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He composed himself quickly, taken aback by such a blatant accusation.

"Sir I hardly see why that matters", he said, straightening his back and looking as dignified as possible.

Sir spoke through a mouthful of turkey. "Just answer the question. If it is truly embarrassing for your tongue to utter-" he swallowed, " -the truth, then entertain me with a lie. See which holds fast, your pride or your integrity."

He knew he couldn't outright lie to a councilmen and not face severe punishment, but perhaps he could avoid the question long enough to find an excuse to leave. He was secretly hoping one of the other men would take pity on him and demand he be left alone, but unlikely. He was little more than a doormat in their eyes, a puppet whose strings they could pull for their own amusement. Oh how he was sick of it.

"I am compelled not to answer on the grounds that such answer could tarnish my credibility within this establishment. Furthermore sir, I wish to continue my previously assigned duties of collecting the dinner plates and returning them to wash." He said it calmly enough, but underneath he was livid.

Lemons, the fat Sir who was tormenting him, stared at him for a moment still holding a half-eaten Turkey leg in his chubby little fingers. Grease was shining from his double chin and in that moment he looked like an enormous baby, beady little eyes looking both curious and stupid.

"Fine," he said, again like a small child, one who was not getting to play with his favorite toy. But I ate all my carrots mom! Look, I did! He dropped the turkey leg on his plate and a little gravy splashed up on both men. Then to add insult to insult, he took the lapel of David's only serving jacket and wiped his greasy face and hands with it, really digging in there to assure it would take a long time to come clean. Then he chortled, almost a snort. "Get this shit out of my face, boy." David remained stoic as he had been taught, remembering his place. He silently collected the plates and other dishes from the table while the council spoke in hushed whispers. He didn't pry, but he overheard some snippets.

"-activity in the northeast-"

"Scout reports suggest-"

Blah blah blah. More talk of war on the horizon. That's all it was. Talk. The council was too chicken shit to act so they sat around and talked. Pecked at the issue like chickens, while claiming to be the farmer who controlled the harvest. They didn't control shit, and people were starting to realize it. Eyebrows really began to raise after Commander Roland stepped down as Council Chairman. Pushed down, more like it. CM Roland was brash and poignant, a powerful leader of men who wore his experience around him like a scarf. He looked for real issues and had an honest interest in the betterment of the community. If anyone was qualified to lead the Council and make decisions for thousands of people it was that man. But he was gone. Washed away in a smear campaign full of erroneous accusations of misappropriated funds, bribery, and even molestation. All that remained was a bunch of chicken shits and fat, self-serving Fucks like Captain Lemons. David threw a final reproachful glare his direction as he headed back to the kitchen with the dishes. He unloaded them next to the Mr. Handy robot who cleaned them and plopped down on a nearby pile of milk crates. He was so tired. Of everything. The constant belittling, the political bullshit. But mainly he was just tired of waiting for things to change that obviously weren't going to. Nothing was changing, in the Council or in his own life. He was still just a sad butler who was paid too little and got shit on too much. He should have taken Jax up on his offer. Maybe being a raider would-

-BOOM-

A crippling explosion came from below, shaking David's train of thought and sending pans flying off their hooks. What the fuck was that? Shouting and noise from outside. were those gunshots? Laser rifle blasts? David directed Mr. Handy to follow him as he grabbed a large steak knife from its block and headed into the dining hall. The council was already fleeing upward to their saferoom, the preassigned hiding spot for all chicken shit leaders in case of an attack. But was it an attack? What if a generator exploded or something? Lord knows that old jank shit was just bound to go some day. But in his gut he knew that this was no generator. Smoke rose from the large window outside the dining hall. He could hear more shouting and yelling below followed by a volley of rifle blasts and conventional gunshots. Finally! All these years of playing man servant to those fuck heads and now he had a real chance to do something with himself. He could hear the blood pounding in his head as he headed toward the stairs, intending to go down and see what was what. But as soon as he crossed the threshold to the stairwell it all went wrong.

Dark hands reached from nowhere and grabbed him by the shirt, pushing him back into the room. Before he could get a grip on what was happening the world became a dark and cloudy place. A large metal forehead slammed into his and he collapsed in a heap of pain and shock. It was like someone had taken a sledgehammer and cracked him in the face with it. Thinking became an impossibility, even existing was a burden. He saw the world through a cloudy veil, dark shapes moving above him and mufflthed, nonsense noises. He heard a large crash that was probably the toaster, and he thought he might want some toast to go with his soup tonight. And then, blackness.

CHAPTER 2 COMING SOON!