face puts on a scowl. With intent, she marches across the room with a confident pace, taking the headset off the receiver and punching in the only number she’s ever known to heart. Waiting for the ringing to cease in favour of a reply, her eyes take to the empty dining room table, curious as to the company her sister had held.

“You’ve reached Chevy and Kayla. We can’t pick up right now, leave a message” the voices greet, prompting the inspective young woman to reply in kind.

“It’s Kennedy. Have either of you guys seen my mom?” the girl inquires, trusting the expecting couple to provide her with insight neither doctor finds themselves capable of offering. “She wasn’t home when I woke up this morning, and I think she went somewhere last night” Kennedy continues, “she left her phone next to her bed and hasn’t come home since. Chris hasn’t seen her and Julia says she doesn’t know anything, but I don’t trust a word that comes out of her.”

Pulling the headset from her ear, Kennedy prepares to end the call before thinking twice, her hand hovering over the receiver before returning the phone to her ear. “I know we haven’t talked to each other for a little while, and I know you have a lot going on, but it feels like everyone’s pulling away from me” she speaks, a defeated tone taken, “-but you guys are my friends. If you can’t help, that’s okay. I just hope you guys can help me- ‘cause if you can’t, I don’t know who can.”

Slowly, Kennedy sets the phone back to its receiver, her sad eyes falling as she retreats to her room, walking through the mostly-dark hallway on her return to isolation.

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“What the hell was that!?” Chevy shouts, throwing his arms out as he enters the bar from the alleyway alone, looking out at a sea of revolutionaries, all of which peer back at him confused. “What happened?” Clark inquires from behind the bar, sipping on a glass of craft beer as he watches the man angrily stop in the centre of the room. “Don’t give me that ‘what happened’ bullshit!” the man warns, pointing his finger in the older man’s direction, “what’s with the fucking stunt!?”

“Chevy, calm down-” Clark attempts to respond, gesturing for the man to have a seat as he steps around the bar, only for the accusation-flying man to refuse such a request. “No, I will not calm down!” the man shouts, his face beginning to sport a small patch of hair around the length of his face, “you guys are public enemy number one, and pull this shit? What happened to keeping a low profile!?”

“What shit!?” Clark finally shouts back, understanding his lack of ability to cool the man down and instead opting to meet fire with fire in hopes of uncovering the source of his outburst. “The shit you pulled at city hall!” Chevy responds, immediately finding the speaker’s face shrouded with puzzlement. “What shit at city hall!?” the man calls back, stretching his arms out at each side with such speed that a small amount of beer spills over the brim of his glass.

“The pig blood! And that symbol you smeared over the steps!” Chevy shouts back, his brain struggling to catch up to the realisation his mind is slowly coming to. “What the hell are you talking about!? We haven’t left this place all day!” Clark proclaims, watching the invasive gentleman fall quiet as he continues to speak, “we had a town hall run overtime and it just finished twenty minutes ago!”

Falling to his sides, Chevy’s arms join the rest of the man in concession, “you didn’t paint that shit on city hall?” he asks, met with the same refusal he’d received upon arriving. “Whatever the hell you’re on about- we had nothing to do with it!” Clark remarks, his voice slowly coming down from the heights it had shared with the fleece-jacketed man, “besides, where the fuck would we even find pig blood to begin with? We barely have enough booze to hold me over!”

“Well, I’m just assuming it was pig blood. The alternative would leave me with a lot of questions” Chevy admits, “but if it were real blood- y’all are the ones volunteering for the hospital!” 

Placing his glass on the bartop, Clark looks Chevy in the eyes as he closes the distance between them, lowering his voice to a more civilised level. “Chevy, we had nothing to do with whatever you’re talking about” the group’s speaker explains, escorting the man away from the group’s view as they make for the rear of the building to speak in private.

“If you had nothing to do with it, then someone’s out to make you look worse than whatever Jaime already thinks of you” Chevy replies, watching the speaker’s head nod. “Yeah, that’s why we’re walking somewhere quieter than the middle of the damn bar” Clark explains, finally coming to a dark corner of the backroom before continuing the conversation, “now, explain to me what the hell is going on.”

Pulling in a deep breath through his nose, Chevy composes himself before he begins speaking, trying to clarify his thoughts before attempting to put them into words. “Someone splattered some kind of blood all over city hall and painted the steps with the peace sign” the man explains, not saying much that the speaker hadn’t already gathered. 

“So someone’s trying to make us look bad, got it-” Clark replies, shaking his head as he shrugs his shoulders, thinking to himself momentarily before looking his friend in the eyes, “-what’s the big deal?”

Pulling his head back, Chevy looks at the man with confused eyes, struck by surprise at the nonchalant attitude the gentleman takes to the revelation. “What’s the big de- what!?” the man repeats, “someone’s out to make you look bad, what do you mean ‘what’s the big deal’!?”

Unable to do much more than seem less than amused, Clark honestly conveys his thoughts to the concerned visitor. “We’ve been branded as a group of evil, blood-thirsty revolutionaries ever since a sideshow gaggle of idiots that were with us decided to take potshots at the president- or whatever she calls herself now” the man replies, “is any of this really as bad as being known as the group that killed the girl’s boyfriend?”

“He was her fiance, but I see your point” Chevy answers, letting his head fall into the palm of his head as Clark’s hand leads him by the shoulder the way he’d arrived. “Listen- Chevy, I appreciate you looking out for us. But at the end of the day, nothing’s gonna change the fact that we’re the bad guys in that girl’s eyes” Clark explains, deeply angered at having to say such a thing, “you and your misses are welcomed here as spectators only for a reason. You can’t play both sides.”

“I’m not playing both sides, I’m playing the same side’ Chevy responds, eager to correct the man whose breath smells like the high-percentage alcohol beverage he’d just temporarily parted from, “-the only caveat is that neither side realises that they’re supposed to be teammates.” Stepping through the back door, the man looks back at the narrow-eyed Clark as he proceeds to shut the entrance, highly sceptical of the man’s claim, “are you absolutely sure about that?”

“Yes!” Chevy responds without the need to think about it, refusing to believe either side is on the wrong end of the history books. “Everyone in that bar wants a system better than the one before the catalyst. The only thing different between you guys and her is that you disagree on who should be in charge of it” the man continues, again watching the hesitation sprout across the speaker’s face.

“If that were the case, she wouldn’t have tanks in the streets right about now” Clark replies, his claim again running into reluctance. “She’s just as mad about that as you are, but she’s got no other choice” Chevy responds, the doubtful visage across the speaker’s face continuing to show a reluctance toward aligning himself with Chevy’s outlook.

“Even if that were true, she’s settled on letting them make themselves at home in the same place they nearly drove into extinction” the speaker replies, a statement his guest fails to argue against as the door slowly shuts on the dialogue, returning the group to their secluded place of self-questioning and discussion.

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“Sorry for the mess” Jaime greets, stepping through the open door to her city hall office, where she finds Wade sitting in one of the empty seats before her desk. “Yeah, I wasn’t too pleased to see that on my drive in” the man responds, making himself at home with a bottle of the woman’s wine, the glass he wields filled to the rim.

“These peacekeepers you keep talking about- they’re the same people that killed your partner, right?” Wade inquires, crossing one leg over the other as Jaime takes a seat in her chair, pouring herself a glass from the same bottle her visitor had chosen from the nearby rack. “I think so. I’m not really sure who they are or what their hierarchy is, but I know there are more of them than I first thought” Jaime explains, “how many there truly are is the answer to a question I have yet to find.”

“You ought to do so soon then” Wade quickly responds, fixing the silk tie that sits around his neck, uncrossing his legs as he stands from the chair, seemingly uninterested in spending another moment away from his leisurely activities than he already has. “If these guys are going to continue making a mess like this, you’ll find me cooperating a lot less than I already do” he warns, taking another sip from the glass before setting it upon the desk.

“I need to know that- if I’m to maintain Los Angeles as a stable camp to expand inland from- it’s left with a leader that can make sure I don’t have to keep coming back to fix what she doesn’t seem to be capable of fixing herself” he concludes, turning away from the woman to begin his retreat for the door.

“Is that a threat?” Jaime calls out, watching the man bow his head with a smile as he stops in the middle of the doorway, kept from walking off at the sound of her voice. Growing silent, the air between the pair remains tense as the woman steps out from her desk, slowly rounding it to present the man with the same image of the chancellor that has struck cooperation in most of the people that have come across her.

“The NDF may have some things my republic doesn’t, but make no mistake about it- I will blow your goddamn head off if you overstep your boundaries” Jaime replies, watching the smirk deepen as the man takes amusement from her remarks. “No, Jaime- it wasn’t a threat” Wade answers, calling back to the initial question that had prompted her to leave her seat, “it was a warning- if anything.”

Turning around, Wade adjusts his suit jacket as he pats himself off, clarifying his words to leave no error in understanding. “Jaime, I’ve let you stay in charge of this city because you’ve proven yourself to be capable of running it. In times of peril, in times of success- you excel. You’re worth more in that chair than having to find someone else for it would be” the man explains, “but with that said, you’re still there because I allow you to be. Your republic is just a placeholder for mine.”

Clearing his throat, the man steps past the chancellor and makes his way toward the window at the back of the room, continuing to speak as Jaime’s eyes follow him from the front of the room. “Your people will eventually be my people. And when that day comes, I want to make sure they can co-exist without me having to lead public executions to set an example they should already be following by then” Wade remarks, “by that standard, it would be beneficial for you to start setting that example.”

With her chin lowered, Jaime’s eyes press closer together as she watches the man stand before her window, a question lurking in the back of her mind. “And what if I don’t want to give it to you?” the woman inquires, prompting the man to turn his gaze toward her from over his shoulder, “after all- we may not have the manpower that you do- but we don’t need to cross the Pacific in order to regroup like you would.”

Laughing through his nose, Wade’s head bows for a moment before he turns back, heading back for the woman’s direction with a smile. “You know that wouldn’t be a good idea- for you or any of your Angelinos” the man replies, his smirk slowly beginning to fade into a nostril-flaring scowl, “even talking about such a thing is a dangerous game to play, chancellor.”

Without hesitation, Jaime removes a brass jacket from her pocket and the revolver from inside her boot, loading the bullet into the cylinder and letting it spin before meeting the base of her hand. “Dangerous games are the ones I perform best at” the woman replies, tilting the barrel toward the ceiling, “do you want to have a turn at it, or should I?”

Unimpressed but clearly intrigued by the display the woman sports, Wade remains silent and allows the chancellor to make the decision for him. “Fine, I’ll give it a shot or two-” Jaime replies, putting the barrel to her head before pulling the trigger twice, adding a third at the end to the same, empty effect the first two had been met with, “-or three.”

With a chuckle, Wade watches the woman remove the bullet from the weapon and return it to her pocket. “I don’t fear you, Wade. I don’t fear your threats, I don’t fear death, and I certainly don’t fear whatever vision for the future you’ve got in that empty little head of yours” Jaime declares, cutting the distance between herself and the man in half as she inches closer to his face, lowering her voice to a near-whisper, “but if you underestimate me in any way- I’ll give you something to fear.”

Amused, the man bows his head for a moment and nods to himself, refusing to utter another word than what he’d already provided before stepping through the door and returning the way he’d entered, leaving behind the woman and her cosy office. Sliding the gun back into her boot, Jaime watches the man step off into the night as Blake and Willy stand closeby, noticing the humoured expression on the gentleman’s face and the content look on their chancellor’s, her warning issued in full.

== Dire ==