S7, E4 | Staring Into Satan's Eyes

Stepping into the commons area with two cups of coffee and wrapped in a heavier winter coat than most department stores would be willing to sell, Harvey approaches a lonely cafeteria-like table near the back of the room, his right eyebrow raised. “Chilly?” he wonders aloud, extending one of the coffees to the woman heavier-dressed than he is, her mitten-covered hands coupling together to graciously accept the piping hot beverage.

“Very” Katie replies, watching her friend round the table and take a seat opposite her, a smile worn in the corner of his face. “Why don’t you look more cold? You are cold, right?” she inquires, watching the casual facade her acquaintance walks with at an almost-loss for words. “It’s chilly, but I’m not- that” Harvey retorts, pointing at the comforter-like coat draped over the small-in-comparison shoulders of his colleague, “you look like you robbed a Burlington Coat Factory.”

“Because it’s cold!” Katie proclaims, popping the beverage’s lid off to revel in the warmth of lifting steam, “didn’t you say we were close to Greenland or something?” Squinting, Harvey stares off at the ceiling for a moment as he ponders a reply, eyes taking to the exposed ventilation units left uncovered by anything even as small and light as cardboard tiles.

“We’re closer to southern Newfoundland, so we’d have to cross the rest of it northbound and then cross the Labrador Sea” he soon concludes, shrugging with a nod, “but yes, then we’d be in Greenland.” Shaking her head, Katie begrudgingly pulls one mitten off before taking her drink into that hand, the smallest sip taken without the slightest bit of care over the burn it gives the roof of her mouth.

“All I want is to go home” Katie replies, shaking her head whilst bouncing her leg, eagerly anticipating her reunion with temperatures far warmer to the polar-like conditions she’s come into. “Unless we’re amongst the unfortunate few that have to stay here, we’ll get that wish when this place is back online” Harvey responds, crossing one leg over the other whilst resting his arms against the table’s top, “Gamble wants this place operational- not fortified. Count our lucky stars for that.”

“Gamble wants a lot of things that Gamble doesn’t seem to get” Katie quips, a conclusion that her friend can’t bring himself to agree with. “He wanted nationhood and got the closest thing to it, he wants this plant online, he wanted to use the soil on that island you and your friends used to live on-” Harvey rebukes, shaking his head as his bottom lip protrudes outward, “-independence is the only thing he hasn’t gotten as far as I can see it... And even that is arguable.”

Wearing a dismissive frown, Katie presses her eyelids shut and hangs her head toward the drink, letting the heat hit her face whilst the air around her remains cold. Trying to find a state of peace that can bring her comfort from the winter chill, the woman’s mind goes quiet, her thoughts dumbing into nothingness as the willingness to picture herself anywhere but within the northeastern tip of Canada fades, replaced by a dark emptiness as frosty as the wind chill outside.

“Falling asleep on me?” Harvey wonders aloud, his words hitting the woman’s ears before earning a delayed shake of her head, not a verbal response to be returned to him. Nodding to himself, the man takes the silent front being put on as an excuse to sit with his own thoughts, keeping them to himself as he uses the speech-less quietude between himself and his partner to stare at the nearby window, seeing little more than the accumulation of snow that had fallen over the last three days.

In the distance, metal trays make contact with an expansive wooden countertop, sliding down its length little by little and being coated in one clump of food after another. In other corners, fellow members of the independence-seeking island gather around tables talking with each other whilst others sit on their lonesome, reading a book beside the shelf they’d likely borrowed it from.

“Why did it take so long to get up here?” Katie inquires, her voice bringing an end to their shared silence. “What was that?” Harvey questions back, unsure of what’s being asked as he searches for context. “The refinery. You said it mattered a great deal to Gamble and that he’s been after controlling it for a while now” the woman doubles down, shrugging her shoulders beneath the bundles she’s covered in, “why did it take him so long to get up here and start putting it back online?”

His expression shifting as if he’s been provided enough clarity to answer, Harvey steps out of his seat, growing more acclimated to the frostbite-esque weather enough to pull his coat’s zipper down. “Well, for a start, it takes a while to get here. He wanted to make sure the port was clear enough to drop people off by boat instead of taking the roads deep into Quebec” Harvey begins, approaching a nearby bookshelf and retrieving the first green-coloured hardcover he lays eyes on.

“After that, we needed to clear all routes from both the south and the west, to actually get to this place” he proceeds, taking a glance at the cover of “In Defence of Witches” with intrigue, “and finally, it’s always felt like he was hoping to be cut off from Nova Scotia by then. The less red tape to cut through- the better.”

“It didn’t interest Nova Scotia to have another refinery consolidated within their possessions?” Katie retorts, unsure of what sense such a case makes, “that doesn’t make much sense.”

“Neither does letting Gamble have it” Harvey rebukes, returning the book to the shelf before pulling free a copy of “Losing the Battle, Winning the War” with a smirk, “Nova Scotia would’ve known what Gamble’s play was the second they started hearing about activity in Newfoundland.”

“And he thinks they won’t hear about it now?” the cold woman replies, watching her friend’s shoulders shrug as he returns the book to its assortment of friends. “I’m sure he knows they’ll get word of this eventually” Harvey assures, finally pulling free a soft-cover copy of “Till We Become Monsters” and nodding, “what his play is here- I have no idea. I’m not sure what he knows or what he doesn’t. I- just like you- am here because I was told to be here.”

Reclaiming his seat opposite the bundled-up survivor, Harvey places his book onto the table’s surface and retakes his beverage, lifting it to his lips before beginning to read the first page. “That’s it? You’re not even gonna try to convince me that you love it out here?” Katie wonders, finding it odd that the man wouldn’t amusingly try to convince her of a blatant lie.

“It may be cold on the island, but it’s at least tolerable” Harvey responds, shaking his head as he briefly glances toward the girl’s direction, “the weather up here is more akin to a bad joke gone even worse than planned.”

“And yet you’re here. You’re dressed in the same kind of stuff you’d wear going out on the island, and you’re reading a book in some glorified cafeteria” Katie remarks, watching the man with a squint in her eye as a fellow resident walks by with a steaming tray of mashed potatoes and string beans.

“I’m a man. In case you’re too young to remember chivalry, it’s us that are expected to give up our jackets when it’s cold outside” Harvey replies, looking back down to his novel’s opening line, “why do you think Ms. Wilcox invented the car heater?”

“Ms Who?” Katie replies, watching the man take a brief sabbatical from answering her questions in order to lift his hot drink for a sip. “Margaret Wilcox- she invented the heating system in cars?” Harvey responds, an eyebrow raised in the direction of the lady opposite him. “Why would you expect me to know that?” the woman questions, peering past the pile of warmth she’s the centrepiece of.

“Well, I’d always just assumed you were all about ‘girl power’ and such before the old world got turned upside down” Harvey replies, flipping back to his read’s table of contents for a brief second, “you can’t really champion women honestly without knowing what they’ve accomplished, now can you?”

“If anything, I’m more concerned with how you knew who invented the vehicular heating system than anything women have done” Katie answers honestly, watching her friend chuckle with amusement. “We all had our own lives in the old world, Katie. Does that surprise you?” Harvey retorts, shaking his head as he closes the book’s cover, his index finger placed on the page he’d attempted to begin reading, “I liked to learn before I spent a few good months slaughtering those undead freaks.”

“What did you do?” Katie wonders aloud, brushing off the man’s following comment before watching his silent glance fall upon her, again looking for further context, “what was your job before everything happened?”

“I was a lawyer” the man quickly replies, gently pulling his book closer to the drink he reaches for another sip of, “why does that matter?”

“It doesn’t” Katie replies with equal haste, smelling the scent of gravy that wafts off the tray another survivor passes her with, “it’s just nice to know what people used to be.” Dismissive of the claim, Harvey juts his chin to the side and reopens his book, eyes taking to the opening page whilst his colleague stares at him, not having anything on her mind so much as she is just preferring to keep her gaze upon her welcomed company, beginning to warm in the face of the great northern chill.

= 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 =

“Come on in” Emilio chirps, stepping aside with the door to his friend’s apartment open, watching Clint and Nessie drag a heavy ice chest into the kitchen. “Jesus, guys! When you said you were bringing over crab legs, I thought you meant a bag of them!” Alicia declares, climbing out of her seat near the back of the living room whilst her husband steps out of a nearby bedroom, their child’s diaper and clothes changed.

“Oh relax, this isn’t all for you” the siblings reply, lowering the massive container onto the ground just before the open fridge, one bag after another taken off the mountain of ice within and placed into the largest shelf. “This was probably our best catch all year” Clint remarks, taking one bag from his sister after another and loading it into the apartment’s cooling unit, “the entire goddamn boat was listing nearly forty-five degrees with how heavy the damn net was.”

Letting the flat’s tenants step past him whilst shielding his bottled water from any accidental bumping, Emilio stands near the corner of the room watching one claw-wrapped creature after another be stuffed into the cold box at the back of the room. “How many credits do these things sell for?” he wonders aloud, watching the religious fisherman continue claiming one future-dinner after another from his sister before finding room within the chilled compartments.

“Around one hundred to one hundred and fifty, I guess?” Clint replies, stuffing hundreds of credits-worth of crab into the apartment’s rather compact refrigerator. “I guess we’re lucky you like us so much, huh?” Franklin jokes, earning a side-eye from his wife, who’s resigned herself to accepting the future feast being unloaded into their cooler.

“You sure are, haha!” Nessie replies, continuing to hand her brother one restrained crab after another whilst knelt beside their ice-filled chest. “Are you sure you’re alright with just giving us all of this for free?” Franklin soon wonders aloud, partially feeling guilty for accepting a gift as lofty and expensive as the ones being stuffed into his fridge.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure we caught a few hundred thousand credits-worth of these things in one trip” Clint responds, assuring the man he’s to have no guilt over the luxury he’s been appreciatively afforded, “this is just a drop in the bucket- and we’re more than happy to leave it for you.”

Left with little other choice, Franklin continues to hold his infant son whilst the siblings direct the conversation elsewhere. “Speaking of credits- you have enough of the bartering life yet, Emilio?” Clint inquires, flashing the man a smirk before stuffing the final crab into the nearest chilled drawer. “Not in the slightest” the man replies, shrugging his shoulders as he prepares to sip from his plastic bottle, “Courtney and I have a run across the bridge in an hour or so.”

“Out on P.E.I?” Alicia questions back, looking at the man from over her shoulder just as her husband does. “Yep. I’m not sure what Courtney’s got us slated to pick up, but whatever it is will be worth the sixty-four packages of double-A batteries we’re exchanging for it” Emilio replies, nodding as his claim catches the ear of the woman across the room from him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I understand the scepticism toward the banks, but I don’t understand why so many people choose bartering over the credit system” Nessie responds, the uncertainty visible in her face. “Because the bank can fail, the compound can fail, the credits can go down in value- so on and so forth” Emilio replies, swallowing his water before continuing, “people want to fuck, drink, smoke, and get high. Drugs, cigs, liquor, and condoms will never not be valuable.”

“I can’t say I disagree” Clint responds, locking the cooler’s lid shut to keep the ice within from melting any quicker than it’s already prepared to, “but then again, our boat makes it impossible for bartering to be more valuable to us than the credits.”

“No one size fits all- to each their own” Emilio replies, lifting his water bottle into the air whilst Clint accepts a glass bottle from Alicia, saluting his friend from across the room all the same before popping the cap off and taking a swig.

With night now having fallen and the journey across the Confederation Bridge completed, Emilio joins his business partner in retrieving a set of briefcases from the trunk of their shared sedan. “I’m just saying this is an odd place to meet for a trade” he remarks, defending his position whilst slamming the vehicle’s trunk shut, “if you’re trading for a boat, it makes sense to meet at a pier. Trading a car? A parking lot makes sense. But trading for a trailer? Why meet in an old warehouse?”

“How am I supposed to know why our partners choose the locations they choose?” Courtney retorts, unsure over why the question asked is being directed toward her. “Sure, that would make sense if not for that small oversight of these aren’t our partners” Emilio responds, calmly offering the woman a hint of sarcasm amusing enough to bring about a chuckle, “we don’t know them from any random schmuck on the side of the street.”

“We know the people that know them” Courtney replies, taking the lead of the pair whilst her colleague carries the pair of leather-bound briefcases in tow. “One way or another, we don’t really need to care about where we’re meeting them as long as they have what we want” she continues, stepping through the decrepit building’s entrance with her acquaintance closely behind, “we need more storage space and we need better transportation for the big shit. This trailer will help immensely.”

“Of course it will. I can understand that as much as I’d hope you’d be able to understand my scepticism” Emilio rebukes, stepping through the entrance just after the woman, not breaking a sweat over the heavy cases he carries at each side. “I understand, but I’m not going to be moved by it” Courtney jokes, a look over her shoulder paid to the man in her shadow, “when you barter as frequently as we do- and with as high-value things as we do- you’re bound to have quite a rolodex.”

“Let me guess- this is just adding a new business card to it?” Emilio interjects, already able to pick out where the woman that stops ahead of him is preparing to go with her end of the discourse. “Exactly” Courtney replies with a smile, turning back to look at the man before carrying on with her journey further into the rundown building’s interior, preparing for the individuals they’re bound to meet within minutes.

Extending her arm, Courtney pushes the heavy entrance open and stops in the doorway, eyes widened at the sight of a large group of people gathered within. Surprised for a moment, the woman pauses in the entrance before stepping further inside, a cautious yet guard-lowered Emilio following her lead. “Well we weren’t expecting you for another half hour or so” she mutters aloud, a slight squint in her eye as her colleague follows closely behind, “and we didn’t expect so many of you either.”

“Yeah, we left the trailer in the lot a few streets over” an older man replies, his hair still holding a faded brown colour to it, though his face wears the wrinkles of a man in her early-fifties at best. “The streets down below are a little too crowded to leave such a big hunk of junk just laying around” he continues, stepping away from a small gaggle of his peers to approach the woman, a set of keys carried in his hand, “besides, the only decent place for us to park was that parking garage.”

“We’re not too familiar with this place, but it was the easiest spot to exchange the trailer” a second man replies, the youth in his eyes making it clear that he’s at least a decade younger than the first man. “Y’all have got the batteries, right?” the first man inquires, watching Emilio step forward and place each briefcase on the ground, one by each side as he picks himself up.

“And all sixty four are there, right?” the younger man inquires, watching the nod Emilio gives him reply with the answer the woman voices aloud. “All seven hundred and sixty eight, yeah” Courtney replies, watching the nod on the first man respond to her as he lowers himself to the ground, reaching for the handles on each case.

“Uh-uh-uh. Not so fast” Emilio interrupts, stepping out in front of the cases with his hand outward, gently pressing into the older man’s chest and preventing him from getting any lower. “You’ve got the man power to keep us to our deal, so we want a little bit of security first” he remarks, not allowing even the faintest contact of either man’s hands with the property they’ve yet to exchange, “give us the keys and we’ll leave you with the cases.”

“I just wanted to take a look inside. Y’know, make sure it’s all there?” the first man responds, watching Emilio’s foot gently swing forward before swiping in the opposite direction, his heel kicking the case with a loud thud. As if containing more weight than a rack of dumbbells, the briefcase barely reacts at first before slowly falling backward, landing onto the dirt-covered cement ground with a loud impact.

“We were recommended to you by the same people that recommended you to us” Emilio replies, not allowing the man the peak inside he was hoping for, “we’re good for our word.” Though she’d entered the building with high hopes and the dismissive optimism of a seasoned negotiator, Courtney’s suspicions begin to outweigh her open-mindedness, making room for the same scepticism she’d made an attempt at speaking out of her colleague’s system.

“Easy partner, I don’t see why we have to be so hostile here” the first man replies, lifting both hands up in a show of surrender before slowly offering one toward the man across from him, “I’m David.” Taking a look down at the man’s hand, Emilio takes the hand hanging by his right side and gently presses the man’s hand into a fist, casually guiding it back to his person.


“I’m Emilio. And just like my partner Courtney, we were told there’d be two of you” he responds, not offering the man any niceties, but making certain to pay him the respect of remaining civil. “We’re the only two negotiating here” the second man replies, a little less pleasant to interact with than his older contemporary, though still following the decent and courteous example presented to him.

“I see five gentlemen standing behind you, and-” Emilio begins to respond, peering over his shoulder just as Courtney does at the sound of the entrance they’d stepped through being shut by an eighth man they’d yet to notice. “-and a sixth standing behind us” he corrects himself, turning back to look David in the eyes, a gentle shake of his head, “you’ve clearly got someone watching all the exits. So, hand me the keys, and I’ll stand right here whilst you inspect your batteries.”

Though David still wears a grin, it’s significantly lowered from where it had been upon the gracious front he’d attempted to erect. Growing more anxious by each passing second, Courtney slowly reaches her left hand behind her back, trying to keep from making any sudden moves in front of the people that now present her with an ominous display. Though he’s caught onto the malicious intentions their bartering partners appear to present, Emilio refuses to show an ounce of relent.

With his head hung, David extends his hand toward his younger acquaintance, preventing him from stepping forward any further than he already has. “EJ- don’t” the man warns, the sudden step forward prompting Courtney’s ever-sneaking hand to move the rest of the way toward her concealed weapon. “Don’t think about it, girl” the man responsible for closing their entrance warns, pulling his own weapon from the waistband of his pants and holding the barrel of it toward the woman.

“Hold your fire, big guy” David exclaims, his hand held outward toward the man behind the pair he’s meant to barter with, watching Courtney turn around to face the man with a gun drawn at her, yet to release her own firearm from the hem of her pants. “Everyone should be holding their fire right now” Emilio rebukes, not an ounce of concern held within the vibrato of his voice, his expression unchanged as it lingers on the man across from him.

What you should do is try not to make an enemy out of- perhaps- the most trusted barterers on the market” Emilio warns, looking David in the eye and refusing to break the visual contact, “screw us out of that trailer and this will be the last good-faith negotiation you ever take part in, if you can even call it that at this point.”

“Emilio, settle down” Courtney remarks, trying to ease the man from the position of power he doesn’t have, and yet still attempts to utilise. “It’s fine, Courtney. As a matter of fact, I think David and I can handle this mano-a-mano” Emilio replies, looking to the same side that the man across from him does, finding a surprised and vehemently-refusing woman looking back at him.

“No-the-fuck the two of you don’t” Courtney retorts, her hand still holding the grip of her pistol within her clenched palm, a passing glance taken at the men she’s supposedly meant to trust with business from here on out before looking at the man with the weapon held at her. “The last thing I need is for someone to get hurt here. I’m unarmed, and I’ve got no one other than Courtney in my corner here” Emilio replies, trying to make yet another negotiation with his adversary.

“This negotiation isn’t settled yet. As far as I’m concerned, it’d be better if the bunch of you allowed this woman to leave unharmed so we can finish up in here” Emilio continues, looking David in the eyes as his acquaintance stares at him with an open mouth. Left in disbelief at the man’s attempt at persuading the men to grant her permission to depart, Courtney fails to come up with words of refusal she wishes to speak, the silence left in her pauses allowing their untrustworthy foes to think.

Passing a glance to the younger man behind himself, David eyes the other unnamed men standing behind him before puckering his lips, pleased with the defence they’ve erected in the event this offer doesn’t turn out as advertised. “Big guy, let the lady leave” he concludes, the response only widening the look of shock that spreads across Courtney’s face.

“I’ve got this covered from here, Court’” Emilio immediately reassures, looking to his side to find the woman’s face, “I promise.” Unable to express the conflicted feeling suppressed within her, Courtney continues to stare at the man before briefly looking back at the guard holding his weapon on her as he steps aside, eyes soon taking back to the man she struggles to justify leaving behind.

“Seriously... Go” Emilio reiterates, watching the woman gingerly step forward to accept the offer, begrudgingly moving onward to the safety she knows her partner has yet to be guaranteed, “if this gets ugly, you’re better off out there than you are in here.”

“How heroic” EJ quips from afar, earning a passing glare from the man he and his group have ambushed with the allure of what they seemingly refuse to offer up. Without much to argue against the proposition, Courtney disheartedly ventures back the way she came, stepping through the door that soon closes on her way out, leaving her friend behind to deal with the situation she’d mistakenly led him into.

“I’m gonna take it this isn’t your first rodeo with a threat?” David remarks, an eyebrow raised as he stares at the man whose face contorts into a betrayed, yet confident visage. “Oh, this isn’t my first rodeo-” Emilio replies, unswayed by the closing in of the man’s group, watching them surround him slowly without offering the slightest glimpse of fear, “-but you’re not a threat.”

|

“The quality is fantastic” a man remarks, holding a set of chainmail pants in front of himself as he stands before an open garage door, the view afforded allows a passing glance at one of Nova Scotia’s many open fields. “That’s because it’s made by hand” Jack replies, wiping his hands off on a rag that he tosses over his shoulder, stepping away from the side of his wife as she counts the paper credits exchanged to her, “well, that and we actually like making this stuff.”

“How did you learn to do it?” the pleased patron replies, laying the carefully-crafted chainmail piece with an assortment of others he’d purchased all the same, “I thought this was one of those things that people forgot how to do when the mediaeval times were over?”

“It’s not that difficult to take tiny steel rings and fit them into each other, y’know” Lauren retorts from behind the desk she counts the paper credits at, “if anything, it’s getting the steel rings that are challenging.”

“I’d imagine so. I’d imagine whatever steel we have would be put into swords and shields and stuff like that” the customer replies, shaking his head before placing his hands upon his hips. “There’s still enough of this stuff for us to keep making this gear, but it gets harder to find as time moves on” Jack retorts honestly, “the price is just gonna continue to go up the harder this stuff is to find. Couple that together with the fact that it’s just us here and, well, it's pretty time consuming.”

“The five hundred thousand credit price for a full suit makes a lot more sense then” the man replies, lifting his eyebrows as his eyes take to the open plains just a hop, skip, and jump from the makeshift factory. “Indeed. Luckily, Nova Scotia’s not real-keen on having the biggest and baddest in military-grade bullshit, so we don’t have an entire army to suit” Jack replies, crossing his arms as he joins alongside his satisfied patron, “we’re very happy with our little setup as is.”

“I’d imagine” the man replies, listening to his business partner’s wife step out of the seat she’d counted the credits from, a box and a set of plastic bags soon taken into her possession. “Alright, Mr. Ethan. All the credits are there and your suit is complete” Lauren remarks, taking each piece of the chainmail set into her hands and carefully slipping them into individual bags, “thank you for your business.”

“Hey, if anyone should be thanking anyone, I should be thanking you” Ethan responds, shaking his head with gratitude as he takes a second bag from the pile the woman had brought over, carefully helping her slip chainmail pieces into individual packaging. “I’ve had a few close calls out there. It may not be bulletproof, but with how sparse those things are becoming- it doesn’t need to be” he continues, sealing his bag shut before moving onto the next one, “you’re helping keep me safe.”

“That’s the business we’re in” Jack replies, taking the final chainmail piece into his possession before delicately laying it in another bag, laying it atop the pile of others that reside within the cardboard box their customer is prepared to leave with. Passing a few smiles and nods to each other, the trio prepare to end their exchange with Ethan’s departure, his feet carrying him to the cusp of the garage’s exit before stopping suddenly, a thought coming over his mind that draws him backward.

“You would be happy with more, right?” Ethan suddenly inquires, watching the couple’s heads pull away from each other to tend toward his remark, though they’re unable to fully understand what’s being asked of them. “I’m sorry?” Lauren inquires, looking for context their pleased and supportive patron is happy to provide.

“This setup is nice and cosy. You’ve got a lot going for you here, and making half a million credits making one piece every, what- Two or three months? That’s great” Ethan explains, crediting the couple with their work whilst providing them the potential fruits of more, “but you’d be happy to do more than that, right? I mean, you’d need a bigger place than this and a bigger workforce, but- you’d be happy to do more, right?”

Their eyes inevitably redirecting themselves toward each other, the married couple making a suitable living from the comfort of their home’s storage unit silently stare at each other as if the idea had never been floated between them before. “With a bigger place and actual employee’s- yeah. We’d be open to making more” Lauren replies, taking charge of offering a response before her husband tags along with it, “why do you ask?” Jack inquires.

“Oh, no reason. I mean, you guys were suggested to me through a friend. I can imagine I’m not the only one that works outside the compound. Maybe I’m one of the few that actually know about you guys?” Ethan confesses, a shrug in his shoulder accompanying his words, “I’m sure they’d be real interested in the stuff you make here if they did.”

“Well as long as they can pony up the credits, we’ll make these pieces for anyone willing to have enough patience” Lauren quickly responds, sensing something deeper than just an empty inquiry just as her husband does. “Our armour isn’t low quality. Doing this shit right takes time, so as long as they’re willing to wait for it to be done right-” Jack adds on, pausing to look at his wife for a moment before setting his eyes upon the customer once more, “-we’re open for business.”

Nodding to himself, Ethan smiles to the small business owners and follows through with his departure, carrying his boxed-up suit of armour to the same truck he soon hops behind the wheel of. As nightfall comes over Nova Scotia, the man’s truck ends up finding itself parked in the front lot of the converted city hall his highest-ranking superiors reside within.

With a box under his right arm, Ethan rolls through the echo-heavy halls of the once-museum and ventures past one security guard after another, slowly making his way higher upon the chain of command before finding himself outside the office of the leader herself. “Mrs. Walters will see you now” the woman seated behind the nearby desk proclaims, holding the base of her palm to the receiver of the phone she holds, granting the suit-bearing man permission to step forward.

“I’ve heard that you have something for-” Charlotte begins to remark, coupling her hands together atop her desk before finding herself cut off by the box being dropped before her, interrupting the woman’s remarks before she even has the opportunity to finish, “-me.”

“I’m Ethan Parker. I work with Courtney” the man remarks, greeting the leader of society’s last pillar as she removes the cheaters from over her eyes. “Yeah, I know who you are” Charlotte replies, nodding her head with the least-enthused expression on her face, “do you honestly think I wouldn’t know who’s in the inner circle of my right-hand woman?”

“Yes” Ethan replies with both conviction and speed, not wasting a moment in opening the once-taped flaps of the cardboard box he’s let fall before the woman’s eyes. “If this is a bomb, can I at least pour myself a drink before you set it off?” Charlotte half-heartedly remarks, her right eyebrow raised as she tries to poke fun at the interaction, “if I’m going to die, I’d prefer not to do it while sober.”

“It’s even better than a bomb” Ethan replies, opening the flimsy container before tilting its contents out, letting the bagged pieces fall upon the woman’s unmoved coupled hands. Confused, the woman lifts the first item, a plastic-wrapped chainmail chestplate, before her eyes and squints, unsure of what she’s supposed to be looking at.

“Is this some post-apocalyptic fashion style?” Charlotte wonders aloud, settling for making a joke once realising she has not the first clue of what she’s looking at. “No, but I wouldn’t blame you for thinking it was something tacky from one of those old department stores” Ethan responds, matching his superior’s humour with his own.

“Ethan, everything at those old department stores were tacky” Charlotte replies, gently letting the packaged goods she stares at fall back to the desk they were emptied upon, “that still doesn’t answer what this is.”

“It’s a set of chainmail armour I just paid half a million credits for” Ethan replies, immediately watching the woman seated behind her desk look up with raised eyebrows. “Chainmail?” Charlotte responds, watching her answer emanate within the grin and nod of the man she asks the question to, “as in the chainmail armour those knights used to use in the olden days?”

Again nodding, Ethan is left to watch the woman quickly inspect the rest of the pieces in his set before her back presses into the office chair she occupies. Coupling her hands together- this time on top of the bagged pieces of armour- Charlotte looks up at the man with equal intrigue as equal loss.

“Why are you showing me this?” the Nova Scotian leader inquires, puzzled by the presentation and uncertain over what she’s meant to take from it. “Because most of the people in Courtney’s inner circle know about the tensions between you and Gamble. We know the hope is to avoid a war, but hope isn’t something we can just blindly count on” Ethan explains, the deepening squint in the leader’s eyes further presenting her intrigue, “so, in the event things fall through, we have this.”

Extending his open hands toward the packaged pieces of armour laid at his superior’s behest, Ethan proposes his solution to the concept of conflict. “Not only is this thing going to protect your army from the undead, but it’ll stop knives, daggers, and swords the guys across the bridge will have to use when they run out of ammo” he continues, trying to strengthen a case he believes is nearly-impenetrable.

“Assuming they’ll run low on ammo is as optimistic as hoping that we won’t” Charlotte replies, sitting back in her seat before reclaiming the wrapped chainmail chestplate as she leans to one side. “Even in the event of war, the other colonies can only do so much. Gamble doesn’t just have ammo reserves upon ammo reserves, but he has our ships and heavy artillery” she proceeds, tossing the armour back to her desk once more, “this is just an obstacle to them.”

“Just tell me you’ll look into it” Ethan replies, watching the woman’s eyes look up at him as he pleads his case, “it’s better to be safe than it is to be sorry. In the event they do happen to run low on whatever it is they’ve got stocked up, you’ll be glad you had this.” Looking up at the man, Charlotte stares at the face of her subordinate-by-connection before letting out a sigh, sinking further into her seat before coupling her hands in her lap, “who made it?”

“This couple out in Scoudouc” Ethan responds, watching the woman’s distant eyes squint at the name of the town, “Jack and Lauren O’Rourke.” in an instant, the nearly pressed-together eyelids of the compound’s leader shoot open, parting at once before rolling toward the distant corner of her office, accompanying a laugh she can’t help but let free from within her core.

“Oh THAT’S FUCKING GOLD!” Charlotte exclaims, pushing herself into the comfort of her seat before firing out of it with equal annoyance as awe. “Of course it’s Jack and Lauren- of course it is” she mutters aloud, lowering her shaking head as her hands find her hips, “just take your armour and leave so I can get ready to go pay those fuckers a visit.”

“Don’t you need me to give you their address?” Ethan inquires, unsure of the reason behind the wide-eyed stare she responds to him with. “I know where to find them” Charlotte retorts, turning her face back toward the window near the far end of her room with an amused grin she can’t bring herself to conceal.

|

“I am trying to keep things from getting ugly, you know?” David remarks, bringing into question his adversary’s prior remark, “the big guy behind you only drew his gun ‘cause your girl did. The rest of us have a piece on us, we’re just choosing not to use it.”

“And I’m choosing to give you a chance not to make the biggest mistake of your life” Emilio retorts, continuing to speak as if he were in any position of authority in this conversation. “As long as we’re remaining civil, I’ll play along with this dance you seem to wanna take part in” David responds, waving his hand in a circle as if to offer the floor for the man across from him to go on, “enlighten me to what I’m not seeing. Because, from my perspective, there’s nothing off about you.”

“Meaning?” Emilio replies, laying the groundwork for the man to provide context. “Meaning anything! You don’t strike me as a killer. I’ve never met you before in my life, but I’ll give you this- you’ve got a rock-solid poker face” David replies, shrugging his shoulders as his hands dig into his pockets, sitting there with little reason to believe they’d be better off out of them, “but that’s what I mean. There’s nothing special about you that makes this seem like a mistake on my part.”

“Of course there’s not- it’s her that’s special” Emilio replies, pulling his head back as if the man he’s speaking to is of a lower level than him intellectually, “why do you think I wanted her out of the room?”

“And who is she supposed to be?” EJ retorts, waving his hand toward the direction of the recently-departed survivor their trading partner speaks so highly of. “She’s Charlotte’s right hand” Emilio replies both quickly and honestly, watching the eyes of both men standing in front of him squint with his words, “Courtney Golden. She’s the chick you always see flying through the sky when the clouds aren’t out. And if anything happens to me here, word of that will go all the way to the top.”

“You’re lying” David responds, letting out a chuckle before feeling the weight of a hand crash against the side of his face. “Did that slap feel like it was delivered by the hand of a man who isn’t completely untouchable?” Emilio hastily wonders aloud, letting his bright-red palm lower back to his side as the men that surround him prepare to ready their weapons, though they struggle to justify doing so without the word of their apparent leader.

“Face it, I know who I’ve got in my corner. And I know that if any of you cocksuckers chose to unload a bullet into me, you’ll be the most wanted group of fugitives in a very, very difficult world to hide in” Emilio proceeds, taking one step closer to the man whose face he’d just struck with incredible might, “so what I would do- if I were you- is hand me the keys to my trailer, take these briefcases with you while I’m still allowing you to, and fuck off.”

Holding the side of his face whilst fuming, David lets his eyes steady upon those of the confident man across from him, unsure of how to react to what’s been said. Watched on by EJ, the man takes a passing look at those that surround his bartering colleague as he tries to gather his bearings, called into making a decision in that moment.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Courtney inquires, climbing into the front seat of the trailer she’s been handed the keys to, speaking to the partner that stands back upon solid ground. “I know I say it a lot, but I used to be a politician. Bartering for things and using my power- whether I had it or not- to get what I want was the name of the game” Emilio responds, tucking a hand into his pocket whilst the other hangs by his side, “I was very good at it.”

“I can see that” Courtney replies, patting the driver’s side door to the big rig she prepares to take the controlling seat of, a nod passed to the man standing at the base of it, “well done, partner.” Tipping his non-existent cap, Emilio flashes the woman a smile and turns his back to her, his hand lifting up to wave at her, “drive safely, Madam Flight” he retorts, spinning the keys to the car they’d arrived in on his non-dominant hand.

Driving further into Prince Edward Island, Courtney’s big rig travels in the opposite direction as the way in which her acquaintance walks, his smile stretching from one ear to the other, though both catch the voice that calls out for him. “Emilio Vasquez?” a masculine voice calls out, prompting the man’s smile to begin lowering and alert to begin raising.

“Who’s asking?” the key-holding man simply intending to return home and prepare himself for bed replies, genuinely unsure of who stands beside his vehicle awaiting his presence. “Oh, forgive me. Sometimes the days are so long that I forget to react to people with manners” the well-dressed stranger replies, his ironed suit and straightened tie shielded from a brief gust of wind by the equally-evened suit jacket flaps, “my name is Andrew- Andrew Gamble.”

His guard lifted, Emilio watches the man extended an offered handshake without providing an equal retort, his eyes simply staring at the open-fingered palm awaiting the warmth of his own. “Forgive me, but I just dealt with some people that have left me a little sceptical of friendly fronts” the unsure civilian remarks, watching the man return his hand to his side.

“Of course. I understand” Gamble remarks, waiting for the curious man to address his presence as he knows he’s intrigued to do so. “Is there something I can help you with?” Emilio inquires, not needing an invitation in order to question the motivations of who stands before him, “I don’t carry credits on me. So, even though you don’t look like you’re homeless, I can’t help you out if you’re looking for a meal.”

“I’m not looking for a handout, Mr. Vasquez. In any matter, I’m not even looking for your help” Gamble proceeds, his stable body standing in front of the once-gubernatorial candidate with unwavering confidence taking the form of a questionable mystique. “I am- however- offering you the opportunity to greatly consider who you’re in bed with” the island’s silent overseer remarks, concealing his identity whilst providing the subject standing within his presence with a thought to chew on.

“You may not know who I am, but I know- quite well- who you are” the man continues, his steady voice retaining its calm portrayal and poised cadence, “I know all there is to know about you. Just like I know all there is to know about Alicia, Franklin, Jack, Lauren, and all the rest.” Pressing his eyelids closer together, Emilio inspects the posture of the man presenting himself as some omnipotent guardian, aware that something more than just an uncomfortable demeanour is around the corner.

“I also know about those that aren’t here. I know about Janice and Meghan, Troy and Cameron, the Callis family-” Gamble carries on, his eyelids narrowing in the least-noticeable manner that- against all odds- Emilio picks up on, “-Katie as well.” His head pulling up and chin lowering, the man beginning to feel as if he’d been backed into a corner watches the figure of near-equal height yet increasingly-imposing stature step closer.

“Mr. Vasquez, I know a lot about you and your inner circle. I know what the lot of you are capable of, and I know what the lot of you are worth” Gamble proceeds, the distance between himself and the man he stands within the line of sight to rendered little more than a few centimetres, “and because of that, I know what kind of people it’d be within your best interest to join alongside, and those people are not in Nova Scotia.”

“And you’re supposed to know that because? Because of what? You mention a few people from my past and present and- what? You expect that to rattle me?” Emilio replies, finally meeting the domineering presentation of the island’s quiet keeper with overdue scepticism. “My intentions here are not to rattle you. I have no interest in implying you should keep your eyes open” Gamble responds, making his business clear, “I just want you to be on the right side of history when the chips are down.”

“I’m not interested in picking sides. If you know so much about my past, you know I’ve already lost enough people to be done with the bloodshed” Emilio replies, his chin lifting and eyes meeting a level slightly higher than those of the man opposite him. “I know that, but unfortunately, that is what this is all going to come to within due time” Gamble replies, speaking ill of the high hopes his company retains, “the day may come where you no longer must fight, but it is not here yet.”

“Are you trying to imply that you’re going to wage war with Nova Scotia?” Emilio inquires, a half-smirk worn in the corner of his mouth very briefly, soon falling away with the reply he receives. “Yes, indeed I do” Gamble answers, the tone of his voice not once missing a beat, “and when that day comes, Nova Scotia will burn. I come to you with this information because I want the people that burned it the first time there when it goes up for a second time.”

“And why do all of that? Why destroy the last thing the old world still has to offer?” Emilio wonders aloud, not seeing the point in the devastation spoken so highly of. With a straight face, Gamble looks at his adversary and begins to smile, the teeth beginning to emerge from behind his lips. “Power” he answers in a whisper-like voice, one that prompts Emilio to lean his head, trying to take the man standing before him seriously, “power that I will not be the sole beneficiary of.”

Clicking his tongue as his mouth opens, Emilio presses his bottom lip between his teeth and nods to himself, looking off to the side before stepping away in favour of the driver’s seat. Without offering an answer, the man closest to Charlotte’s right-hand woman steps behind the wheel and turns the keys in the ignition, starting the engine of the vehicle whose door he closes behind himself.

Silent, Gamble licks the inside of his bottom lip and steps up to the vehicle’s door, looking at Emilio through the window without a word to offer, receiving the same response from the driver. Without a second glance, the man behind the wheel presses his foot to the gas and drives off, leaving behind the man speaking with equal vagueness and certainty.

Left behind as dirt is kicked up from the asphalt, Gamble watches the car speed off into the Prince Edward Island night whilst remaining with the same posture he’d held throughout the conversation’s duration. Lifting his chin, the man adjusts his tie as the brake lights of Emilio’s car disappear in the distance, joining him in turning the first corner that leads back home. With the slightest smirk, the island’s underground revolutionary walks off- his business taken care of.

== Rise ==