S7, E7 | The Earliest Hours

Sitting in a rocking chair within the corner of her room, Katie takes a ballpoint pen to the empty papers of her journal, resting the leather bound booklet atop her blanket-covered lap. “It’s beginning to get warmer now that April starts tomorrow, but it’s still ridiculously cold. That applies double since it should at least be above freezing by now” she writes, able to see the ink scrawlings she leaves across the pages through the lone candle burning beside her.

With only a twin bed in the corner opposite Katie’s rocking chair, the dorm she shares with her older business partner exists without a window to look out of. In its place, a single lightbulb sits above the door they keep shut at all times, both preferring to keep it off due to the unwelcoming shade of vibrant white it bathes the room in. Just a few short metres away, a radiator sits near the room’s corner, offering what little warmth it can to defend against the Newfoundland early spring.

“Max hasn’t called since the third day we were here. I haven’t talked to Blaise or Aude since I left either” Katie continues to write, documenting whatever thoughts she has in lieu of spending her days cramped within the box she resides in with nothing to do. “I haven’t spoken to Astor since the first week we even got to the island” she proceeds, “from what I was led to believe before we departed for Newfoundland, he’s back on Orleans Island overseeing the skeleton crew Gamble left.”

Folding her hands atop her lap, Katie lets her pen sit within her index and middle fingers whilst she stares forward, looking at the made bed she and her roommate leave behind with a smile. “Harvey and I get along well enough though. At this point, I’m not sure I have many other friends beside him” she pens, pausing as she lifts her journal closer to the flame, which begins to burn in a direction far enough away from the papers to leave it in a half-shadow.

“We’ve gotten to know each other better. I think he’s a bit thrown off by the age gap, but I’m beginning to think we might both like each other a bit more than we let on” Katie documents, reaching the end of one page before flipping to the next. “He’s a decent guy, doesn’t come on too strong, seems to know who he is and what he wants- which he should being thirty and all-” she proceeds, placing her pen to the paper yet again before her efforts appear thwarted.

“May all personnel- both off and on-duty- report to the commons area” a voice remarks through the loudspeaker sitting at the end of the hallway just beyond the door to Katie’s dorm, “again, may all personnel- both off and on-duty- report to the commons area.” With her eyebrows lifted, the woman stares at the end of her room the announcement had resonated from, unable to go without hearing it just as anyone else tucked away within the comfort of their resting area.

“Hey, I was just coming to get you” Harvey calls out, watching his roommate stick her head through the hole of a heavy sweater, the added layer joining the pair of pyjamas that she’d put on. “I figured as much, that’s why I left you a note” Katie responds, shaking her head with displeasure as she joins the man in wandering down the hallway’s length, making for the same centre of activity as those that join them, “I was only wearing a tanktop and underwear- it took me a second to get dressed.”

“I hear you. I just saw a poor guy scamper through the halls in a towel- he’d just gotten out of the shower” Harvey replies, wearing a black, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of grey khakis, “at least you’re getting more acclimated to the cold. I wouldn’t have expected you to be lounging around naked all day two weeks ago.”

“I bet you wouldn’t have minded that thought” Katie jokes, looking to her side to see the semi-uncomfortable expression her roommate returns to her, trying to pass her a smile and dismiss the quip whilst subduing the odd feeling the remark leaves him with. “Oh, come on. It’d be one thing if you were in your fifties, but a ten year age difference isn’t as big when you’re both adults as a twenty or thirty-year one would be” she doubles down, rolling her eyes.

“I’m just not used to dating younger than a year or two- let alone thirteen years younger” Harvey replies, keeping pace with the woman who shrugs at the same notion that leaves him feeling uneasy, “besides, I haven’t dated in general since pre-outbreak. This is all fairly new territory for me.”

Nearing the hallways end and already trailing behind the majority of their peers, Katie pulls Harvey off to the side, keeping out of the path those they’re surrounded by continue to traverse. “I may be more than a grade-level younger than you, but I’m a grown woman. I get that you do, but you shouldn’t feel bad for thinking of me as more than just a puppy you have to look after” the woman proclaims within a hushed tone, keeping their privacy intact.

“I don’t even know what I feel, Katie. Us swapping kisses over a half-drunk bottle of wine barely qualifies as a romantic gesture let alone an opening to something more, alright?” Harvey retorts, keeping a respectful and welcoming reflection to his voice. “I don’t know what way I feel about you. Am I open to thinking of you romantically? Yes. It is as black and white as that? No” he continues, “if anything, my reluctance has less to do with the age gap and more to do with the world we’re in.”

Her face flushed with the same harsh tones of the lightbulb at the end of the hallway they stand within that prompts them to choose candlelight in their dorm, Katie stares into the eyes of her colleague as his sight wanders toward the corridor they’ve yet to travel. “Listen. Right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry with whatever the hell they want out of us right now, so let’s not get ourselves in trouble for lagging behind” Harvey concludes, taking the woman softly by each arm.

“You’re cool. You hold your own and you’re much easier to get along with than most people I’ve had to lead by the hand on these sorts of missions, so that works in your favour” the man proceeds, shrugging his head toward the direction they’re meant to head toward, “let’s have this conversation later, alright?”

Though she’s disappointed to hear of his hesitancy for any reason, Katie accepts the issues at hand their attention is better spent being levied toward. Nodding along with the proposition of the gentleman she’s come to feel affectionately for, the woman steps ahead and begins leading the charge toward the commons area their presence is awaited by.

“Well this is unexpected” Harvey soon remarks, having journeyed through the refinery’s inner workings and various passageways to find an awaiting face he would’ve taken hours to guess would drop by if tasked with doing so. “That is an understatement” Katie replies, just barely making it through the tunnel that leads to the larger area before her eyes are taken by a man awaiting the growing crowd from the front of an adjacent stage.

Amongst the crowd, various Prince Edward Island residents and loyalists- once-Quebecois and regular survivors just trying to settle into a home- speak within their inner circles, pondering the presence of whom they both do and don’t know. “Who’s that guy?” being asked as frequently within some circles as “why is he here?” is in others, Katie and Harvey join the ever-growing crowd full of speculative residents just as their guest begins to speak.

“Good evening. Thank you for entering in a calm, collected, and orderly manner” a woman with an empty smile remarks, her hands coupled together at her lap and blonde hair tied back in a bun, “it’s at this time that I’d like to open the floor for our guest to speak. So, ladies and gentlemen, please be respectful. The floor is all yours, Mr. Gamble.”

Stepping back, the woman grants the standing microphone to the hidden overseer of the island’s activities, who takes this moment to seemingly emerge from the shadows for the first time. “Thank you. And thank you- again- to the workers that followed this woman’s directions with such respect and order” Gamble begins, coupling his hands behind his back as he stares out at the collected audience standing before him.

“My name is Andrew Gamble. Many years ago, I was a member of Prince Edward Island’s standing regiment. As you know, that changed when the outbreak took hold and we absorbed our ranks into that of Charlotte Walters’ Nova Scotia settlement” the man greets, offering a brief introduction to those unfamiliar to him, “since that day, I have been left quietly representing Mrs. Walters. On her behalf, I have been running the island’s daily activities for the better part of the last five years.”

“What the hell is happening?” Harvey whispers to himself, though his voice is just loud enough for his colleague to overhear. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to tell people he was in charge of the island?” Katie questions back, watching the eyes of the man widen as his chin lowers slightly. “Why do you think I’m asking what’s happening?” the man retorts, clarifying his uncertainty over the unprecedented action.

“Unlike the assumption many of you had, it was not Charlotte Walters that ordered for the resumed operation of this refinery- but I” Gamble continues, announcing his presence to the confined group unlike what he’d once agreed to. “And unlike what you may have initially thought, this refinery will not be supplying additional power to Nova Scotia” the man continues, a hollow smile coming over his visage, “this refinery will exclusively supply Prince Edward Island with continued fuel and power.”

“Why is he saying all of this now?” Katie worriedly questions back, whispering her inquiry to the man that stands just centimetres behind her, “he’s not supposed to tell anyone other than his guards about being in charge!”

“Katie, I know that” Harvey responds, lowering his face toward the woman to keep surrounding ears from listening in, “I’m just as clueless about this as you are.”

“Furthermore, it is also of my command that half of you will be returning home to Prince Edward Island by the end of the day” Gamble continues, upright posture and confident expression retained throughout the announcement’s duration, “those of you that are not of Quebecois decent, or those of you that live on the Nova Scotian-New Brunswick side of the Confederation Bridge and wish to remain there, will be taken back home by a separate vessel.”

With widened eyes, Harvey stares forward to the man speaking onstage whilst his younger colleague remains in the dark as to what’s unfolding, a visible look of distress and worry carried across his face. “Those of you that remain will be joined with added security. Nova Scotia hasn’t taken too kindly to this endeavour, and wishes to continue negotiations over the future of this plant in private” Gamble proceeds, further clarifying his hidden intentions to those in the know of his plot.

“Under no circumstance do I want the people that stay here to take worry over the additional security- it is merely an added measure to combat potential forces unassociated with Nova Scotia” Gamble continues, feeding lies to the gullible incapable of discerning them from truth, whilst further opening the metaphorical floor to those aware of the spoken fallacies, “the island will have full control over this refinery whilst negotiations continue, and with that- full responsibility over it.”

Listening to the man’s continued speech, Katie is pulled back to the sanctuary of the hallway she and her love interest had ventured down just a short minute prior, the tug at her inner elbow allowing Harvey to lead her toward quieter corners. “We need to get our things together now” the man remarks, keeping his voice low enough for it not to echo down the hallway’s lengths.

“What is it!?” Katie proclaims, pulling her arm back to free herself from the grasp of her colleague, watching him stop mid-retreat and turn back for her, “what did you figure out!?” Hissing through parted lips as he holds a finger in front of his face, Harvey urges the woman to quiet herself down, passing a look toward the direction he’d begun walking for to ensure they’re alone for the moment.

“That negotiation is bullshit- Nova Scotia’s got nothing to do with this. Saying they want to talk things through is just a nonsense way of saying Nova Scotia found out about this” Harvey retorts, keeping close to the woman he stands within a breath’s reach of, “something’s gone down back home, and now Gamble’s trying to tidy up his loose ends. He’s not announcing himself to the public up here to explain away why he’s here, he’s defying Charlotte’s orders ‘cause things are getting messy.”

“What does messy mean?” Katie fights back, lowering her voice to match the same whispered tone as the man she speaks with, “is this messy as in argumentative, or messy as in things are about to get brutal and ugly?”

“If I had a million dollars to spend, I’d be putting all of it in the latter category” Harvey responds, passing a glance back toward the huddled crowd a few metres away every few seconds, able to hear the muffled words their not-so-quiet leader continues to address the workers with. “He’s been after independence for as long as he’s been in charge- this is the biggest no-no he’s breaking” the man continues, “if he’s doing this, it’s ‘cause Independence is off the table.”

“But I thought that independence going off the table is what would lead him to-” Katie immediately replies, falling silent before finishing her thought upon realising that it’s exactly what’s unfolding before them. “Yeah, he’s getting ready for war” Harvey responds, knowing the line of thought she was heading toward and finishing it for her, “he’s pulling half of us out to strengthen the arms he’s gotta fight with. Whatever happened back at home- things are getting bad ‘cause of it.”

“Then why wouldn’t we be safer here?” Katie immediately argues back as her acquaintance begins pulling away, brought back to the sound of her voice. “If he’s upping security, he’ll be defending this place more than anything. At least more than anything other than Charlottetown” she reiterates, watching Harvey shake his head and return toward her, “if we get on that boat- whether we’re told to or not- aren’t we just going back to somewhere that’ll make us fight a war?”

“Of course we will- that’s the point” Harvey responds, shaking his head as he waves his hand toward the huddled crowd’s direction, “do you honestly think he’s upping security over here because he thinks Nova Scotia isn’t going to come knocking at the door?”

“Then why are we leaving if we have to fight one way or another?” Katie replies, unable to discern one option from the other. “Because at least we’ve got ground to concede back on the island” Harvey responds, shrugging his shoulders whilst passing another look to the huddled masses in their opposite direction, “if we’re outgunned, we can retreat further inland until there’s no more ground to meet. At that point, we can hit the open waters and go elsewhere if we play our cards right.”

“As opposed to being pinned down here and getting cornered- or blown up” Katie adds, only further strengthening the point her superior makes. “Exactly” Harvey responds, extending his hand to take the woman’s own into it as he awaits her decision, “are you coming or not?”

“Of course I am” Katie responds, immediately swatting the man’s hand away and taking the lead on retreating into the refinery’s depths, breaking out into a casual sprint as they return for their dorm, passing a few straggling residents slow to the call they’ve been asked to answer.

= 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 =

\ 19 Hours Earlier /

Wearing the bags of exhaustion beneath her eyes, Courtney marches through the front door of a recently-reclaimed Moncton City Hall, the new home of the Nova Scotian compound’s government welcoming her from the chilly early-spring darkness. Wearing no more than a winter coat over the pyjamas she’d worn before being summoned from bed, the woman wastes little time in travelling the building’s spacious and near-empty interior with hopes of getting back to sleep as quickly as possible.

“I swear, Charlotte- this was the worst night to call me in so early” the woman remarks, entering the tucked-away chamber that her superior calls home, pushing in the door whose frosted glass window reads ‘Chancellor’, “I literally got home from a trade an hour and a half ago.” With her eyes glued to the screen of her computer’s monitor, Charlotte nods in response to her confidant’s entrance, her right hand clicking on the tabs of her mouse as she scrolls through documents.

“Yeah, sorry. Business calls” the woman murmurs, the way in which she replies making it obvious that her attention isn’t fully upon her subordinate. “Why are you even here this late? It’s like four in the morning” Courtney wonders aloud, shedding her coat and placing it along the back of an empty chair that sits in the corner of the room, its legs soon carrying it to the front of the chancellor’s desk at her pull.

“Because of something that pains me to say more than anything else in the world” Charlotte retorts, finally peeling her eyes away from the screen to look at her once-employee and now-friend, “I think Emilio might have been onto something the other day.” Unsure of why such a visceral reaction would be taken from a harmless providing of credit, Courtney rolls with the remark as she lowers herself into her seat, twirling her hand to gesture her superior’s explanation.

“When he said I should grant the place independence if I knew it would fail, it left me trying to figure out whether or not it would” Charlotte clarifies, turning the bulky, mid 90’s-era monitor toward her friend’s end of the desk. “So, for the last few days, I’ve been digging through reports and filings that the island’s been returning over the last few years” the chancellor proceeds, “that’s when I came across this.”

Squinting to protect her eyes from the jarring shade of white the computer’s screen hits her face with, Courtney glosses over a paper littered with numbers and numerous words they correlate to. “I’m not an accountant, Charlotte. What am I looking at?” she concedes, accepting defeat to the text she can’t make out any differently from other scrawlings.

“It’s a record of the energy consumption the island has reported since we started the system” Charlotte responds, turning the monitor back toward her just slightly, allowing both to view it. “It goes back to December 2018, a few months after the outbreak. We started keeping track of how much energy we could produce and how much we were using” the chancellor proceeds, pointing out each number whilst explaining how it differentiates from the rest.

“That represents how many gigawatts of electricity we produce, this represents how many gigawatts of electricity we use” the number-junky continues, her finger pointing emphatically to the third set of numerals, “and this is how many gigawatts of electricity they use.”

Leaning in with a squint once more, Courtney tries to make out what she can from the few digits that have now been revealed to her in full, slightly disappointed in still being incapable of understanding them. “I still don’t get it” she confesses, pointing to the row of descending numbers, all of whom appear similar to each other regardless of how far the document stretches, “they all look the same.”

“Then yes- you do get it” Charlotte responds, the simple gesture of reassuring the woman’s awareness prompting a more invested response from her subordinate. “Gamble’s been telling me about the measures he’s taking to lessen the amount of electricity the island uses from us for years” the chancellor remarks, running her finger down the same column she’d been reading into prior to her friend’s arrival, “if his measures are working as he says they are, this number should be going down.”

“Maybe he hasn’t implemented them yet? By what you’re saying, it sounds like he was implementing measures and not necessarily putting them into use” Courtney replies, a conclusion her superior had already come to. “True, and that makes this number a lot more sensical” Charlotte responds, running her finger down an entirely separate column, “this is how much electricity they’ve been producing since then- the number is still unchanged.”

“So what’s the problem? Is it that he’s not running them?” Courtney replies, able to comprehend what’s being said with more clarity now, though she’s still unable to follow the deal so monumental that it required such an early wake up call. “It’s not so much of a problem as it is a sign of what’s going on over there” Charlotte responds, turning the monitor back so it faces her more directly, “he’s pretty strict about how often I can send people over to check on him, so this is what I work with.”

Attempting to cross her arms, the desire to wipe at the corners of her tired eyes prompts the relaxing Courtney to take a step back and compose herself, still fighting the mostly-sleepless night she’s embarked upon. “If Emilio’s proposal turns out to be true- and they’re not ready to break off on their own- something like this could help me figure out what they aren’t ready because of” Charlotte concludes, following her friend’s lead of leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms.

“Charlotte, you know I only ask this because I wanna know that I didn’t get up so early for no reason-” Courtney remarks, changing the topic of discussion briefly so she can arrive at the reason behind her calling to action, “-why is this worth me not getting sleep tonight?”

With a smirk, Charlotte reaches past her computer’s monitor and extends a mug of coffee to her closest ally, one that is begrudgingly taken into the possession of a resident coming to grips with the fact that she will not return to bed anytime soon. “Because these numbers can mean many different things, and all of them work in our favour” the chancellor replies, pausing as the hot beverage changes hands, “some work well, others work brilliantly.”

Rolling her hand through the air to once more gesture for her superior to explain further, Courtney follows through on tucking her arms together, letting the coffee sit at the desk’s edge so it can cool as she crosses her left leg over her right. “One thing it can mean is that they’re reporting the wrong numbers. They could be feeding me nonsense that isn’t actually representative of their usage” Charlotte proclaims, “that breaks our agreement and can let me remove Gamble from power.”

“And that will lead him to double down and start a war, which means it’s not the option that you want to run with-” Courtney replies, able to see where that option leads, “-next.”

“It could also mean that- like you said earlier- they’ve only implemented the measures. And for whatever reason, they either haven’t started operating them or they haven’t fully gotten them ready yet” Charlotte retorts, falling silent to allow her friend to conclude the point on her behalf.

“That would mean they either don’t have the alternatives ready yet and can’t actually power the island themselves, or they haven’t started using them and don’t know how reliable they are” Courtney responds, “the first outcome leaves them up shit creek without a paddle and the second means they may actually be able to supply themselves and know that with as much certainty as we do. That means they’re hoping the measures work, and we’re hoping they don’t.”

“Precisely. On one hand, they’re screwed and everyone knows it, and on the other- it’s a toss up” Charlotte reassures, nodding her head as she briefly glances back at the computer, “fifty-fifty. Either they do get the equipment running and we’ve screwed ourselves, or they don’t and realise they’re right back up that shit creek you mentioned.”

“But that still isn’t good enough. At least, it’s not for you” Courtney replies, now finding the same strategic line of thought as the woman that sits one desk’s length away from her, “because as long as there’s the chance they make it work, that means there’s a chance this blows up in our faces.”

“Which leads us to option number three” Charlotte replies, swaying toward her friend with the turn of her chair as she uncrosses her arms, leaning into the forearms that she presses into her end of the desk, “they’re straight up full of shit.”

Letting the space between herself and her superior go quiet for a moment, Courtney lets her eyes pull to the side of the room as she shrugs her shoulders, “-which means they’d never make it on their own period.”

“Bingo” Charlotte responds, a smile spreading across her face as she pushes her chair outward, standing from its leather cushioning and stepping around her desk. “That means Emilio’s plan would work. If the island really can’t make it on their own, leaving them to try would result in chaos” the chancellor carries on, “of course, we would have to clean up the chaos- but we’d be reclaiming the island as ours again. If they’re full of shit, leaving them stranded would just weed out the weak.”

“Yes, but that still doesn’t get to the root of the problem that such a plan now leaves us with” Courtney replies, turning her seat to face the moving woman so she doesn’t have to get up, “you’ve got these reports for a reason. You’re not allowed to go over and make sure for yourself. That means everything that we’ve just talked about does us little good since we can’t tell for sure exactly which one of them is really what’s going on.”

“Not exactly” Charlotte corrects, finally meeting a moment in thought where she and her friend cannot align. “In order to make sure that- even if Gamble was feeding me bullshit- the island wasn’t falling into disrepair behind my back, we’ve agreed to a limited amount of compound-wide inspections” the chancellor proceeds, moving her guest’s coffee mug aside to take a seat at the desk’s end, “part of those limited inspections include looking into electrical infrastructure.”

Lifting an eyebrow as her sights veer off to the side, Courtney lets her mind wander for a moment in silence before her superior’s continued speech wrangles it back in. “Since I haven’t ordered any in 2023 yet, Prince Edward Island is due for an inspection on behalf of the Nova Scotian government” Charlotte responds, a smirk only continuing to grow in the corner of her mouth, “and that means we’re due a little peek into just how stable these ‘measures’ really are.”

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\ 3 Hours Later /

Attire unchanged from the usual dress clothes he wears beneath a long, beige trench coat, Gamble walks through the spacious halls of Charlottetown’s government building, hands balled into fists as they swing by his side. Though as empty and shallow as a three foot dip into a pool without an ounce of water in it, the off-putting grin the man normally attempts to present is nowhere to be found, instead replaced with a closed-lip and flared-nostril grimace.

Passing by the empty secretary’s desk at the front of the corridor leading to his office, Gamble stares intently at the floor he’s yet to travel, walking as uncomfortably as his presence makes those he’s typically joined by. Though he appears to withhold a bountiful sum of varying angers and irritations, the emotionless overseer of the breakaway-hopeful island steps through the open doorway of his office to a small crowd he has not a single word for.

“He’s at the other end of the line waiting for you, sir” Bristol remarks, her hands folded as she stands at the room’s centre, a trio of men occupying the space closeby. Nodding back, Gamble gently pushes his office chair aside and picks up the handset that rests just before the receiver it was picked up from, holding it to his ear as he stands over the desk he most frequently sits at.

“Gamble” the man greets, wasting little time in opening the floor to the gentleman calling for his reply. “Sir, we’ve got a squad of Nova Scotians here to do the summer rundown on our infrastructure” the man on the line’s other end responds, unable to see Gamble’s unchanged guise lift from the receiver and take toward an open window at the back of his own office.

“I see” the community’s silent dictator responds calmly, the tone in his voice failing to match the subdued expression of typically-hidden rage that festers within the shallow man’s rigid soul. 

“Let me see the phone” a third man remarks, curling his fingers toward the man at the opposite end of Gamble’s line, gesturing him off the handset. As instructed by his legal superior, the dictator’s caller passes the phone to a smiling man in a black and white windbreaker. “Hey, Grumble. My name’s Ethan, and it seems like your men here have a hard time understanding the definition of ‘mandatory’” the man remarks, chewing a wad of gum that sits between his molars.

“Do us all a favour here and help us get this over with as soon as possible-” Ethan continues, as unable to see the expression worn on the face of the man at the other end of the line, “grab a dictionary, read this prick the definition of ‘mandatory’, and tell them to move out of our fucking way. Capisce?”

Staring at the sea residing just beyond the open window, Gamble’s face takes an upward turn, the frown replaced with a smile as his eyes grow more warm and welcoming. “Of course, Ethan” the man replies, his voice changing similarly whilst his free hand takes the receiver off the desk, carrying it with him as he steps toward the office’s rear.

“Boss?” the man responds, his words hitting Gamble’s ear and prompting an even wider smile. “Go ahead and let Ethan and his subordinates onto the island, please” the dictator commands, turning his sights back for the desk he begins venturing back toward, setting the receiver upon solid ground once more.

“Alright, sir” the man replies hesitantly, squinting past the sun that begins rising over the sky both Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island reside beneath, seeing the increasing grin come over a visually pleased Ethan, “come on through.”

Of the belief that his part in the conversation has been settled, Gamble takes the handset away from his ear and looks at the receiver, able to make out where the device is meant to be lowered, though he appears hesitant to return it. Keeping to herself, Bristol joins the men that stand behind her in remaining patient, not wanting to interrupt the thought it appears their superior is deep within.

Though his smile remains intact, the appearance of Gamble’s face leaves him looking as if he were held prisoner of a trance, once that leaves him incapable of hanging up the phone. “They know our vulnerability” the dictator murmurs beneath his breath, retaining the grin that he just can’t help himself enough to shake free from, his eyes staring intently at the phone’s receiver, “they’re starting to play their hand against ours.”

“Sir?” Bristol finally wonders aloud, unable to make out what’s being said across the room from her, but more than capable of understanding that the man she takes orders from is speaking for his ears- and only his ears- to hear. “There would be no need for an advanced inspection unless there was a game to play” Gamble continues to mumble low enough to evade the ears of those watching on, “it’s too soon after last week’s discovery for this to be a coincidence.”

“Sir?” Bristol calls out once more, trying- and failing- to reclaim the undivided attention of the autocrat signing off on the slips she requires to claim the credits her survival depends upon. “They’re not coming after me directly for a reason. They know something I don’t want them to” Gamble continues, nostrils flaring once more as his grin begins to lower, the hand that he holds the phone within the grasp of slowly pulling back, “I can’t leave them the inside track.”

“Sir?” Bristol questions for yet a third instance, this time taking one step forward as she does so before immediately leaping back, stricken by momentary fear as the sound of a large slam comes over the room. Thrusting the phone back into the receiver with such force that the entire machine splinters into pieces and flies off his desk, Gamble lets his composed mask slip to such a point that it falters completely, showing through a violent display of aggression he seldom exposes for view.

Without so much as a shout to accommodate the brutal reaction, Gamble stares at his neat desk and soon wipes away the tiny fragments of plastic his outburst had resulted in before calmly looking back at the people ahead of him. “Other than Bristol, decide amongst yourselves who leads what- I need a crew overseeing the inspections, I want a group on standby with the trucks, and I want two ships en route for the refinery at Newfoundland” the dictator commands.

With the clap of his hands, Gamble signals for the three men to leave the room and debate amongst each other who follows through on what. Left with only his secretary standing in his presence, the man returns the empty visage of welcoming pleasure to his face, acting as if the mask were weightless if physical in nature.

“Bristol, I’d like for you to do two things for me. Then, I’d like you to go home, do whatever shopping you need to prepare, and then go into lockdown until you’re told otherwise” Gamble proceeds, stepping away from his desk as he fixes his tie, “arrange a car to take me out to Kensington and await a return trip. Then, I’d like you to make sure that the captain of either boat one of them is sending to Newfoundland is aware that he’s not to leave without me on board.”

Nodding, Bristol continues to stand at the room’s centre for another two seconds before turning away, still slightly shaken from the man’s sudden and quickly-dismissed show of anger. Now left to his own, Gamble looks back to his desk and stares beyond it, looking to the window that sits behind where his chair is usually situated, allowing him the sight of his island’s coastline, capped off with a majestic view of the Charlottetown Harbour- one he hasn’t planned on seeing the last of just yet.

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\ 4 Hours Later /

“Thanks, Ethan” Charlotte responds, calmly returning her phone to the receiver in which she’d taken it from, looking to the woman that remains seated in the chair across from her. “Gamble’s men aren’t letting Ethan inspect the supposed ‘measures’ he’s spoken of so frequently” she begins, kicking her feet onto an empty spot on the desk alongside her monitor, “so, they either don’t have it, or there’s something else out of order over there. Either way- they’re hiding something.”

Puckering her lips, Courtney turns her sights toward the corner of the office, looking at a filing cabinet topped off with a long-dead potted plant whilst she ponders quietly. Its brown leaves hanging over the lip of the cement pot it sits within, the deceased display of rigidity appears sad and sorrowful, the only life form the room offers other than herself and her superior having spent weeks and months already well within its final resting place.

“What’s your move then?” Courtney inquires, lifting the brow over her right eye as she peers across the table, “you gonna call a meeting with Gamble? Maybe hold a conf-” Falling silent, the stationary paramotorist turns her attention to the knocking at their door, the potential conversation they could’ve embarked upon thwarted by the fist calling for an answer.

“Come on in” Charlotte mutters aloud, instinctually granting the figure on the other end entrance without much thought, feeling comfortable enough in her domicile to welcome those outside within. “I could hear someone in here talking, so I’m sorry for interrupting” Emilio greets, peering his head around the door and passing the chancellor a glance before setting sights upon his business partner, “you weren’t answering your phone, so I figured you’d be here or at the bar.”

“We’re having a private conversation, so if you wouldn’t m-” Charlotte begins, answering on her subordinates behalf before falling silent to her interjection. “We’re pretty busy here right now, Em’. What is it?” Courtney wonders aloud, watching her superior’s eyes roll as she looks back, carrying on with the offer her friend receives.

“The trade we’ve been talking about since last week- he’s ready for us tonight” Emilio remarks, the man’s presence dismissed within Charlotte’s mind, though her ears remain fixated on the words he speaks, “he wants to meet us at sundown on the shoreline out on Rosebank.”

“Rosebank across the bridge?” Courtney immediately wonders aloud, the same location that she takes interest in having captivated the attention of Nova Scotia’s chancellor. “Yeah, he’s sending a married couple out. They’ll have the-” Emilio begins to respond, pausing to prevent Charlotte’s ears from taking information she’s not meant to be privy to, “-product ready for us to drive back, but they can’t leave the town.”

“No” the chancellor interrupts, her eyes firmly placed upon the man that looks at her without much of a reaction, “none of you are to go over that bridge until further notice.” Though the initial response had surprised him, Emilio’s face only takes on a confused expression at the declaration the chancellor utters, a smirk and chuckle coming over him at the thought of being given commands no different than one a parent would give out.

“I’m sorry?” Emilio replies, a squint in his eye as Courtney shares the redirection of his sight, both figures now looking back to the figure occupying the community’s highest ranking. “It’s within the best interest of both of you to refrain from crossing that bridge until I say so” Charlotte reiterates, doubling down on the claim that almost prompts her guest to break into a laughing fit, “I’d suggest that you let the rest of your group know that the same applies to them.”

“Clint and Nessie have a place out on Stratford, so they already live across the bridge-” Emilio responds, vehemently shaking his head, “-sorry, that’s not gonna fly.”

“Then tell them to move if you want them to be safe” Charlotte responds, passing another look toward her subordinate, who leans forward in her chair just slightly with widened eyes. “I’m sorry, what is that supposed to mean?” Emilio rebukes, uncertain over what the chancellor is trying to direct his mind toward.

“It means that the safest place for you to be is here- on this side of the bridge” Charlotte responds, doubling down once more, “I’d consider telling the people you love most the same thing if you want what’s best for them.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Emilio retorts, beginning to consider their conversation in the flat from days earlier may be relevant once more. “I believe I’m making myself incredibly clear” Charlotte responds, taking her feet off the desk and cementing them to the floor once more, “are you deaf? Have you lost your hearing? Don’t go across the bridge anymore- that’s what I’m telling you.”

Stepping forward, Emilio opens his mouth before feeling the soft flesh that makes up his lips return to each other, his step forward prevented by his friend’s outstretched hand. “Em’, please. I’ll go with you tonight, just-” Courtney responds, only to find herself stopped by the sound of her superior’s voice.

“No, you won’t” Charlotte interrupts, stepping out of her chair and now standing up from her desk, thwarting her subordinate’s attempt at restraining the guest. “What are you not telling me!?” Emilio exclaims, pushing past Courtney’s hand as he closes the distance between himself and the chancellor’s desk, eyes widened and voice raised a few octaves, “it’s obviously serious enough for you to want Courtney to stay away from, so what’s going on!?”

Snarling as her upper lip curls, Charlotte prepares to meet the level of her visitor’s voice, her waist pressing into the edge of her desk that she leans forward into. Though her mouth is agape, the chancellor utters not one word, her response instead taken over by the one figure in the room trying to prevent an outburst.

“Things are about to blow up between us and Gamble” Courtney blurts out, watching Emilio look over his shoulder whilst Charlotte joins him in staring forward, their eyes glued to the woman near the office’s front door. “Courtney-” the chancellor mutters, eyebrows furrowing as she’s kept from speaking further, the paramotorist’s reluctance to acknowledge her superior’s interruption preventing it from gaining the centre of attention.

“We’re not yet sure what’s going on, but we know Gamble’s doing something sketchy, and one way or another- the other side of the island won’t be safe for us to travel soon enough” Courtney continues, her spilling of the beans on the operation prompting Charlotte to throw herself back into her seat.

“Just do me a favour and go get Clint and Nessie- and the rest of your friends if they’re over there- onto this side of the bridge” Courtney concludes, taking her friend’s arms as she steps up to him, forced to look up in order to stare into the taller resident’s face. “I don’t know if they will here, but things are definitely going to get messy on the island” the paramotorist continues, watching the gentle shake of her friend’s head voice his immediate reaction.

“Is there about to be a war?” Emilio inquires, his voice soft and calmed, out of the ordinary in comparison to the hostile tone it’s juxtaposed to, “do we have to get ready for-?”

“I don’t know. But what I do know is that it’d be best if you kept this between us and the rest of the group” Courtney interrupts to reply, not wanting to let the man get ahead of himself. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t know’?” Emilio retorts, the shake in his head more vehement as he pulls away from his friend’s reach, now standing as far from here as he does from the chancellor, “how do you know things are gonna get messy across the bridge if you don’t know if we’ll be at war?”

“Because there’s a good chance they’re not ready to make it on their own” Charlotte interrupts, answering the man’s question now that her reasons for withholding information are pointless. “We sent people over there a few hours ago to inspect their infrastructure, and without going into too much information, we’ve got a good reason to believe they’re not ready for the independence Gamble’s been talking about” she continues, slouching back in her chair now that the whistle’s been blown.

“If he’s asked for independence, then he has to be ready- it makes no sense otherwise” Emilio quickly retorts, scoffing at the gesture presented to him as if it were laughable. “It was probably a smokescreen. He knew I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, but he wagered it anyway” Charlotte responds, shaking her head as she kicks her feet up onto the desk once more.

Matching the woman’s dismissive reaction, Emilio shakes his head in refusal of her proposition, voicing his opposition to it without so much as a second thought. “Even if he didn’t expect it, he would’ve had to be prepared for the slightest instance that you would’ve” the survivor responds, looking at the side of the sceptical chancellor’s face, “he didn’t strike me as someone that wouldn’t have come prepared for either outcome.”

“Trust me- he didn’t plan for it” Charlotte responds, her face stricken with the sunlight that peeks through the window she looks into, afforded the view of a small family walking the sidestreet just beyond the glass. “He’s always been of the belief that we were inevitably going to split apart, but if he wasn’t prepared for anything- it was me offering him independence in a year’s time” the chancellor continues, her distant tone making it clear that her mind is travelling elsewhere.

“Elaborate” Emilio replies, immediately regaining the chancellor’s attention with his proposal, watching her body turn back toward him upon his request, “what do you mean by ‘he always knew you were splitting apart’.” With a squint in her eye, Charlotte passes another glance through her window, only able to see the empty, quiet street the occasional passer-by would venture past.

 “He suggested we break apart then instead of waiting for a couple of years for it to naturally get there anyway” she replies, her voice supporting the judgemental undertones that are carried through her expression, “he wanted to get ahead of the curve and mutually agree to break apart. So, I offered him independence if I couldn’t gain a specific approval of the Quebecois population within a year.”

“And when was that?” Emilio hastily questions, watching the woman’s eyes again wander off to the side, patiently awaiting his answer. “Last summer” the woman responds, unable to shake the dismissive sway of her body as she replies.

“So you told him almost a year ago that you’d give him his independence in a year if you didn’t meet a certain benchmark, and you think he isn’t prepared to go out on his own?” the once-gubernatorial candidate replies, the scathing modulation in his response carrying the disbelief in what he’s hearing, “have you taken up residency in stupid town?”

“You must’ve lost your mind if you think he expects me to follow through on that deal” Charlotte retorts, now wearing the visage of disgust to the man she turns her chair away from, “even if I followed through, he certainly doesn’t expect me to.”

“How the hell is that relevant at all!?” Emilio rebukes, watching the back of the woman’s head face him as the hand of his business partner grazes his arm, “whether or not he expects for this to be amicable changes nothing- waging war with you or being granted his independence doesn’t stop the fact that your resources go away regardless.”

Having attempted to persuade her friend from carrying on with his side of a pointless argument, Courtney’s subtle touch soon halts its progression up Emilio’s arm, its rest now leaving it at his elbow. “Maybe Gamble and I don’t think the same, but if I were in his shoes, I’d be making sure I had a way of getting food, water, energy, weaponry and anything else from somewhere other than you” the man continues, turning to his side and finding his colleague’s change in expression.

Having initially stepped forward with a sympathetic visage, Courtney now holds her squinted eyes toward the man within her arm’s length, trying to process the point he makes. “He said he had been installing ‘measures’, but he won’t let our guys inspect them” Charlotte retorts, speaking to her guest whilst staring out the window, no longer affording him the benefit of eye contact, “so he’s either full of shit, or whatever he’s doing on the island isn’t good enough.”

“Well, if the introduction the guy gave me was any indication, Gamble doesn’t seem like someone that wouldn’t be ready to get cut off from your supply” Emilio replies, incapable of seeing the eyeroll the chancellor reacts to him with. “Maybe I’m still in the dark here. Maybe there’s something you know that I don’t, but what you’re telling me makes no sense” the headstrong survivor concedes, “if he knows what he’s doing and is willing to fight, then he has a plan he’s confident in.”

“Or he doesn’t want us interfering with it” Courtney suddenly remarks, staring forward blankly as she speaks, her voice immediately prompting the chancellor to lose her composure. “Alright, I’m sick of the stupid goddamn schtick!” Charlotte exclaims, throwing herself out of her chair and marching around the desk, “it’s one thing for him to start trying to make a mountain out of a molehill, but the second that you start playing along, Courtney- that’s where I draw the line.”

“Maybe he’s not wrong!” Courtney proclaims, watching her superior step past her and make for the room’s exit, rolling her eyes and retaining every ounce of refusal she has to offer. “Maybe he knows we could screw with it and he wants us in the dark over it!” the woman continues, her words unable to keep Charlotte from continuing to make for the door, “hiding it from us might be the only way we don’t interfere with it!”

Refusing to hear those she leaves behind out, the chancellor’s hand squeezes the doorknob with great force, twisting it in the same motion that she yanks it open. Freed to leave, Charlotte steps through the entrance and begins making for the hallway, one foot already having touched ground beyond the room before a sudden remark prevents the second from following suit.

“Or maybe he’s not showing it to you because it’s not there” Emilio states, watching the departing chancellor stop in the door and immediately hang her head, hairs falling in front of her face as the door remains wide open. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Charlotte murmurs aloud, finally reaching the point in which her annoyance becomes so great that it’s almost humorous.

“What does that mean? He’s got some invisible energy source? What, am I dealing with some kind of ghost energy?” the woman mocks, turning back to look at the peers standing in the centre of her office. “How do you think he keeps the lights on? Who do you think powers his electrical grid? How do you think his entire island gets by?” Charlotte continues, leaving the door open as she casually re-enters, drawing closer to her ‘frenemy’ with each step.

“Well, where do you get it from?” Emilio instead asks, not needing to wait long for his answer. “Oil” Charlotte hastily replies, tossing her hands out by each side, “we power the grid on our oil. And before you ask, no- he doesn’t have a refinery. The only access to oil he has is through me.”

Watching the chancellor stand a few metres away from him with a smug grin on her face, Emilio looks off to the side of the room and scrunches his face, trying to talk himself out of asking a question so simple he’d assume it’d have an easy answer. “So- why can’t he just go get one?” the man wonders aloud, soon reclaiming his line of sight with the chancellor that remains silently stood across from him, not yet providing him with an answer.

“I know I didn’t have a direct line with the Canadian government when I was mayor or anything, but I definitely knew the basics of how the world worked-” Emilio continues, using the silence that the chancellor leaves him with to continue speaking, “-but I knew that Canada was pretty rich with oil. Not Saudi Arabia-rich, but well off enough.”

“What’s your point?” Charlotte interjects, a much more serious tone taken in her speech than just seconds prior. “Well, I’m sure the refineries you have here weren’t the only ones in all of Canada” Emilio replies, the calm reflection in his voice only assisting in leaving a strange silence over the room, “why couldn’t he have just gone out and taken over one somewhere else?”

Parting her lips, Charlotte looks at the man with her mouth agape and yet fails to utter a single word, the moisture on her tongue and gums beginning to dry the longer she stays quiet. “Well, we have a compound in Toronto, so- if he’s really keen on keeping us from interfering with his business- he wouldn’t want us between him and that refinery” Courtney speaks, watching her superior’s eyes take toward her- mouth still agape.

Awkwardly quiet, Charlotte looks back to Emilio as her mouth closes, not a word yet to offer as she finally breaks from her statue-like freeze, walking past the pair and back to the comfort of her desk. 

“Alright, so that would mean he’d have one you couldn’t interfere with. At least, not easily” Emilio replies, watching Charlotte reach into the drawer of her desk without speaking and retrieve a folded piece of paper, standing upright to compare it to a zoomed-in map that’s tacked to a bulletin board behind her seat.

“That makes a lot more sense with the boats he’d sent down the St. Lawrence” Courtney replies, watching her superior compare a set of maps no different than each other apart from the locations marked upon them, “it’d mean he’d have room to make a buffer zone from Quebec City all the way north to-”

“Newfoundland” Charlotte concludes, capping off her subordinate’s remark with the whispered name of the evasive island just north of the Nova Scotian compound, her mouth agape and eyes wide. “He knows the only boats I have are the ones that he docks at Charlottetown, which means I wouldn’t have the naval power to go after him up there” the chancellor proceeds, stepping back to inspect her findings, “controlling route 138 would keep me off the only road that’d let me make a safe descent on him.”

“Are you sure he wouldn’t take the one in Quebec City?” Courtney steps in, pointing to the only other strategic possibility the map affords her. “If Gamble’s had as many years to plan this out as you say, then I’d think he’d have set his sights on something a little safer than one smack-dab in Quebec City” Emilio interjects, prompting both women to look back to him, “that one in Newfoundland looks a lot easier to guard.”

“It’d also explain why he’s so willing to let us walk across the bridge and enter his domain whenever we please but outright refuses to even let me think he’d give up my boats” Charlotte adds, looking back to the map with an entirely new perspective. “Well, if he’s got the one in Newfoundland running- how do we stop him?” Courtney responds, accepting the discovery they’d come across, but hesitant to put her optimism in its open-bottom basket.

“You can’t. If he is getting oil from Newfoundland, the only way to keep him from getting deliveries would be to capture the boat or the port it sails into” Emilio responds, stepping around the chancellor’s desk to join the woman at the wall-mounted map, “either way- that’s an act of war.”

Passing a glance to the side of her once enemy-now fellow Nova Scotian devotee, Charlotte remains quiet as the air follows suit, her eyes inevitably reclaimed by the map all three of the room’s inhabitants stare at. “Yes-” she whispers aloud, lifting her chin slightly as her expression shifts to confidence, a composure she’d allowed to slip just minutes prior have returned to her, “-yes, it would be.”

|

\ 1 Hour Later /

With a pair of goggles sitting over his eyes and digging into the bridge of his nose, a worker takes the edge of a machete to a large device, sharpening the blade and withstanding the rapid sparks that fly from the altered metal. Grimacing with each thrust, the worker finishes on his tool before reaching for the next dull blade, preparing to take its edge to the machine just as he has for many others until his attention is stolen by what unfolds at the floor of the warehouse he occupies.

Across the room, a black man with nappy hair fits a wooden handle to the end of a piece of metal and wipes his sweaty brow on the long sleeve of his navy blue shirt. “Psst” a coworker hisses, catching the man’s eye briefly and nudging his chin forward. With a squint and a breath taken in through his nose, the labourer glances to his right side before looking back to his unfinished weapon, only for his eyes to take a second glare toward the figure walking calmly across the floor.

In the room’s corner, a man wipes at the sharpened blade of a well-built product, the liquid his cloth is covered in providing the metal with a reflective, glossy finish. On his lonesome, the man continues about his business even as a pair of footsteps tap along the floor in his direction, paying it no mind as he stares at the floor. Setting his rag down, the man’s eyes keep to the concrete foundation of the warehouse before watching the flap of a beige trench coat pass him by. 

With a squint as strong as any other in the room, the man looks up at the passing figure in silence just as the rest of his colleagues do, following the man toward the loading bay they occupy the area of. With his fists balled, Gamble strolls through the populated workshop and out of the shadows the sunless space affords them, entering the light of an oncoming afternoon.

“Mr. Gamble! I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to-” a man in a mechanic’s one-piece remarks, stepping out of his office at the rear of the room before being cut off. “Where is your highest-capacity automatic rifle?” Gamble queries, coming to a stop just metres away from the man overseeing his weapon’s manufacturing, hands stiffening at his sides as he awaits an answer.

“Sir, we don’t make automatic-” the man in the navy blue onesie begins to reply, again falling silent at the remark of his superior. “I’m aware that you do not manufacture firearms here. I am asking for your highest-capacity automatic rifle” Gamble reiterates, again presenting a content and patient posture to the figure standing across from him, able to read the uncertainty in the visage he’s returned, “I want your personal highest-capacity rifle- bring it to me.”

“Sir, my rifle is-” the man in the jumpsuit replies, again only getting to begin his response before falling silent at the behest of his daunted superior. “Bring. It. To. Me” Gamble repeats, uttering not a word more, nor a word less. Lips parted, the mechanic garb-wearing figure stands by idle for a mere moment as he registers what is being asked of him, allowing the surprise of the visit and the oddity of the interaction pass before stepping away in search of his weapon.

With business settled on one front, Gamble turns his attention to the group of workers beginning to cluster together in the larger workshop, the brow over his left eye lifting. Almost blinded by the awe of their superior’s presence, the men forget- all at once- that their display of unprofessionalism in grouping together and ceasing their production presents themselves in a bad light, one that the dictator appears to not mind.

“No, no- come back” Gamble remarks, watching the plethora of heads that had turned away from him to return to work gaze back upon him, beckoned to the man’s call. “I want all of these weapons- every single one- wrapped, packaged, stored in crates together, and delivered to the capital in Charlottetown” the autocrat commands, his left index finger pointing throughout the room, “when they arrive at the capital, I want every single one of you present alongside them.”

Concerned with remaining secluded from the spotlight that is the reach of their superior’s eye, the crowd collectively nod or dismiss a reaction in favour of getting to work, leaving their ruler to continue about his business. For a few additional seconds, Gamble awaits his subordinate’s return whilst staring at the collection of box trucks that remain stationed at the nearby loading dock, his expression remaining unchanged as if he were deep in a distant, unconscious train of thought.

“Alright, this is the best that I have with me right now” the jumpsuit-wearing employee remarks, stepping out of his office with a large rifle in tow, a small bag of preloaded magazines carried alongside it, “it’s a Russian AK-10...”

Falling silent, the cautious workfloor operator releases his grasp of the weapon the instant that his superior latches onto it, ripping it from the possession of its owner before stepping forward. Without a word, Gamble’s stare descends into one of well-concealed anger as he approaches the vehicles, each one parked just a short few metres away from the bay in which they had once been backed up to, the weapon’s barrel held toward the ground along the dictator’s right side.

Without warning or so much as a peep, Gamble lifts the weapon toward the first truck’s side and fires a handful of rounds through the reflective advertisement that plasters its exterior, prompting the sound of screams from within that had not previously been present. Laying off the trigger, the tyrant moves onto the next bay and follows a similar act, firing an assortment of rounds through the human-filled automobile with malicious intent- his distant and subdued-rage visage unchanged.

One after another, the despot riddles each truck with bullets until his weapon runs empty, eyes turning back to his jumper-wearing subordinate and mouth shut. Aware of what the stare entails, the weapon’s owner lifts one hand into the air in surrender and tosses the bag he’d yet to release possession of to the foot of his superior, wanting to remain on the side of the man who could very easily render him lifeless within moments.

Dropping to one knee, Gamble quickly discards his empty magazine in favour of a new one, resupplying his weapon with ammunition and continuing to litter the vehicles with fatal gunfire. Within minutes, the second magazine- and the final one he requires- is expended upon the last of the trucks, a muffled scream resonating from within just as the other automobiles present.

Silent, the various workers tasked with transporting the handcrafted weaponry watch on as their autocrat boss turns back, the barrel of the automatic rifle held toward the air with a calm satisfaction. “You may reclaim this as your own, assist your employees in transporting these weapons to the capitol building, and join them in awaiting further instruction whilst there” Gamble remarks, handing the firearm back to its rightful owner with a tone of voice as unbothered as when he’d entered.

“I’ll leave it up to you to decide which fifteen or so men you put at the driver’s seat of those boxes. Whomever they are, however, they can join you all outside the capitol building as well” Gamble proceeds, gently swatting at the flaps of his undirtied beige trench coat as he begins returning for the way he’d arrived, “resume your duties, gentlemen.”

Stepping down the long, asphalt-paved parking lot for the running car that had been instructed to wait for his return, Gamble soon enters the backseat and folds his hands upon his lap, using his left hand to guide the seatbelt over his chest and into its buckle. “Where to next, Mr. Gamble?” the driver inquires, looking in the rear view mirror and through the divider between the front and back of his limousine.

Passing a glance out the window, Gamble lets out a sigh of delight and returns his typically-shallow smile to its equally-discomforting visage. “Back to Charlottetown- the ports, please” the authoritarian answers, resting back in the leather-covered seat he occupies as the vehicle leaves its stationary park, wheels turning to guide the man back to where his departing vessel awaits.

== Rise ==