A light rain pattered intermittently against the canvas roof of the tent. It was a gentle sound, one that brought back memories of weekend camping trips in the woods. Even the occasional shower or thunderstorm had never seemed to ruin the novelty of those trips. If anything, rainy days had sometimes made them even more memorable.

Nathaniel remembered how this storm front had blown through suddenly and without warning earlier that morning. The wind and rain had created quite a stir within the camp. Everything had been drenched and loose objects had been blown around. They really hadn't been anticipating an interruption from Mother Nature. However, the storm had long since given way to this steady precipitation. Things had gone more or less back to normal. Had it not been for the fact Nathaniel was sitting in the middle of what was clearly a military encampment, he might almost have imagined himself on one of those childhood camping trips.

Slowly, Nathaniel opened his eyes and took in his surroundings once more. Gone were the days of weekend camping trips and simple summer storms. They were all in the midst of a fight for their very lives. His gaze eventually came to rest on the various mechanical and electrical parts laying out on the makeshift table before him. When assembled together, these components made up the PR-90 Mark II, a durable compact weapon designed for easy handling while operating in the field. Everything seemed to be in fairly good shape despite the fact it had been awhile since Nathaniel had fully taken apart his rifle for cleaning. Yet he reached out with one hand, lifted a piece from the table, and began polishing the surface with a ragcloth anyway. The last thing he needed was for something to be overlooked.

As Nathaniel would finish with each piece, he would re-attach it securely in place, then move right on to the next one. The pattern was so automatic he didn't even need to think about it. Instead, his mind began to wander back over everything that had happened in the last several months. He'd joined up with this particular militia group just outside a place the others called "Chinatown" and had been traveling with them ever since. Despite their successes thus far, they hardly seemed to be any closer to their goal than they were before. Every day was still a fight to survive.

Footsteps occasionally passed back and forth in the mud outside the tent. Every so often, Nathaniel would hear voices talking, but he didn't really bother paying them much attention. His thoughts turned to the previous night's patrol and how stressful it had been. More stressful than usual, that is. Night patrol was always a wildcard assignment, more so than any other, because of the isolation and the limited visibility. Sometimes you went eight hours without ever coming across anything and sometimes...well, it could get interesting. Nathaniel remembered walking back into camp that morning before the storm angry and wanting nothing to do with anyone. What surprised Nathaniel the most, however, was how frustrated he still felt about what had happened. It wasn't like him to hold onto his anger like this.

"There you are," a familiar voice said from somewhere behind him. Nathaniel was momentarily surprised that anyone had been able to enter the tent without him noticing, but he did his best not to let it show. There was only one person in camp who had ever really been all that successful in sneaking up on him before. However, he wasn't exactly sure he wanted to see that person at the moment, given everything that had happened.

Ben Mason could tell his entrance had gotten Nathaniel's attention, even though the latter hadn't done anything to acknowledge him. He crossed the short distance from the entryway to the opposite side of the table in only a few steps. It was clear from his rain-soaked hair and clothes that he'd been out in the rain for a while, not that it ever seemed to bother him. One of the many "benefits" from his having been harnessed was a greater tolerance for the natural elements.

His gaze swept over the half-assembled rifle laying out on the table before looking at Nathaniel. "Now I know why you won't let anyone touch that thing," Ben quipped, trying to lighten the mood a little, "looks complicated."

Ben was right. The weapon was complicated in its own way, but it was more than that. Nathaniel never let anyone touch his rifle because, technically, it should not have even been there to begin with. The PR-90 Mark II wouldn't be invented for another three hundred and seventy years or so, though the unexpected invasion of Earth in this timeline might have changed that. Were it to fall into the wrong hands, however, the results could be...disastrous.

"Mind if I sit," Ben asked, indicating the open chair. Nathaniel shrugged half-heartedly and Ben took that as an affirmative response. Slinging his own rifle off his shoulder, Ben sat down and laid the weapon across his lap. "Look," he began, "about last night..."

"You know what? Don't worry about it," Nathaniel said dismissively. He secured a small crystalline chip into place and lifted the next component from the table. The truth was, he'd hardly been able to think of anything else but what had happened last night. That was the whole reason Nathaniel was even cleaning his rifle in the first place. He'd needed a distraction.

The fact that Ben had been the one to come to him was ironic, to say the least. They'd been working together almost as long as Nathaniel had been with the group. Sometimes Nathaniel thought he'd gotten to know the young man fairly well. Then there were other times when Ben would surprise him. In all that time, however, Ben had shown himself to be less interested in actually talking things out than Nathaniel was. It was usually Nathaniel who had to track Ben down and convince him to talk. Interesting that it was the other way around this time.

A pained expression flitted across Ben's face and Nathaniel had a momentary flash of doubt. It was soon overwhelmed by an unfamiliar surge of frustration. He knew letting his anger and frustration simmer wasn't going to help either of them. There would be no avoiding one another completely in a group this small. They would end up having to work together at some point or at least cross paths more often than not. At the same time, however, it wasn't as if Ben was innocent. He was the whole reason they were in this predicament in the first place.

"We need to talk about what happened."