S7, E13 | Turns to Ruin

​Season 7 Finale

“Allow us to take a moment to address the nation” Bristol remarks, seated in the chair her superior had occupied each day since the moment he’d assumed secretive office, her right wrist crossed over her left as they both sit atop the desk. “We have made this communication accessible through all public avenues to ensure all that wish to hear this can do so” she explains, a slight grin coming over her face, “this includes those in Nova Scotia who call this island home.”

From the comfort of their living room, Clint and Nessie stare at the radio sitting at the centre of their kitchen table, the brother gradually working his way through an aluminium can of beer whilst the sister sits by with her eyes glued to a paper map. From a great distance away, Harvey and Katie appear equally captivated as the strangers they share the near-overflowing conference room with, waiting for the clarification they’ve spent over twenty four hours without.

“For the last twenty four hours, Prince Edward Island has been occupied by thousands of residents all looking to voice their disapproval, worries and desires to an entity they’d never before even heard of” the secretary continues, her voice soft and clear, incapable of being misheard through any fault of her own, “we here, inside the capitol building in the ironically-named Charlottetown, not only have heard you, but we implore you to never lose that unified spirit.”

From Juliet’s tavern across the strait, Emilio and Courtney join in with the rest of the public trying to enjoy a night on the town and forget the events of the prior night, listening to the live feed that blares through the various mounted stereos. As opposed to whatever records they could opt to instead put over the air, all operable Nova Scotian radio stations choose to carry out the coverage of their once-connected neighbours’ address, filling the compound’s streets with the enemy’s remarks.

“Our secrecy of operating the island from within the shadows for the last four years, however, has not been by choice. Instead, it was on the command of Nova Scotia- and more notably on the direct order of Charlotte Walters herself- that we not disclose our presence” Bristol confesses, putting on her most well-delivered tone of regret, “the fear of sparking disdain toward the Nova Scotian government through our own stellar competency was a chance she was not keen on taking.”

“Alright, I’m putting it on!” Alicia responds, giving into the request of those on the other end of the phone, stepping out of her son’s bedroom before entering the living room on her own, the man of the house remaining asleep in their bed. Shaking her head from a place of disgruntlement, the mother approaches the chesterfield and reaches for the nearby radio, powering it on with the intent of changing to her preferred station, only to discover the one already on plays her desired feed.

“It is because of this direct order that we have gone until tonight without introducing ourselves, expressing the ideologies and principles in which we rule by, and committing ourselves to serving you, the people of Prince Edward Island” the secretary continues, her lips coloured a dark red, teeth appearing as white as clouds through their parted place, “on behalf of the new Prince Edward Island regime, I’d like to take this opportunity to first introduce myself.”

Hanging up the phone, Lauren redirects her attention to the radio that sits on the coffee table of the home she shares with her husband, whose arm she settles into and cosies up against. With night beginning to settle in, Jack kicks his right leg over that of his left and stares intently at the device across from him, a squint held through exhausted eyes at the speaker projecting the enemy voice into the confines of their home.

“My name is Bristol Saville. I represent the acting leader of Prince Edward Island as the secretary and deputy minister for a head of state that will- as of this moment- officially assume the title of ‘National Sovereign’ to the Nation of Prince Edward” she announces, a pleased smile taking itself to the room’s far left, “I am no more than a woman who’s committed herself to the prosperity of this island- a humble hairdresser who climbed up this government through devotion and loyalty.”

With a squint in her eye, Alicia bows her head toward the carpet at the centre of her living room, unsure of why the woman’s name sounds so familiar to her. Trying not to entertain her confusion beyond the point of listening to the broadcast, the woman tries to place a mental marker in her consideration before focus shifts back to the radio, continuing to play the role of spectator to the decrees from those one strait of water away from her home.

“Internally, the government that oversees the future of Prince Edward will comprise of various officials speaking on behalf of every sector that this new nation will need to assure self-sufficiency” Bristol carries on, a slight change taken to her posture as she shits further upright, “together, we will ensure that those who call this island home are allowed the continued opportunity to control their own destiny, and are provided for by this government what is beyond their control.”

From the small confines of a small residency near central Moncton, Kelsey joins her roommate in staring at the device near the corner of their room, the same feed that fills their quarters with sound being played by the various other radios throughout the building. One after another, rooms of off-duty militant men and women await the words of their rival government, awaiting insight that not even their own leader had dared afford to them.

“Our job is not to regulate what you do- or do not do- with your lives, but rather to look after the things that are not of your responsibilities. In addition to this, we only ask that you continue- as you have for years now- to work with us in making Prince Edward a worthy place of calling home” Bristol explains, her smile only deepening the longer that she speaks, “we wish not to use you as pawns in a much larger game, but to earn the your trust in ways that spark pride in calling this home.”

“Give me a break” Charlotte mutters, allowing the feed to continue undisturbed as she scrolls through the various logs that fill her computer’s screen, aware of what backlash would await her if the order to silence those across the water were given. Having been laying across her lap for the last few minutes unmoved, the chancellor’s free hand lifts toward the machine at the end of her desk and flips it a middle finger, displaying all that she has to offer the entity behind its transmission.

“Furthermore, we would like to inform you now that- if you’ve called Prince Edward home at any time over the last four years- then you are already aware of what our vision for this nation is” Bristol clarifies, trying to reassure those on the other end of her address with whatever can be trusted to alleviate their doubts, “ever since the outbreak began, we have been in charge of policy. Funding for public transportation, renewable tax incentives, and looser small business grants- that was us.”

From the comfort of a home hundreds of kilometres away, Angela sits within an empty home near the end of Rawson Road, making a life for herself in the comfort and relative ease that Cumberland offers her. In spite of her distance, the colony-supported radio transmissions nevertheless stretch throughout the northeastern United States, carrying the signal of a breakaway nation to the various communities depending on the continued survival of their superior northern compound.

“The comforts, benefits, freedoms and care that you have experienced when calling this island home will continue. The lives that you have led- we assure you- will remain uninterrupted” Bristol confirms, gradually sliding her rolling desk chair further out as she readies herself to exit it, “for those across the strait and in greater Nova Scotia, we assure you that your loved ones, properties and belongings will remain safe and undisturbed, awaiting your return and reunion.”

“How long until they call us in?” the eldest McKee sibling inquires, standing around the island of 18 Rawson with his hands pressing against the countertop, eyes taking to the same direction of his brothers. “Don’t even bother asking- I have no idea” Jade replies, her eyes refusing to leave the speaking box that sits halfway between herself and the rest of her family, a look of visible worry and doubt spreading across her face whilst her chin tilts toward her lap.

“There is still much to speak of and plenty of questions to answer, but there is only so much in the way of information that we can provide tonight. Rest assured that, in the coming days, we will offer you more and be as open as possible” Bristol remarks, finally unfurling her hands from around each other as she stands from the chair, “but for the meantime, allow me to introduce you all to the figure officially assuming their rightful place atop this nation as acting national sovereign...”

With a pause, Charlotte’s eyes strip themselves from the computer’s screen and guide their way toward the radio. Crossing her fingers, Courtney bows her head from the tavern’s counter whilst Emilio lifts his head and pulls in a deep breath in eager anticipation. Collectively unsure of which rumours to believe and dismiss, Katie and Harvey clench their fists to the sound of ruffling through the device, signalling the changing of one figure behind the microphone to the next.

“What is it?” Franklin grumbles, wiping at his eyes as his wife hisses for his silence, quickly patting the open seat beside her to direct the man toward it. Holding their breaths, Jack and Lauren collectively await the remarks that will soon write the fate of both their homeland and that of their foes. Unsure of what to expect from their distant communities, the McKee siblings and Angela share the same patience that those up north do, much less writing on the wall for them in Rhode Island.

Taking his seat in the newly-unoccupied chair, the island’s official leader folds their hands together at the base of the microphone, officially adopting the public title of national sovereign with a pleased and accomplished grin. Lips apart, the Prince Edward leader prepares himself for their first official address to the nation, his well-known composure and stoic mask finally revealed for the world to witness first hand through the speech of.

“Good evening. As your national sovereign, I would like to publicly voice my appreciation for your displays over the last twenty four hours and your attention on this historic evening for us all” the leader proclaims, fixing the glasses that sit on his face to ensure their aligned properly, “my name is Andrew Gamble, and prior to the start of the outbreak, I served as a member of this island’s provincial regiment under premier Wade MacLauchlan.”

Pressing her eyelids shut, Charlotte returns her extended middle finger to the rest of her hand as it balls into a fist, angrily slamming at the edge of her desk before coupling together with her right, folding over her lap as she listens into the remainder of the address.

“After the first few days and to ensure the continued safety of her Nova Scotian interests, Charlotte Walters approached my regiment with an offer. That offer was to oversee an island-exclusive government in return for sworn devotion to the original New World Order plan” Gamble confesses, a nod carried as he continues to speak, “I made such an agreement in the name that- one day- we the people of Prince Edward Island would be independent of her selfish and unreasonable conquests.”

With the two nations and all connected colonies listening in, the national sovereign carries on divulging once-classified and highly-secretive laundry for the public to hear, secretly daring the Nova Scotian government to clean it in front of all eyes. “Ever since I assumed quiet control of Prince Edward, most of our resources have been allocated to ensure our continued self-sufficiency independent of Nova Scotia” the autocrat remarks, “I am pleased to say that we have accomplished this task.”

Bitter and frustrated, Charlotte stares at her computer screen for a moment whilst shaking her head, instinctively stepping out of her seat and approaching the far side of her desk, rummaging through a cup full of pens and pencils in search of what resides at the bottom whilst the sovereign speaks.

“In the coming weeks, there will be a brief and noticeable cut back on the amount of energy every resident of the island will be allowed to use. This cutback will be temporary, and last for just a short two weeks” Gamble informs, continuing to portray himself as the voice of the people, addressing their concerns and assuring them of continued peace, “after, we will resume life as per usual with no further disruptions and with the interest of this island- and this island exclusively- in mind.”

“Not under my watch, you miserable bastard” Charlotte grunts, finally retrieving a push pin from the cup and returning to her side of the desk. “And I do assure you that we will have no further disruptions from that point onward” Gamble continues to speak, his collected tone never wavering for even a moment, “Prince Edward has naval superiority over the Nova Scotian government. Their chancellor has no direct route to this island that can be entirely depended upon.”

“We’ll see how well that works out for you soon enough” Charlotte whispers to herself, addressing the sovereign’s claims before tacking a pre-planned route northbound to Newfoundland onto the bulletin board below her wall-mounted clock.

“As far as this island is concerned, we have exactly what was desired for all these years. Nova Scotia’s holds no direct influence over our heads any longer, and with that, we have no reason to further involve ourselves in their business” Gamble continues, painting himself in the most preferable light that he possibly can whilst tearing down the Walters administration from afar, “if any altercation between our two nations were to break out from this moment on, it will be on the hands of them.”

Angrily sliding her chair into the now-unoccupied desk, Charlotte approaches the front of her office and rips the coat from the nearby rack and turns off the lights, venturing into the larger compound in search of the building’s exit. “With that said, we are far from unreasonable people here. Whilst I am not willing to live under the rule of Nova Scotia, I am willing to work alongside it” Gamble admits, a squint in his eye whilst speaking, “I’d be open to starting with a safe passage of travel.”

Frustrated, Charlotte continues marching through the building’s walkways to the sound of her own footsteps, angrily thrusting her arms into the sleeves that flail in with her walk. “There are people stranded on either side of the strait that deserve an opportunity to return to their loved ones and their lives. Who would I be to keep them from that?” Gamble questions, “I have the boats to carry out this chore, and I would be more than happy to offer their services in returning them home.”

Though a few faces take toward her as she passes, Charlotte’s departure from the capitol is left undisturbed, granted the permission to carry on without disruption. “Of course, this would all depend on Mrs. Walters and her cooperation, but I’d like to make it known now that I am more than satisfied with reuniting our peoples with their homelands” Gamble proclaims, “as long as Nova Scotia can negotiate in good faith, I would be over the moon to make such a pledge come to life.”

Through the building’s front exit, Charlotte steps past the armed security that remains paid to stand watch, keeping the building and their government secure as the chancellor disembarks. “Until then, all that I can do is pledge to provide temporary sanctuary for those that this brief conflict has uprooted and displaced” Gamble replies remorsefully, puckering his lips whilst staring at the surface of his desk, “together, we will ride out these brief growing pains as we come into our own.”

Tucking her hands into her pockets, Charlotte approaches the armoured, pitch black S.U.V and makes for its already pre-opened door, her ear caught by a voice calling out from behind her. “I do sincerely apologise- and take full responsibility for- the destruction of the Confederation Bridge yesterday. I regret the pain and trouble it has caused us collectively” Gamble remarks, shaking his head as he looks back to the mic, “but there’s one thing you should know about me above all else...”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Walters?” a nervous voice proclaims, earning the rolled eyes and half-hearted reaction of the chancellor, who notices the youth in the call out’s pitch and turns back toward it. “I am a man that will do anything to secure the peace and prosperity of this nation and its people. I will leave no stone unturned, and I will do as needed to ensure its continued prosperity” Gamble promises, “if there is any threat against my nation or my people... it will be dealt with accordingly.”

*pop. pop pop.*

Stepping back both from fear at what he’d done and from his pistol’s recoil, a young man no older than hid mid-teen’s stares forward with widened eyes, a horror-stricken face carried as shouts emanate throughout the public square. “This is the true, final stand of humanity and its greatest creation... society” Gamble declares, a slight height added to his chin, “the sanctity of its preservation is one that cannot and will not be understated. We, as a collective people, must sustain it.”

*pop*

Pulling the trigger for a final time, the teenager tilts the firearm’s barrel to just below his chin, spilling blood all over the cobblestone passageway that leads to the capitol building’s entrance, taking the motivations behind his actions alongside himself and to the grave. “The New World Order plot is one that I have devoted my life to in ways that my immediate superiors never always understood” Gamble continues to proclaim, “but it is my home, and I will assure its continued existence.”

“Call the police!” the earlier-called driver exclaims, pointing toward the armed militants that hurry forward and barking to them their orders, quickly tearing off his suit jacket and kneeling to the ground. “This devotion stretches beyond the concept of a home free from the suffering that exists beyond our reach. It stretches to you- the people” Gamble vows, another hollow grin paid to the audience through a mic impossible to see through, “you have my eternal promise of indentured servitude.”

Staring blankly at the sky whilst her hands cover one of the three places along her abdomen that bullets have pierced, Charlotte bleeds out at the foot of the vehicle whose only intention was to return home. Faintly gagging on the taste of her own blood, the chancellor lays dying at the feet of her driver, worked upon by amateur hands incapable of caring for her in the ways only a doctor could, unable to catch more than a faint breath at a time whilst her compound enters its next phase of life.

“That is all for now. You will hear more from me as the days continue, so until then...” Gamble concludes, taking a pause before offering the barrier between himself and the populous that he speaks to, his smile suddenly taking on a fiendish and self-pleasing grin, one that’s accompanied by satisfied eyes and a gratified sigh, “...thank you, and goodnight.”

= Rise is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and the entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 3 onwards =

“How long until word spreads!?” Courtney exclaims, marching through the sectioned-off of Moncton’s hospital whilst speaking with a doctor, Emilio’s footsteps lagging a few metres behind as he tries to remain mum. “Word’s already getting out, Courtney. Shots were fired at the capitol building- that’s not something people just don’t notice” the chancellor’s paid driver replies, hurrying after the doctor and his superior’s right hand woman.

“I’m sorry, but we need to work on a plan to address the public now” a large black man in dark blue camouflage remarks, trailing a few metres behind Emilio as he calls out, hurrying to catch up to the travelling group. “Well go work one out with the next in command then!” Courtney shouts back, her fists clenched whilst continuing to walk onward, the rest of her group- minus the well suited militant all the way in the back- continuing to follow suit.

“Charlotte doesn’t have an appointed successor, Courtney!” the tall gentleman near the back calls out, stopping halfway through the hall, “the closest thing we have to a next-in-line is you!” Turning back, the paramotorist stares beyond those that hurry after her, staring back to the man in silence for a moment before glancing back to her business partner, her finger pointing toward him, “Emilio, go with Isaac and prepare a public statement.”

“Me?” Emilio inquires, having stopped at the sight of the woman’s turn around, hand pressing against his own chest as he takes a look back to the suited gentleman awaiting further instruction. “Courtney, I really think that you should-” Isaac corrects, hands held out toward her direction before his proclamation is interrupted, refused by the apparent acting chancellor.

“If I’m the closest thing that you’ve got to a direct superior, then do as I say until Charlotte wakes up” Courtney rebukes, waving the man off before turning her sights toward Emilio, “whatever you think is the best thing to say- say it. We’ll figure out how to clean up the loose ends later, alright?”

“Are you absolutely positive that you want me making a statement on the compound’s behalf?” Emilio questions, wanting to make certain the woman has her wits about her. “I’m not sure of many things right now, Em... But if there’s anything that I am sure of, it’s that I trust you” Courtney reassures, passing the man a nod amidst a brief pause before jutting her chin toward Isaac’s direction, “Isaac- you’re to do exactly as Emilio says. Now, Em’- go. I need this from you right now, alright?”

With a noticeable huff of air, the former politician shrugs his shoulders and extends his arms, “alright, I guess” he murmurs before turning away, jogging for Isaac’s side as he prepares to venture off toward higher placement. “Alright, doc- give it to me straight” Courtney remarks, returning to her prior intent of hurrying for the chancellor’s bedside, the nurse following along as the driver, who still stands in a blood-stained white button up, pauses for a moment to collect himself.

“Her injuries are severe and there’s no dancing around that. She’s in surgery now and we’re not going to know until after the operation has concluded” the nurse explains, aiding the right hand woman closer toward the chancellor’s dedicated wing of the building. “We’ll have her on life support even after the doctors have closed her up, and we have no clue when she’d come off of that” the medical professional continues, “that’s not even accounting for the possibility that she doesn’t survive.”

“But she was alive when she was brought in, right?” Courtney inquires, a nod from the nurse quelling her immediate concerns before the more detailed reply can be voiced. “Well yes. She had a heartbeat and her pulse was faint- but it was there” the woman in scrubs responds, eventually joining the driver and his new immediate superior for the moment in standing beside the operating room window, “and the lines on that monitor across the room indicate she’s not dead yet.”

“But even with that, Ms. Golden is the current chancellor, yes?” the driver inquires, watching the confused look on the nurse’s face meet him. “I- um... It seems so from what the tall black guy said back there?” the nurse responds, looking at Courtney for reassurance, only to be met with the side of the woman’s face, the once-paramotorist now finding her superior and dear friend strapped to a table, helpless to fend for herself as machines and scalpels now prevent her from death.

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“Alright, that’s not entirely what I was expecting to hear” Katie mutters, walking just two steps ahead of her colleague as they venture through the now bustling decoy workplace in search of more secluded corners. “Gamble’s not one to use scare tactics against the public. If he thinks they’re better off being fed lies, he’ll conjure up whatever feel good tale he needs to keep the peace” Harvey responds, passing a few looks to the various suited figures that they pass together.

“Sure, but how can we be positive that he’s not going to go for the throat in Nova Scotia?” Katie inquires, her love interest inspecting the strangers they pass whilst she peers into doorways they carry themselves onward from, “won’t they be looking for any way to bring us back into the fold?”

“Of course they will. The only issue for them is that- like Gamble said- we’ve got the boats, we’ve clogged the roads northbound to Newfoundland, and the bridge is gone” Harvey responds, a shrug carried in his suit jacket-laden shoulders whilst his hands swing at each side, “they’ve got no immediate way onto the island and boats don’t just fall out of the sky. It’ll take a year for them to rebuild their fleet to an acceptable standard for an offensive at least.”

“And what about Newfoundland?” Katie queries, eventually catching sight of an LED-lit sign hung from one of the metal fixtures along the ceiling, the illuminated text giving them clear guidance toward the temporary residences. “I know we’ve plugged up the roads northbound and they’ll still need a boat to cross the Gulf of St. Lawrence-” she remarks, taking her crush by the hand and leading him around a nearby corner, “but they still don’t need much naval power to just make landfall.”

“True, but then it becomes a war of attrition” Harvey responds, feeling the tug at his hand and allowing the woman’s pull to lead him as if his wrist were a leash, “we’d be able to feed more reinforcements onto Newfoundland a lot quicker than they’d be able to send troops over the Gulf.”

“Well, they’d still have the option of making landfall on Prince Edward if the Newfoundland route doesn’t appear truly viable” Katie responds, playing the devil’s advocate in the favour of Nova Scotia in order for her partner to flesh out the island’s defence. “Of course they would, but then it’d be an outright bloodbath. At that point, there’d be too many people dead and too much carnage for the journey to be worth it” Harvey retorts, “and without a bridge, what’s the point of reclamation?”

“How can you ask that when there was no point in keeping us around to begin with?” Katie questions aloud, passing a glance to the man as they continue strolling, “we were more of a net-negative for their bottom line than anything else.”

“Because Nova Scotia’s all about influence. It’s the same reason they wrecked nearly ever refinery throughout the northeast before crafting the colony system” Harvey answers, passing a smile and nod to another man that they collectively walk past, “having Prince Edward Island as a separate entity- with access to massive ships and with a refinery of their own- threatens their ability to support new colonies or hold onto existing ones.”

“Then if it’s about influence, only one of two options occurs-” Katie rebukes, stepping up to a closed door and jostling the handle, “-Gamble doesn’t look to start or take colonies and they leave us alone, or he does and Nova Scotia fights to the death to get rid of us.” Refused entry, the woman steps away from the locked door and returns to their journey in search of accepted entry.

“Pretty much” Harvey assures, following the woman’s lead and patiently waiting for her to come across a door that’s not locked from within. “So, now the focus turns to whether or not Gamble thinks they’ll make a run at Newfoundland or the island itself” Katie proclaims, finally jostling a doorknob that allows her to push the door inward, allowing her face to be touched by the warmth of a pre-heated room freshly made and ready to be occupied.

“Since Gamble will look to establish colonies like Orleans Island for both external support and additional industrial production... yeah” Harvey answers, sliding his jacket off, locking the room’s door, and immediately making for a chair in the corner. “And which do you think we’ll be sent to look after?” Katie wonders aloud, eyes taking toward a mini fridge off to the room’s side, “we just came back from Newfoundland, so I’d imagine we’ll be sent there.”

“If we were sent back here, I have high doubts that we’ll be heading back to Newfoundland” Harvey counters, watching the woman sift through a few pre-packaged goods before her knuckles finally graze a set of aluminium cans. “The people he kept up north are probably much better equipped at fighting than either of us are” the once-lawyer explains as his partner retrieves a pair of beers, “to keep that place as secure as possible, Gamble will send only the best up north.”

“Well, I’d imagine home soil would be far easier to defend with limited resources than Newfoundland would” Katie responds, thrusting her hip into the fridge’s door before approaching her colleague with one of the beers, handing it off before taking a seat upon his lap, “it’d be interesting to find out just how much he’ll have to send up there going forward just to keep the place running.”

“The summer months and warmer weather will certainly help with that” Harvey answers, adjusting himself in his seat to make his lap more comfortable for the woman, “they’ll harvest whatever they can plant- if anything at all- and have shipped to them whatever they can’t.”

“I suppose it’ll just be worthwhile as long as-” Katie begins to reply, her train of thought stumped by the sound of a speaker turning on just beyond the boundary of their door, made operable beyond the awareness of those calling the decoy office a temporary sanctuary. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your national sovereign” Gamble remarks, speaking from an off-campus location and through a P.A system connected to the building.

“I have been informed that a great number of you have sought shelter from the ongoing protests in our office. So, if I may please have a moment of your time?” the sovereign questions, unable to view whether or not his remarks are being responded to. One after another, the doors to various rooms gently pull open, allowing the inhabitants of each retreat entry to the hallway alongside each other, their ears catching the sound much clearer.

“I am en route to the decoy building as I speak. If I may, I would like to invite all of our critical-ranking officers and servants to a brief meeting that can only be had in person” Gamble proclaims, his words catching the ears of both Harvey and Katie, who step into the doorway and stare into the distance of wherever the voice sounds most resounding, “those of you deemed critical ranking officers and servants of interest are in possession of a black, government-issued payment card.”

Passing a glance to each other, Harvey and Katie look on with confusion as they await further information, only to receive the most borderline-uninformative proclamation they can picture. “I will be able to say more when I arrive on the premises, but until then I’d appreciate it if you were to all make your way to the intelligence floor” Gamble explains, preparing to depart the mic in favour of sitting through the long journey, “look for those in blue shirts and grey ties for direction.”

Voicing his appreciation, the sound of Gamble’s hollow tone falls silent as the hallway begins filling with subdued chatter, distinctive quandaries shared amongst each other that the visiting couple takes no interest in sitting through. “Let’s go” Harvey remarks, taking a sip from his beer as he steps through the door, his partner closing and locking it on her way through with a key in hand, following the man’s lead further into the building she still struggles to understand the layout of.

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“Jesus” Emilio whispers to himself, staring out at the windows just beyond the reinforced vehicle he sits in the back of, sharing the rear seats with the cautious and readied Isaac. “This is what happens when the public isn’t kept informed” the bodyguard remarks, watching a sea of faces pass through the windows as the vehicle slowly rolls toward the entrance of the Moncton capitol building, “they come to the feet of the government looking for whatever information they can make sense of.”

“Maybe if the whole of you were more competent at keeping them informed ever- they wouldn’t make a habit out of this” Emilio chirps back, getting feisty with the guard tasked with assuring his own safety. “The public is told of what they’re meant to hear. If something that can be spilled will hurt us or them, we keep the cup from tipping over” Isaac responds, staunchly defending the practises of his homeland, “it affords us breathing room and lets them sleep soundly at night. No harm done.”

“Your chancellor is currently on the doorstep of death as you say that...” Emilio quickly rebuttals, being met with a silent acknowledgement of accuracy from the man he sits beside amidst the pause he follows with, “...that’s a lot of harm done.”

Stepping through the crowd, Emilio and Isaac exit the armoured vehicle and begin stepping through the split in the middle of the populous, making for the capitol’s entrance with one destination in mind. “The best course of action we can take is to be vague and non-direct” Isaac remarks, following the man he’s suddenly been made a subordinate to through the halls of the converted city hall, “we don’t know anything definitely, and pretending like we do will make matters worse.”

“You say that as if it can get any worse now that the people are willing to take a gun toward their leader” Emilio replies, hesitant to buy too much into the remarks paid toward him by his armed security detail. “My best advice would be to stray from saying anything concrete. We know little more about the assassin and his motivations than we do about the chancellor’s condition” Isaac explains, “summarise it down by saying the chancellor is in surgery and the assassin is dead.”

“Alright, what do you suggest I say about the things Gamble spoke about in his address last night?” Emilio questions aloud, turning halfway down a nondescript corridor to look back at the man in his shadow. “Nothing” Isaac answers honestly, his head pulling back a slight amount before speaking, “you’re not the chancellor. The only reason you’re here is to fill the responsibility of Courtney in making an address to the public. You should not even mention that man.”

“I feel like Courtney would argue otherwise” Emilio replies, stepping forward slightly to close the distance between himself and his shadow, “if I remember correctly, she insisted that I say exactly what felt best to say. If I didn’t bring up Gamble when I felt that I should, would you not argue that I’d be disobeying the orders of my acting chancellor?”

With a curling lip, Isaac stares at the floor with a grimace for a moment as he goes silent, not yet answering the inquiry of the man he believes has undeservedly usurped him en route to claiming superiority. “I hardly see a reason for why- even if it felt right to address Gamble’s concerns- you should follow through in doing so...” the security detail replies, stopping himself for a moment as he attempts to end his remark, having to bite his tongue and swallow his pride to do so, “...sir.”

For a moment, the glorified messenger inspects the disgusted serviceman’s posture, reading the dissatisfaction in his cadence and body language before nodding to himself. Satisfied with the honest answer he’d received, Emilio turns back for the direction he’d initially begun heading, carrying himself further into the capitol building before reaching his intended destination.

“Our secretary is just outside in the event that you need guidance in setting up a direct feed to the public” Isaac explains, standing in the doorway with his hands folded behind his back, “I’d imagine you’ve never used a system like this before, so I’ve already sent her to reclaim the equipment from storage.”

“I’m partly surprised she didn’t already have it set up after the first wave showed up outside this place” Emilio half-heartedly quips, reaching into his pocket for the buzzing device calling for his attention. “Hello?” he inquires, pressing the cell phone to the side of his head and listening to the background noise of loud footsteps that initially greet him.

“Hey, Em’ You haven’t gone on the air yet, have you?” Courtney inquires, calling from the hallways of the closest hospital as she wanders throughout them. “No, I just got into Charlotte’s office” Emilio responds, taking a glance at the man respectfully keeping silent in the office’s doorway, “why? Is there any update on Charlotte?”

“No, she’s still in surgery. I just needed to get out of there real quick to make this call” Courtney responds, stepping through a set of double doors and into the outside of the building, finally feeling the satisfaction of fresh air collide with her face, “give me a second so I can call you back, alright?”

“Sure” Emilio replies, immediately hearing the other line disconnect from the call as he answers, prompting him to return the small device to his pocket. “Was that Courtney?” Isaac inquires, watching his confused superior nod approvingly toward his direction. “Yeah, she said she was gonna call me back, but she didn’t say when-” the messenger replies, interrupted by the ringing of the chancellor’s phone.

“Hello?” Emilio inquires, picking up the handset device and pressing the speaker button, allowing the security detail and friendly secretary that just now enters the room to overhear the call. “Hey, it’s still Courtney” the woman replies, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead as she steps into an adjacent parking garage, the light breeze that rolls over Nova Scotia cooling her sweat-covered face.

“Listen. After you left, I came to the realisation that I ought to have a contingency plan in case Charlotte doesn’t pull through here” Courtney confesses, taking the hand away from her face and placing it upon her hip, “whether it be long-term or just temporary, I really shouldn’t be the person that fills in as chancellor.”

“You’ve just got nerves, Court’. It’s a big change that you weren’t expecting, but-” Emilio interjects, trying to quell the woman’s doubts before they fully present themselves. “No, it’s not just a change that concerns me. This has nothing to do with nerves or doubts or anything of the sort, alright?” Courtney interrupts for herself, staring out at the sky that refuses to light for another few hours, “for a few hours when nothing’s happening, I can handle just sitting in. But not for this.”

Staying silent on the other end of the line, Emilio takes note of the woman’s tone and her delivery of the confession, a deep-rooted part of him recognising her cadence as one of outright sincerity. “Courtney, you alone will not be responsible for every decision that’s to be made in Nova Scotia” Isaac interjects, trying to speak the woman down from the predetermined place in which she’s position herself, enthralled with doubt and refusal, “you’ll have a vast supporting cast to aid-”

“Isaac, the only reason I’m even acting as chancellor right now is because I’m close to Charlotte and she’s too stubborn to consider herself anything less than invincible” Courtney rebukes, refusing herself more credit than she believes herself to be due, “even with training wheels on, I’m nowhere close to being ready to take over a community at the starting line of war.”

“We don’t necessarily have to be at the start of war, Courtney” Emilio corrects, his subtle redirection of the conversation giving the paramotorist a chance to take a hopeful breath. “Since Charlotte’s not very realistic with her mortality, there’s a fairly decent chance she doesn’t actually make it out alive from this” the messenger doubles down, shaking his head as he stares toward the phone, “if she doesn’t pull through, there’s not much of a reason to keep this stupid war going.”

“Sure, but Charlotte’s survived stuff like this before. For crying out loud, you and your group had shot her multiple times and she’s still here to tell the tale” Courtney retorts, staring at the shadow cast along the ground from the spotlight she stands in the glow of, “if we play nice with Gamble and Charlotte comes back to reclaim control, it won’t matter what ground we start building with them... She’ll start fires just to warm her hands.”

Bowing his head, Emilio falls quiet yet again as Isaac and the yet-unintroduced secretary watch on, allowing the woman to rummage through her mind for additional speech to provide. “If you want the mantle, go ahead and take it. If you know someone else that can lead Nova Scotia, go ahead and call them” Courtney tacks on, the speaker her voice is carried through re-earning her friend’s gaze, “just do me a favour and- in whatever way that you feel is best- find someone else to be chancellor.”

|

“It should be the first door on your right” a woman with a blue shirt and delicate smile remarks, pointing down a stretch of hallway so clean that it appears never-before traversed, only two doors lining its walls- both on the right of whomever travels down its length. “Thank you” Katie responds, taking the lead that her colleague follows after, noticing how odd the configuration of the corridor appears to be.

To her left, rows of paintings reside beneath fixed lamps raining a cascade of light amongst the various pieces, all serving as decorations amongst an otherwise lifeless, white-painted drywall. Nearly twenty metres down the hallway, a second door from the one that appears closest to the officials resides at the passageway’s opposite end, its exterior guarded by a pair of men with automatic rifles held across their chests.

“They don’t look friendly” Katie murmurs, her voice just loud enough for the man behind her to overhear, “if the walls weren’t so shiny and clean, I’d be turning back before I even opened that damned door.”

“He’d take notice of our absence” Harvey assures, kicking up his pace until stepping ahead of the woman he now walks in front of, serving as a divider between her and the soldiers opposite them. “The best thing we can do when we get in there is to keep our heads down and not step on toes” the man explains, reaching for the doorknob before pausing, finishing his thought prior to opening the entrance, “blending in with whoever’s inside there is the best play we can make.”

“Sure it is” Katie replies with a hint of sarcasm, her playfully dismissive visage quietly called into question by the stare she receives from her acquaintance. “Oh come on, you know just as well as I do that nothing is for certain with Gamble” the woman confesses, letting out a sigh as she awaits the door’s opening, “as obvious as any choice seems, there’s nothing we can be comfortable betting the house on when it comes to that guy.”

With a frown, Harvey nods disappointingly before pulling the room’s entrance open, the first to step inside. Appearing more like the immediate pathway through a movie theatre, the dark room the couple enter is lit by only an ascending row of wall-mounted lights, illustrating the late-80’s era patterned carpet that the pair walk along and nothing more.

Stuffy and cramped, the walkway the high-ranking officers of the newly-independent island soon find their faces flushed with a shade of light, a large screen at the front of the room presenting nothing but a blank, white canvas. “It’s a movie theatre?” Katie whispers from a place of genuine surprise, staring out at a row of chairs that stretch from one end of the tunnel they’d just ventured through to the other.

“Apparently so” Harvey responds, passing a glance to the front of the room before staring up at the end of it, finding an empty stage once used by ushers to gesture the audience’s silencing of phones from. “Come on” he says in a hush, catching the sight of an empty pair of seats in the lower level of seats, guiding the younger woman’s following toward the open space.

For a few minutes, the pair keep to themselves, staring into the screen whose blank picture bathes the entire theatre in light or taking in the view of various faces as clueless to what’s unfolding as they are. After a few further minutes, some restless few survivors begin stepping out of their seats and walking over to others, searching for familiar faces from the crowd to converse with.

“If Gamble doesn’t hurry soon, he might just lose everyone’s attention” Katie jokes, trying to shed humour upon the impatient souls amongst them and their variety of attempts at mingling with each other. Less than receptive to the amusement of such a quip, Harvey replies with honesty and stoicism, “Gamble knows no such thing...” he rebukes, a cautious reservation beginning to solidify deep within himself, “...he’s either the centre of the attention, or he’s nowhere to be found.”

Taken aback by the sudden seriousness within her crush’s tone, Katie stares at the side of the man’s face as he stares forward, gently rubbing the burns on his forearm beyond his rolled-up sleeve, awaiting the presence of the man whose call is responsible for putting it there. Within seconds, the luminous white void on the screen falls into absolute darkness, shaded the tone of grey only a powered-down screen would present as the chatter amongst those in the room falls silent.

For a few seconds, the darkness remains uninterrupted, every voice that had quietly been shared amongst each other ceasing entirely as the crowd awaits the arrival of the man they’d been intended to await. “Do you have a gun on you?” Katie whispers, watching the man’s eye take toward her from within its corner, his head shaking in refusal, “no” Harvey responds, eyes taking back to the front of the room as the tension builds.

For another two minutes, the room remains dark and void of even the slightest peep, those in attendance being more than well aware that caution is to be taken with any action that is to be taken. In a moment, the pitch black nothingness that comes over the theatre is replaced by the visual of a hillside in the rural area of Prince Edward, a live feed fed onto the screen of twenty five men in uniform kneeling in the middle of the plains with bags over their heads from far away.

“Thank you for joining me this evening, ladies and gentlemen” Gamble remarks, entering the video’s frame from the far-left and approaching the centre, “I’d first like to offer my apologies in the event that it was thought I’d be arriving at the decoy office personally.”

With a revolver in his hand, the national sovereign speaks into the microphone subtly taped to his bare chest as he casually strolls across the grassy field, his empty right hand resting behind his back. “I understand that there are plenty of you who are fearful of our immediate future as a nation” Gamble explains, continuing to slowly approach the halfway point of the screen with his eyes toward the ground, unaware of what kind of reaction his presentation earns from those he cannot see.

“You have good reason to be. It is within our human nature to be sceptical of change. It is well warranted to dread the unknown” the sovereign confesses, stepping past the litany of knelt servicemen that occupy the row he walks along. “I don’t take personally the doubts and misapprehensions you hold, and I’d like that to be made resoundingly evident” he reassures, stopping in his tracks to take a momentary glance at the row of captives, “active opposition, however, is different.”

Continuing his measly pace onward, Gamble lets his silence persist amidst the crowded theatre, taking a glance toward the camera he stands before and side-eyeing the screen beside it and an assortment of standing floodlights, the picture displayed mirroring that of what is visible from the confines of the office’s exclusive theatre. “Is he about to kill them?” Katie whispers to the man seated beside her, his silent gaze toward the scene that unfolds refusing her a response.

“The men that you see behind me are all guilty of the same crime” the sovereign proclaims, finally standing halfway between the group, thirteen prisoners of war kneeling to his right side whilst twelve kneel to his left. “As high-ranking officials of Prince Edward, those of you watching together are tasked with securing the sanctity and continued operation of its national government” Gamble warns, aiming the revolver’s barrel toward the camera, “that is your top-most duty.”

Pressing the palms of her hands into the sides of her chair, Katie stares intently at the screen with the same reserved demeanour as her partner, waiting to see what the national sovereign desires they witness. “I ask you all to lead by example. If you are incapable of doing so in a way that best represents the value of Prince Edward, that will not be tolerated” Gamble declares, extending his non-dominant hand toward the lineup, “neither will active participation in opposing practices.”

Returning his extended arm toward that on his dominant side, Gamble unloads all but one of the cylinders from his firearm, spinning it recklessly before violently returning the chambers toward the weapon, allowing fate to decide where the brass jacket resides. “The men behind me acted upon Charlotte Walters’ orders to prevent me from returning to Prince Edward prior to the Confederation Bridge’s demolition” the sovereign proclaims, “they have been found guilty of such opposing practices.”

“This is sick” Katie mutters to herself, her words only caught by the ear of the man seated beside her, his wide eyes taking to the side in which she resides and finger lifting toward his parted lips. “Shh” Harvey hisses, trying to quietly urge the woman’s apparent compliance in whatever demonstration is to be held, “you don’t want to be in the same position as those guys out there, do you?” he queries, the question itself getting the man’s point across with ease.

“However, human lives are incredibly valuable when you’re at war. And when we’re discussing the lives of enemy-affiliates, that is especially true” Gamble quips, extending his arms toward the camera as he wields the firearm, directing its barrel at the closest head to his left, “as unfortunate as it is, there are some circumstances where it is not strategically-beneficial to extend an adequate form of justice to our enemies of the state.”

Quiet and long-withdrawn from the conversations they’d initially spent the lead-up to their sovereign’s arrival, the theatre of high-ranking officials await the display in which their leader is keen on displaying, eager to see the outcome of what appears to be on the verge of unfolding. “Twenty five men and women were caught trying to retreat into Prince Edward for sanctuary after committing such a crime of opposition-” Gamble proclaims, “-four of them will not leave this field.”

Nostrils flaring, Katie’s blood boils as she subdues her hatred for this scene, aware of the violent nature concealed behind Gamble’s public persona. Though she’d existed within the same compound as the man prior to tonight, his genuinely blackened soul and power-thirsting disposition brings a vehement sickness over her. Though his true intentions are more than obvious to her, the young woman’s awareness of the sovereign’s malicious truth is unnoticed by the oblivious public.

“The twenty one that remain will do work in the fields as slave labour. Some may be found worthwhile to negotiate for on the behalf of Nova Scotia’s leadership, whilst others may spend their dying days providing for the nation of Prince Edward” Gamble confesses, a shrug carrying over himself as he pulls his firearm’s trigger, “either way... they will serve this nation whilst on its soil” he concludes to the lack of a gunshot.

“You may ask yourself why I’d keep twenty one around and not the entire field as a whole, and that’s more than understandable to ask” the national sovereign beckons, a smirk carried over his visage as he takes the barrel toward the next captive. Struggling to prevent herself from wincing at the dreaded sight of the man she grows to loathe more with each passing second, Katie prepares herself with each lift of the revolver to see a man’s life end, aware that it is bound to come.

“When the lucky few who Nova Scotia traded for return to their homeland, they will carry with them the stories of what they experienced whilst in enemy territory” Gamble calls out, again pulling the trigger to no success, another soul saved by fate’s interference, “and when they do tell their tale to those in charge, I’d like whomever is in charge to know what kind of person they are up against.”

Redirecting the weapon’s barrel, Gamble stares at the cloaked figure and lets the weapon rest in his hand, taking aim at the Nova Scotian pilot whose body tenses as the mechanisms ring, informing him that his fate is the next to be tested. “Negotiating and free labour is not the only valuable commodity” the sovereign proclaims, placing his finger against the trigger once more, “it’s about sending a message that this is what awaits the leadership of Nova Scotia.”

|

“She’s standing by her friend’s side and waiting to know if she’s going to live or die. She’s clearly not thinking this the whole way through” Isaac argues, standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. “She’s never served as chancellor before” the woman seated across from the side of the desk Charlotte once assumed replies, “aside from her friendship with Charlotte, the only reason we’ve deemed her to be a suitable replacement is because she’s the chancellor’s right hand.”

“That makes her more well-suited to take over for Charlotte than ninety-five percent of this community” Isaac argues back, speaking aloud as if the claims he makes will be taken for anything more than canon fodder by the man occupying the chancellor’s seat. “It’s not like she asked us to find some scrub and have them take over” the woman battles back, turning to face the armed detail from over her shoulder, “she’s asking us to find someone from that five percent.”

“No, she’s asking me to find someone from that five percent” Emilio corrects, leaning back in the wounded chancellor’s seat with arms crossed and eyes on the back of the room. Begrudgingly conceding defeat to the messenger’s temporary superiority, Isaac nods his head and steps the rest of the way toward the desk, lowering himself into the unoccupied seat beside the still-unnamed secretary.

“Yes. She’s asking you to find someone from that five percent” Isaac repeats, letting free a lengthy sigh as he dips closer into the chair, hands squeezing at either arm rest, “but in my professional opinion, I think it would be foolish of you to try and find a suitable replacement on your own.”

“Why is that?” Emilio inquires, a squint in his face held as he lifts his chin, the brow over his right eye lifting as he stares at the man. “Well, with all due respect, I don’t entirely trust you” Isaac confesses, his honesty not wavering regardless of who sits within the realm of higher authority over himself, “the only reason you’re even sitting in that chair is because I have strict orders from the acting chancellor to do as you tell me.”

“And you don’t find it odd that your acting chancellor trusts me and yet you don’t?” Emilio challenges, watching the smile spread from one ear to the other on the accusatory man’s face. “I know Courtney well enough to trust her. I know Charlotte well enough to trust her” Isaac responds, nodding to himself as he couples both hands over his lap, “I don’t just blindly trust people based on other people’s judgement. That doesn’t change for Courtney, and it doesn’t change for you.”


Meeting his security detail’s grin with one of his own, Emilio looks into the guard’s face for a moment before looking toward the floor, a nod coming over him as his arms uncross. Sitting with his thoughts, the messenger lets the air go quiet for a moment as the secretary and security detail follow suit, awaiting their immediate superior’s reply with eager anticipation.

“I don’t ask for the two of you to trust me. I’m not going to ask that you dismiss your own standards just to appease me, and I won’t even ask for the two of you to like me” Emilio promises, stepping out of his seat and standing before the guests with two fingers pressed against the chancellor’s desk, “but make no mistake about it. Everything that I’m going to say today will be with the best interest of Nova Scotia in mind. This is my home, and my people can’t afford to lose it.”

“None of us can afford to lose it” the secretary corrects, politely remaining seated and reserved as she looks into the messenger’s face, his appreciative nod returned toward her. “If this place falls, we’re all falling with it” Emilio declares, reassuring the pair that sit before him of where his motivations lie, “that’s the oath I gave to my group when we got here. This is where we get to live... There’s no running away. If there’s no other- let that be what the three of us can agree on.”

*knock, knock, knock*

“Can I help you?” Emilio wonders aloud, his sights taking to the front of the room alongside the two visitors, Isaac’s readied stance taken as his hand rests on the grip of his holstered weapon. “I’m sorry, I was expecting to find Courtney here” a man in a dark brown trench coat replies, standing in the doorway with a confused look.

“Courtney’s sent me here to address the public” Emilio replies, nodding his head toward the visitor before extending his hand toward an open space off to the desk’s side, “I’m the highest-ranking official you’ll find. What can I help you with?” With a slight frown, Isaac passes a glance toward the messenger whilst keeping his guard raised, ready to open fire at the unexpected guest if needed.

“Well, actually nothing” the visitor answers, reaching into his jacket to retrieve a leather-bound wallet from within, gently placing it down before the messenger’s presence, “I was told by my superior to deliver this to the chancellor. But if you’re the closest to such a thing, then I suppose I can leave it with you.”

“What is it?” Isaac wonders aloud, easing his posture slightly to allow his mind to open itself for whatever the well-dressed informant has to offer. “The perpetrator’s wallet. It’s got his community identification slip in it too” the man replies, gesturing his hand toward the accessory that the messenger’s eyes already take to the open folds of, “my boss had me do a quick print out of all the stuff in it and then deliver it to you A.S.A.P.”

“He was from Prince Edward?” Emilio questions aloud, earning a brief look from Isaac before the armed support’s eyes retake toward the officer’s direction. “It certainly seems so. If I had to put a bet on it, I figure that might’ve been the biggest reason my boss wanted it ran over to you” the visitor responds, watching Emilio immediately place the wallet down and turn his back to those standing in his attendance, “with everything going on over the Strait, I’m sure it’d be of great use.”

“It will be. Thank you” Isaac replies, nodding to the detective, who takes the response as his cue to turn around and depart, leaving the office to the three who’d initially occupied it prior to his arrival. “Emilio, do you understand what this means?” the armed soldier questions aloud, walking around the edge of the chancellor’s desk and speaking to the back of his head, unsure of what has caught the messenger’s attention.

Staring blankly at the bulletin board, Emilio’s eyes remain stoic and firm, refusing to leave the plotted-out battle map the preceding chancellor had tacked up prior to her attack. “One way or another, Prince Edward Island is directly responsible for Charlotte’s attack!” Isaac proclaims, speaking to the messenger in spite of receiving no initial reply, “I don’t know if Gamble ordered it or not, but if the murderer came from Prince Edward, we can easily place the blame on Gamble!”

Silent, Emilio remains fixated on the printed sheet of paper across from his face, unresponsive to the intel he’s being paid as if it were utterly worthless. “For god’s sake, say something!” Isaac proclaims, staring at the side of the distant man’s face, waiting for a reply that he’s forced to wait aeons for. Remaining reserved, the messenger continues to refuse any remark toward the ears of those that stand before him, their eyes locking with each other as if to ask whether something were off.

“The fighting’s not going to stop” Emilio suddenly proclaims, a disheartened frown coming upon the face of a man who continues to stare at what he knows the future to be. “I don’t care what Gamble said last night... He’s not stopping this war” the messenger doubles down, stepping away from the battle plans before walking past his armed reinforcement, “no matter what he tells the public to try and save face, he’s going to make sure we end up at war and Nova Scotia gets blamed for it.”

“Well of course he is!” Isaac proclaims, throwing his arms out as if that conclusion had already been arrived at long ago, “you didn’t honestly think he was going to just expect us not to retaliate, did you?” Shaking his head whilst staring at the ground, Emilio approaches the door to the room and closes it, looking at those he shares the room with, “I hoped he would’ve been satisfied with being far away enough for us to waste resources trying to get him back” he answers.

“The only way for Prince Edward Island to survive long term would be to do the same thing we did- establish settlements, organise trading posts and a supply chain. The whole nine yards” Isaac retorts, watching the messenger stand a few metres away with hands on his hips, “taking the bridge down was just the start. His island is inferior in arms and population and they’ve got no one looking out for them except for themselves. He has to establish whatever he can to survive!”

“And that means war is inevitable” Emilio responds, hanging his head as the conclusion settles in, met with silence from the parties that join him, their hush affording the opportunity to sit with his thoughts. “Do we still have access to their electronic infrastructure?” the messenger suddenly inquires, taking a glance at Isaac before redirecting his attention to the nearby secretary, “like, if I wanted to feed a live stream onto their systems over there, could I do that?”

“Well, sure- I suppose?” the woman replies, stepping out of her seat slowly whilst pondering the hoops that they’d need to jump through for such a feat to be accomplished. “It’ll become especially difficult the longer they remain their own separate entity, but we could still probably access their emergency network now if we’d like” she reassures, staring at the door she’d need to leave through in order to accomplish such a task, “just get behind the microphone and I’ll-”

“No...” Emilio interjects, reaffirming his demeanour as he stands up straight, a hand extended toward the woman before she can walk off, “I want to do it in front of the camera.” Taken by surprise, Isaac’s head pulls back as the woman he stands just a few metres away from shares much a similar shock. “In front of-? Why?” the woman wonders back, watching the confidence come over the messenger as he steps onward with poise, directing himself to the chancellor’s seat.

“I have a feeling that Gamble’s going to want to see me behind that desk” Emilio replies, shaking his head with a snarled face, “he’s deceived me, and now seeing my face on the camera, speaking on Nova Scotia’s behalf? It might buy us some time to deceive him back.”

|

“When the lucky few who Nova Scotia traded for return to their homeland, they will carry with them the stories of what they experienced whilst in enemy territory” Gamble calls out, again pulling the trigger to no success, another soul saved by fate’s interference, “and when they do tell their tale to those in charge, I’d like whomever is in charge to know what kind of person they are up against.”

Redirecting the weapon’s barrel, Gamble stares at the cloaked figure and lets the weapon rest in his hand, taking aim at the Nova Scotian pilot whose body tenses as the mechanisms ring, informing him that his fate is the next to be tested. “Negotiating and free labour is not the only valuable commodity” the sovereign proclaims, placing his finger against the trigger once more, “it’s about sending a message that this is what awaits the leadership of Nova Scotia.”

Feeling the sensation of a chill run down her neck, Katie presses her eyelids shut and scrunches her face, pulling in a deep breath through her teeth and holding onto it as she awaits the gunshot she’s got a gut feeling is just around the corner to catch her ear. Whilst the rest of the theatre watches on- Harvey included- awaiting the sight that seems inevitable, a sudden change in programming comes the screen’s way, catching the eyes of all those in attendance.

From their homes, the populous of Prince Edward Island watches the interference in their regularly-scheduled programming take shape, shifting their focus from the cartoons, repeated-sitcoms or newscasts to the head of a man they’d never seen before. Pressing her teeth together at the thought of having to stomach the sight of an execution, Katie awaits the resumed speech from the loathed national sovereign before the hushed tone of a woman’s voice catches her ear.

“You’re live” the Nova Scotian chancellor’s secretary remarks, her voice prompting the theatre-seated official to open her eyes, only able to see the top of the unfamiliar man’s head for the first few seconds. “Thank you, Irene” the desk-seated gentleman replies, continuing to stare at his lap whilst typing out the briefest text message he can afford to send, still having yet to look directly into the camera for the first time.

Her closed eyes having widened out of curiosity, Katie’s attention rests firmly upon the same screen that the rest of her island nation’s own do, the community across the once bridge-connected strait find a much similar fate. “Just one moment, ladies and gentlemen” a familiar-sounding voice remarks, earning a slight-squint from the young woman seated beside Harvey, who now looks toward her with understandable curiosity.

“Not yet, sir!” Bristol’s voice calls out, preventing her national sovereign from pulling the trigger on his next potential victim, the man’s eyes taking to her direction upon the call out. Though its distance proves difficult to overcome, Gamble’s eyes make out the picture on the live feed being different from the one he stands before, a squint carried in his gaze as he begrudgingly lifts the barrel from his prisoner’s head.

“No...” Katie murmurs, leaning forward in her seat whilst the man beside her remains perplexed, uncertain of what her reaction is meant to portray. “What’s wrong?” Harvey questions aloud, his inquiry brushed off by the woman’s dismissive, hiss-like “shh!”

Stepping away from the line of prisoners, Gamble’s feet carry him closer to the monitor his feed had been redirected from, the top of his adversary’s head all that his eyes are afforded as of the moment. “Well done, Em’” Courtney mutters from the comfort of her friend’s hospital room, staring into the wall-mounted television whilst occupying the seat beside Charlotte’s bed, the beeping of the machines just a short distance away presenting the incapacitated chancellor’s stable vital signs.

For a second, Courtney’s eyes are claimed elsewhere, the alarm on her brick-like cell phone calling for an answer. “Hello?” the woman replies, watching the man on her television screen lift a phone of his own to the side of his face. “Are you close to a television?” the man on the other end inquires, unable to see the smile that spreads across the paramotorist’s face, her head nodding in approval.

After a few seconds, the call comes to an end and grants the messenger the opportunity to redirect his gaze to the one direction it’s been long-overdue a glance toward. “Pardon the interruption, ladies and gentlemen” Emilio proclaims, lifting his face toward the camera lens for the very first time from the seat of Nova Scotia’s highest-ranking chair, addressing the nation who- for all they know- now take their first look at the newest chancellor of the compound.

“EMILIO!” Katie exclaims, her voice breaking through the deafening silence that lingers throughout the unfamiliar theatre, every eye taking toward her direction as she leaps from her seat, throwing herself into the back of the chair in front of her. “Son of a bitch” Gamble grumbles, his nostrils flaring as he draws closer to the monitor, only a few metres away from the rest of his crew, who all take part in watching on at this interruption to their feed.

For a moment, the gravity of the situation he now finds himself in weighs upon his chest like an anvil, the kind of audience he’d once dreamed of being able to command with the simple snap of his fingers now finally afforded to him long after the desire had waned. Letting his eyes fall to the surface of the desk he’s seated at, Emilio presses both palms against the cold tabletop and stretches his arms wide, trying to process the power that his voice alone now wields.

Letting the gravity sink in with him, the man who’d been sent to the capitol to deliver a message of empty reassurance to the people clambering for answers now ensures that he- in that moment- is perhaps the most powerful man on the planet. “This is...” Emilio mutters aloud, pausing to allow further saturation of the scene before him into his mind- one that struggles to comprehend in its entirety just how mighty his hand to wield truly is, “...odd.”

In awe, Katie pulls her hand away from the outstretched reach of Harvey’s own, refusing to be lowered from her upright stance, the woman’s dark outline made out for anyone behind herself to see. “I used to think that I wanted this. Before the outbreak began, I was running for Governor of Connecticut. I wanted to be in a position of control like this” Emilio confesses, a sombre tone carried in his half-sorrowful voice, “but now that I’m sitting here- speaking to you all- it’s just otherworldly.”

Reserving his doubts and feelings, Isaac keeps his arms crossed whilst standing at the back of the room, unaware that the feed from the chancellor’s office is being fed to a screen just outside the building’s front door, his only clue being the sudden hush that befalls the mob outside their walls.

With her lip quivering, a tear runs from Katie’s eye as a smile comes over her face, eyes staring at the visage of a man she’d never expected to see again just over a year ago. “How did they get access to our airwaves?” Gamble inquires, looking to the small huddle of people before the monitor in search of answers.

“We’re not sure. We thought all was sorted out, but-” a woman replies, turning to look the national sovereign in the eyes as she speaks, only to be met with the scathing tone of an infuriated autocrat doing his best to conceal the rage that builds behind his fractured mask. “But clearly you didn’t do your due diligence well enough to assure they were protected accordingly” Gamble interjects, his widened eyes speaking to the fury that truly hides within his fragile demeanour.

“But I’m not here because of the people’s will. I’m not here because the chancellor has decided to step down, and I’m not here because I’m obligated to” Emilio admits, reaching for the small, bulky leather accessory to the side of his hand, removing an identification slip from within its front-facing pouch. Flipping its face toward the camera lens, the messenger displays the perpetrator’s face and information for the public to see, an embolden address line standing out from the other words.

“This is the man that has placed me in this chair tonight- or rather this morning. My apologies, I keep forgetting how late- err, early- it is” Emilio proclaims, slapping the leather binder down whilst keeping the card toward the camera, “I’d like you to take notice of that address right there. That says Prince Edward Island- just in case you can’t see it for yourselves.”

With dismissal, Emilio flicks the laminated card across the room and lets it fall aimlessly toward the ground, having no true care for the culprit, his information, or the item itself. “I’m here because the duty calls for someone to step up and be a leader for this community. I’m here because- ultimately- this community has no leader” the messenger remarks, folding his hands atop the table and leaning forward.

“Why did he have that card on him?” Gamble calmly inquires, the veins in his neck protruding as he looks for answers from those that remain within his presence. “I thought I made myself abundantly clear after our mishap outside the Nova Scotian border, did I not?” the national sovereign questions aloud, waiting for an answer from the crowd that refuses to present itself, “I thought I’d ordered that no serviceman- working on behalf of Prince Edward- was to carry I.D on them- Did I not?”

“This community has no leader as of this moment for one reason. It’s the same reason I want you to remember where that face on the identification slip that I just showed you came from” Emilio carries on, his claims continuing to catch the full attention of his rival sovereign.

“Whether on behalf of Andrew Gamble or not, that young man- who you just saw the information for yourself- made an attempt on the life of the Nova Scotian chancellor, Charlotte Walters” Emilio declares, unaware of the twitch that his proclamation presents over his adversary’s glare. Keeping to themselves, Isaac and Irene watch on at the messenger’s continuance, waiting through his pause as he stares at the camera, considering his next words very carefully.

Continuing to stand out from the crowd she’d entered with the intention of blending in with, Katie tries her best to focus on the words that are spoken through the screen, a part of her proving incapable of coming down from the joy of being halfway-reunited with her one-time leader. Retaining his composure, Emilio keeps his professional stance intact whilst staring just slightly beside the camera lens, convincing himself to run with the remarks that his instincts are pleading with him to voice.

“And now, this community has no leader...” Emilio begins, his remarks focused on by the paramotorist, who continues to share her attention with the beeping of the machines beside the unconscious chancellor, “...because Charlotte Walters is dead.”

Momentarily confused, Isaac’s arms fall from their crossing as he briefly glances toward Irene, unsure of where the messenger is taking this address now that it’s strayed from their certainty. Partially surprised by this news, Gamble’s head leans toward one side and directs itself toward the ground, waiting for the further detail he hadn’t anticipated his foes' acknowledgement of whilst Katie looks on with confusion from the theatre, the jarring confession leaving her unsure of how to react.

“Yes. Charlotte Walters has died. Just less than an hour ago, we received word from the hospital she was rushed to that she had not made it” Emilio admits, feeding the public as bold-faced of a lie as he accuses the national sovereign of, “and with that, a public assassination was committed on Nova Scotian soil, and it was done in the wake of an unwarranted and illegal assumption of power from a dictatorial regime spearheaded by Andrew Gamble.”

“What is he doing!?” Bristol exclaims, unfurling her arms and shouting at the crew standing beside her, looking for answers that only come from the man directly behind her. “He’s trying to pin the blame for her murder on me in an effort to paint me out as a malicious insurrectionist...” Gamble replies calmly, nostrils flaring in spite of his best attempt at subduing the vicious aggression that threatens to burst through his loosening seams, “...and it might work.”

“Whether or not Gamble ordered Charlotte’s assassination is beyond the point” Emilio explains, his words slowly beginning to ease concerns the standing supporters just a few metres away had begun the broadcast holding onto. 

“The fact of the matter is that a young, vulnerable, and very gullible young man- likely stranded on Nova Scotia through the actions of Andrew Gamble- has murdered, in cold blood, the chancellor of society’s final stand” Emilio declares, extending the index finger on his dominant hand before pressing its tip to the desk, “and for that reason, I am declaring that Andrew Gamble- through order or through influence- is directly responsible for Charlotte Walters’ murder.”

Though a part of her deep down wishes to act surprised by the discovery, Courtney’s most-certain thoughts pointed to such a conclusion being likely, one that ensured Prince Edward would not be settled without war. “You don’t need to look far, however, to see that his island isn’t one to play as nice as he lets it on to appear” Emilio doubles down, shrugging at the idea of a unified exchange of misplaced refugees, “I have friends on that island that he isn’t allowing to leave on their own.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Katie continues to stare at the screen with a loss for words, unsure of whom the man may be referring to. “Clint Mintz and Vanessa Mintz, a pair of siblings that I’ve known for years now... Well before we got to Nova Scotia” Emilio remarks, only further widening the eyes of the young woman at the theatre’s lower row of seats, “they have a small fishing business. They’ve got their own boat, and the officials in Prince Edward Island won’t let them out of Stewart Cove.”

“Stewart Cove” Katie whispers to herself, nodding her head as Harvey finally shows to have had enough with the woman’s standoff with the screen, grabbing her arm and yanking her back into her chair violently. “You’re gonna get yourself in trouble!” the man hisses, his face souring as the woman rips her arm from his hand once more, continuing to stare at the face on the screen.

“If he really wanted to set up some peaceful partnership, he wouldn’t have forcefully shut down the Confederation Bridge and then blown it into smithereens” Emilio explains, further deepening the dissatisfied expression that covers the national sovereign’s face, “the only reason he’s pretended up to this point like he actually cares about peaceful negotiation is because he was confident that anything he could do would look like it was in good faith when juxtaposed to Charlotte.”

Clenching his right hand into a fist, Gamble stares at the monitor as the apparent declaration of war emanates throughout the early-morning sky. “The only issue that Gamble has now is that I’m not Charlotte. In a way, I am so much worse because- as far as Gamble is concerned- there is no big, bad, scary witch for him to paint out as some boogeyman” Emilio declares, a smile appearing through his parted lips, “and it’ll be really hard to make me look bad when the island’s power goes out.”

Irate, Gamble remains standing before the camera’s lens, fuming in place whilst his feet are firmly planted into the grass. “Charlotte only didn’t make an announcement the other night because she didn’t want to feed the public lies. It turns out, Gamble took the opposite route and fed you, myself, and everyone else exactly that” Emilio states, shrugging off the incident entirely, “I wonder how long it’ll take our friend across the strait to address the public when our reserves run out?”

Letting out a deep breath, Gamble continues to stare at the face on the screen as it draws closer, Emilio’s body standing out from his chair as he stares directly into the lens. From the theatre, Katie remains glued to her seat as her close friend makes the statement of her supposed adversary perfectly clear. From the hospital bed, Courtney continues to look after her friend as the compound she’d established is seemingly ripped out from beneath her- the paramotorist’s smile uncontrollable.

“I have been placed in charge of finding a replacement for Charlotte as chancellor, and whilst that process is underway... I will assume that role” Emilio announces, watching Irene lean in to redirect the camera’s lens toward his now-standing posture, “and for the next few days, I will retain that position until the person that I have in mind to take over enters the compound. At that point, I will officially hand control of Nova Scotia and all of her thirteen outlying settlements to her.”

Pleased beyond imagination, Katie’s smile refuses to fall aside in spite of the door that opens at the front of the theatre, allowing in a pair of armed guards that stare out into the crowd. “Katie...” Harvey whispers, calling to the woman whose eyes immediately take toward the room’s front, catching attention of the two sets of eyes that soon spot her from within the crowd.

Without so much as a word, Katie leaps from her seat and bolts out of the theatre, eyes taking toward the room’s exit as she makes a dash from the soldiers that run after her. “Katie!” Harvey exclaims, firing like a rocket out of his seat just as she does and making the same hurry for the exits as her, trying to outrun the guards seemingly tasked with following through on Gamble’s orders to quell whatever dissidence may arise before it can fester amongst his more devoted followers.

“I don’t want a war more than anyone else, but my hand has been forced here. There is a tyrant ordering the execution of Nova Scotian leaders without so much as a care in the world just one body of water away from us, and it will not be tolerated” Emilio commands, his finger pointing into the lens, “I know Gamble’s watching along with the rest of Prince Edward Island, so allow me to make myself clear... We’re coming after you.”

Aware that they’ve been left with little other choice, Courtney tightly grasps the ends of the armrests to each side of her chair and calms her breathing, aware that the violence they have already seen is only just the start. With a glance to her side, the woman stares at her bedridden friend and takes another look at her stable vitals, hoping for the best, but dreading what could happen if the chancellor were to awaken from her state and reclaim the power that only now falls beyond her reach.

“Plenty of people had no care for Charlotte whatsoever and I don’t blame them. Personally, I wasn’t much of a fan myself. But with that said, an attack on the chancellor is an attack on Nova Scotia, and an attack on Nova Scotia is an attack on all of us.” Emilio concludes, daggers paid to the camera lens as Gamble watches on, feeling the heat of war strike his face in the form of a close-up shot on his rival’s visage. 

“Andrew Gamble, you have hurt me. You have hurt my people. You have hurt this entire community, and with or without your blatant lies- your days at the helm of that island are numbered...” Emilio warns, picking up the wallet and casually throwing it at the camera lens with perfect accuracy, pausing for a moment as it recalibrates to reclaim its focus upon the new acting chancellor, “...because this doesn’t end until you’re dead.”

As quickly as it had taken over the live broadcast, Emilio’s address to his adversarial nation cuts out and delivers every screen to a black void, no picture to fill the space in which he’d occupied and left nothing to follow up. Incensed, Gamble takes a few steps back from the monitor and turns his back to the crew, angrily taking aim with his revolver at an empty field beneath the cover of spotlights.

Having intended to fire until a bullet was expended from the barrel of his weapon, the national sovereign discovers an absence of his twenty five captives, the places in which they’d knelt having been abandoned since his attention was stolen by the interrupting feed. “Did they get away!?” a member of the crew calls out, unable to see the face of their autocratic tyrant until he turns toward them.

In an undeniable fury, Gamble lifts the barrel of his weapon toward the crew member's head and pulls the trigger, splattering their brains all over the onlooking camera and nearby storm light without the slightest hesitancy. “FIND THEM NOW!” the sovereign screams, the muscles in his face jolting with the orders as the remaining workers still with their lives intact take off in the only direction the prisoners could have fled toward, leaving their leader alone alongside the deceased body.

Breathing heavily, the sovereign’s eyes fire themselves wide as he throws his gun into the dark onset of dawn and seethes in his place, hands clenched into fists so furious that they dislocate the middle finger on his left hand. Overcome by rage, Gamble’s face shoots toward the sky as his lips part, screaming a prolonged howl into the lifeless sky as his every intent for the evening proves futile, the circumstances that surround him- this time- having bested him.

“Alright, well there was a lot to take from that, but overall... I think that went well?” Isaac wonders aloud, unsure of exactly what to make of the broadcast other than his slightly increased faith in the new chancellor’s handling of the situation. “Good, because I meant every word of it” Emilio confesses, lowering himself into the chair that he’s now placed himself into the rightful possession of, “if there was no way to avoid war, I guess I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Nodding, Isaac accepts the man’s conclusion before the air is overtaken by the secretary’s voice, her inquiry the only thing worth asking in her mind at the moment. “Would you like me to phone anyone in particular now that it seems you’ve decided on a new chancellor?” Irene asks, watching the man drape both hands over the edge of his armrests and turn the desk chair toward the nearby window, listening into the faint sound of cheering that the bulletproof window affords him.

For a second, the temporary leader of Nova Scotia considers the question internally, still partially numb to the control he’d placed himself at the helm of, but mindful enough to keep the same energy and intent he’d used to deliver the address alive and well. “Yeah” Emilio responds, nodding to himself whilst staring at the window, watching the crowd of people band together as a nation unified in what appears to be the name of liberation before turning back to answer, “get me Jade McKee.”

== Rise ==