Nuisance is inescapable. It will always be until Mordecai spits his secret out. He has his life's bullshit coming by in soured lemons, but it more so takes the form of Rigby. Why Rigby? Mordecai's secret is supposed to be between the teller and the holding. But Rigby changes the definition. He knows that Mordecai's secret isn't held by anyone but himself. There is no between; so is it not fair for Rigby to be there to hold it? Besides, Mordecai is on the verge of choking it up. The guy can't keep his walkie-talkie off. He can be a hitman; a murderer with a handgun in his glove box. But Rigby knows Mordecai isn't a killer. He did mention that he has them for self-defense.
Rigby remembers that he stands in front of the park's door, staring at the lock. The door is thin or Benson is yelling too loud about everyone must gather in the kitchen. Should Rigby enter? Or should he skip work? If Rigby skips work, then he's going to get the trouble Mordecai is going to get. But he's not going to get fired. Besides, he doesn't have any other place to be. The outdoor air begs for attention as it carries the scent of burnt earth and minute warmth. Rigby reckons to grab his keys because it is more disturbing to stand in the atmosphere where people have died. With the house key in hand, he sticks it in the lock and twists the key. The door unbolts itself, and cracks open to another world. It is much clearer now: Benson's voice is behind the kitchen walls while Thomas and Muscleman are walking down the stairs.
"What's up bro?" Muscleman calls over to Rigby.
Thomas also calls, "Rigby! You've just walked into something here."
Rigby closes the door and locks the door and says, "I'm just in time." The air has been conditioned cool and fresh, introducing him the delight of being at the worksite. Though, the welcome mat underneath Rigby's feet isn't rough as Rigby swipes his feet, its 'Welcome" is appropriate for once. Stepping onto the carpet, the hallway is also a reminder of how clear air can be. From seeing the table pushed on the wall next to him, the old, framed pictures of Pops hang accompanied by the new light fixtures down the hallway to the back.
Thomas and Muscleman move and wait near the kitchen door, waiting for Rigby to put his things down.
Muscleman observes the pizza box in Rigby's hands, "Where have you been?"
"The cafe with Mordecai," Rigby says, swinging his backpack to the frame of the front door.
"For how long?"
"An hour, I think. He has to run."
"Rigby!" Benson yells, "Kitchen. Now!"
Rigby sighs and walks over to the kitchen to be with the park crew. Their faces reflected the serious matter that is going to unfold. Right next to Rigby, Thomas is downcast towards his shoes. Muscleman crosses his arms and leans against the door frame. Skips leans against the counter. Then Benson stands next to the kitchen table.
"Did Mordecai come along?" Benson asks Rigby.
Rigby shakes his head.
"Of course," Benson says, observing his notes from his clipboard on the table. He looks at them and then pushes them aside. The TV on the kitchen counter displays the amount of the riot's casualties and injuries so far. Meanwhile, the newscast debates the effectiveness of anarchy prevention, the likelihood of anarchy to recur, and expelling prowlers. But Benson zapped the TV off with a remote in a middle of their sentence.
He says, "I'm going straight to the point. Riots are supposed to be riots. But tonight, they have been substantially worse than ever. And that's why we're together here. If these riots worsen, then we're in trouble with another anarchy. You guys know about the one-hundred deaths in the one explosion. That wasn't too long ago, and it set a higher level of violence for following attacks. EMPs and highway bombings then have been good enough to get us where we are with their technology exploits and building demolition. Now, there are two hundred deaths and another ravaged district. In response, Linnen has no war resolutions and can't take their hits now or previously without mismanaging it. And our neighbor, Cotton and Cerberus, convince us that prowlers are put back in their place. But the clan evidently isn't a weakening force."
Rigby mentions the fact of redundancy, "This is the same argument that everyone says."
"Rigby? What?" Benson says.
"It's not a big deal," Rigby replies, speaking underneath his breath.
"Rigby? What did you say?" Benson asks.
Rigby moves to say something, but the backlash on his boss would bring the question of his respect.
"Speak up!" Bensons demands. But Rigby didn't say anything.
Benson is staring at Rigby, hoping he might spit out his words. But Rigby looks down towards his feet. Benson begins to speak again, "Sure, this is an argument you can find on any news channel, Rigby. But here's something you don't hear often. The corporations are hiding their potentials. Surge is kind enough to put their elites on full-duty and Cerberus to make new promises. Though as us as people, we're in trouble for having our assets become fragile to these riots too. Such as debating in such a way that our focuses have the wrong attitude. You know: how worse can a prowler attack become? Is one of us a prowler? Though, there are better arguments of whether the rebellion should be expelled, isolated, or eliminated. If you haven't noticed, these questions aren't asked on TV. But clearly, when some people pick sides on some arguments, we split. Division is never good for Garment. It's the cause for the long recuperation of the Anarchy. Finally, there's a lot to blame, but this is where we come along. Rigby?"
Rigby looks up from the ground.
Benson continues, "You've withstood the longest in the Anarchy along with Mordecai, right?"
Rigby nods.
"I remember I got documents about you guys that state you had stayed extensively in the wilderness, were dangerous and trained with military-grade firearms, captured by Cerberus, and was on the prowler watchlist. Rigby is an example of endurance. Everyone else except him and Mordecai have different, feasible stories of being relieved from the Anarchy."
Skips speaks up, "So what's your point?"
"The Anarchy was a hardship. We come along, as the park crew, to congregate our abilities and attributes. We've already become family, but we need to think more about ourselves as an unit. Tonight is enough of a hardship for us to begin securing our gates."
Skips continues, "You're insisting that Linnen is unsuitable to handle the riots?"
"Riots are becoming deadlier and deadlier. So, afraid with your guy's well-being, I'm going to do something about it. And you guys should too."
Skips argues, "Then why don't we hire a Surge policeman?"
"Why not take no cost and take security in our own hands?"
"Even if we take the means to prevent something from happening to us, that also means one or more of us may get hurt or die. That's why we have prevention, Benson."
"We have prevention now, yes, but when there's a riot that overwhelms Linnen, our policeman isn't going to think about us first. Where will be prevention then? Again, it's not a matter of if. This will happen."
"Anyways, you know how one policeman becomes more tactical?"
"Sure, Surge does have elite soldiers they're just bringing out."
"And you've mentioned that Surge has unknown potential."
"What's your point?"
"If Surge alone is bringing out a whole new tier of even more adept policemen, then wouldn't the rebellion be suppressed?"
"Yes. But can one policeman prevent what prowlers will bring next?"
"Just because what happened tonight happened doesn't mean it's a prerequisite to gradual, complete devastation."
"But Skips, what if it will be?"
"If it's complete devastation, then we're all dead. Nonetheless, who are we combined compared to a policeman?"
"Who are we if we all die without trying?"
"Damn it, Benson. Let's just let the authorities get to their potential."
"Skips, you know prowlers don't only target Surge or even Cerberus. We need to protect ourselves. We could against Snowballs, The Destroyer of Worlds, or the Geese, didn't we?"
"Right, but we've been unexposed."
"But this is of our ability, correct?"
"Benson, you're not getting what's really important. The harm or deaths of us isn't yours to decide." Skips begins to point at Thomas, "He is the one to decide whether or not to do what he pleases. He has a damn will, damn it."
"I'm not making anyone do anything."
"You're sure asking us to."
"This is what I want: I want us to be independent when the time comes. I can compromise with our reliance on Surge, but that's only until Linnen is screwed."
Thomas speaks, "None of us agree to this."
Benson pauses again. This time it is longer and awkward. But Benson finds something to say, "I'm not making anyone do anything. I'm just going to do what I think best for myself. I don't know about you guys, but I wanted to say something. I want to do more for you guys, too. I mean, you guys have appreciated the backup generators and our arsenal."
Skips says, "For me, I don't want you go any farther with this independence stuff. We're a family, not guerillas. I know you respect our opinions, but I don't want you to go on your own and make this house an outpost. I don't want you to go and blast a trespasser when the guy could be one of us. There's consequences."
"I'm reiterating that we're an unit and a family. I'm not going to shoot anyone. There's no way I'd shoot any of us on accident."
"I think the rebellion and the distress has done bad enough on you. But it's only fair to think what distress has done to us, too."
Muscleman argues, "Let's just focus on what we have already. Life's pretty good than it was a few years ago. It's not going straight to hell yet."
Skips and Thomas agrees.
And Benson agrees, "Fine. We'll make with what he have without going to the extremes. Along with this, can Rigby help us all concur?"
Rigby says, "My pizza is going cold," and walks to the refrigerator and puts the pizza inside. "But I'd like power when another prowler EMP goes off: that way I can eat."
Benson says, "You like what we have already?"
"Not only that. Prowlers, believe it or not, aren't first on my mind. I have another career to focus on too. I can't help myself it's tight at home, y'know?"
"Seriously, you agree with everyone else?"
"I agree that it's good to focus on what we have. Also, let's not screw up what he have in the future for self-defense."
Thomas, Skips, and Muscleman agree.
Benson says, "Fine. We all agree that we should focus on what we have and that each of us should determine their own futures?"
Everyone agrees. Benson mentions, "Alright. Now, don't forget the arsenal is in the meat locker. And to not forget about work," Benson picks up his clipboard and flips a few pages, "we need to dust off that archive." He points to the box of various-sized gloves, normal and special dust masks, and an unopened package of storage bins. "This is an overnight job, so Skips and I took care of caffeine and hunger for you guys. Right next to skips, is the coffee machine ready to go with a three dozens of glazed donuts on the side." Skips demonstrates his need for caffeine by pushing the brew button. Benson continues, "With our roles, Skips is on labeling. Ask him if there's any documents without a date, title, or is unorganized. Unorganized means that the papers are not in alphabetical or sequential order. Thomas is on sorting. He will be placing papers back into alphabetical or their sequential order. Thomas, Skips is your guide for what papers goes with what. Muscleman, you'll also sort. Rigby, you're the trashman. You'll get rid of broken or torn boxes, baskets, or bins. He will be taking them to the dumpster. Everyone, if you have ruined, blank, or moldy papers, Rigby will take them there. And most importantly, please do not throw away antique containers, Rigby. Finally, I am packaging. There's some documents we will be shipping to a warehouse and some to a museum. Most of the documents will stay here, where I will take the organized and sorted documents and replace them into new bins. I will also be taking care of taking down the old bins from their shelves when we get up there. Anyways, does everyone understand their job?"
Everyone nods.
Benson continues, "Everyone grab supplies and go to the attic," he says grabbing gloves and a dust mask. He then leaves the kitchen.
Skips follows, grabbing larger gloves and a dust mask.
Thomas and Muscleman walk out next, taking their gloves and dust masks.
Rigby is last to grab the smallest gloves and the special dust mast. He walks out popping the collars out on his jacket. Then he says to himself, "Let's get to it."
Mordecai approaches a set of steps leading to the entrance of a ruined, older building. He descends and turns back to see if anyone is watching. No one is there. But there are stairs going up to a receding portal, illuminated by the moonlight's faint light on the damp bricks. He continues to descend until he steps on the landing, barely seeing himself standing in front of a sentinel door. He steps up to the door and moves his hands to the iron handle, wraps them around, and pulls the door. It squeaks and hovers open by its weight and makes a hard current of hot air. There is the sight of a great void where his vision seems to be pulling into it. He walks forward, looking side to side, entering the basement. He shut the door behind him. SLAM! The noise echoes, and bounces across in the interior of the building. He pulls a flashlight, turning it on. Its beam is a floating bubble that manifested ground for his feet wherever he searched the floor with it. He looks with it to see if anyone is camping next to the door or around it. No one, but thousands of thousands of footprints in the dust that covered the floor like snow. Some of them looked undisturbed for years; while some look like they were created minutes ago. Some look familiar. The worst fact of them is that some will be created eventually not only by himself, but by a stranger. He doesn't want anyone to stumble onto or find him. He continues to walk again, and points the beam in front of his shoes, toward the unchanging, dusty floor. He walks until the beam hits a wall. He moves the beam upward, revealing the wall more, then he moves it to the right to reveal a doorless room. He walks to the room through another boundless void. He finds another wall and takes another right into another room. He walks a series of lefts, rights, u-turns, catwalks, ladders, and multiple stairs leading down, further underground, until he begins to feel a coolness in the air. This means he is close. He walks another series until his flashlight reveals a break in a wall. He climbs through and walks left through a long corridor. Another right turn, he faces another corridor with a soft, peach-colored light at the end. He walks down the corridor, as the dust he used to sweep with his shoes comes to an end. The floor became bare and concrete but marked with a few footprints. Mordecai turns off his flashlight, as he approaches the light. When the light comes over his head, he descends a short flight of stairs and takes another right. He takes one more right, leading to a great opening in a wall that reveals white searchlights peering in towards Mordecai. A gate and its guards blocked off a complex of buildings and towers.
"Scott!" Someone says, laughing, "Glad to see that you're back at work!"
"Nice watching your ass get beat last night," someone else says.
"Scott!" Another one of them says approaching him, "You want to get in my face again?"
Mordecai walks forward to the gate ahead, ignoring him. But the guy comes to confront him, "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!"
The guy has the clothing that could always tell if somebody challenged him. His eyes are looking for anger and defeat but his fists are stained red. His body has always been untouched because anyone who fought him could only grab his shirt.
Mordecai stops to walk around him, but he didn't let him.
"You want to get in my face again?" He says again, getting into Mordecai's face.
"No," Mordecai says, turning his head to look aside.
"Then you step back then," he says.
Mordecai steps aside him saying, "I don't want any bullshit."
"Not anymore?" The guy says as he grabs Mordecai's shoulder, "You started it. Let's finish it," the guy says, pulling Mordecai back in front of him. "You know, I hate losers, the ignorant, the inexperienced, and the uncalled for. By the looks of it, you're gonna be us. And I can pick you apart until you're like us," he says.
"You're the only one who has been ejected here officially," Mordecai says.
"That's not the point. You're lost!" He continues.
"You're not here to help Surge like them." He says, pointing to the gate. "You're here to hit harder like us."
"I'm here to help," Mordecai says.
"Look at what you're sayin'! You mean otherwise, reject," he says.
Mordecai starts to ignore him and walk away from him, but the guy grabs his shoulder again.
"Damn it, I don't want to fight you right now?" Mordecai says, making his fists, "We'll fight later," he says, walking off.
"I'm not done talkin' with you," the guy says.
Mordecai ignores him.
"You don't walk away from me when I'm talkin' to you," the guy says while catching up to Mordecai, and pushing him onto the ground.
"Fight now, or I'll drag your face in the dirt," the guy says.
Mordecai jumps back up after the guy. He motions to throw a punch at the guy, but he feels solid iron hit his jaw followed by another hit to the face. Mordecai moves a few steps back to refocus on the guy, who makes a smile that shows a longed desire being satisfied. From the wall in the distance, the guy's friends start to yell, rooting for the guy. Mordecai spits to the side and says, "Fuck it!" But a guard steps to the side of the fight and shakes his head. The guy lowers his other fist that was aiming lower to Mordecai's gut. The guard returns to his guarding of the gate.
"Don't worry. I'll kick your ass later," the guy says, returning to the wall.
Mordecai spits again and flicks him off. He walks to the guard to flash his ID.
"You shouldn't be getting in trouble like that," the guard says, gesturing a sign above his head.
"You should've done something. I hate that guy." Mordecai says.
"You should worry about cleaning yourself up and not looking like a jackass," the guard says, "You're a part of Surge. That guy also isn't helping you to realize you look like a wrung, wet towel."
"Thanks, dude," Mordecai says as he walks to gate.
The gate crawls open to let Mordecai enter.