AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"It's fuckin' mad," Daryl commented. "Hanging people? Shooting them in the head like that? I thought that shit was supposed to be over when we were captured."
"It was only just beginning when we were captured," Andrea said. She shook her head at him. "They shot me without any remorse when they captured me. I never believed them again that they weren't going to hurt us."
"You never believed them before that," Michonne pointed out.
Andrea gave her something of a warning look and Michonne backed down for a moment. She knew when to push Andrea and when not to. Right now? With this many guards around and the chance that anything could happen to them to keep the peace? It wasn't the right time to be pushing anyone's buttons.
"You heard her," Carol offered. "If we cooperate? If we—do whatever it is that we're supposed to do? It means we don't get hanged. It means we don't get shot in the head. And it might mean that others don't either."
"If it's not all a set up," Andrea said. "Or some kind of elaborate lie."
Lisette clicked her tongue.
"I don't think it's a set up," she said. "Think about it. Why would they go through all this trouble to trick us into something just to kill us? We just saw proof that they've got no problem cutting straight to the chase. The next time they tell us to line up for something and don't explain what it is? We could be heading out to meet a firing squad. They wouldn't go through all of this to trick us into getting into that line. This is a legitimate project."
"We just don't know what kind of project," Michonne said. She shook her head. "I don't know if it's worth the risk."
"I don't know if there's another option," Carol said. "What are they going to ask us to do? The worst that happens is that we die trying to do what they want—but if they're going to shoot us anyway?"
Daryl pointed at her and nodded his head.
"No, she's right," Daryl said. "She's right. Hell—you tell me you're gonna shoot me or—or I gotta jump outta damn plane or something for my freedom? I'd rather jump. At least the whole damn time I'm falling to the ground I can dream about the fact that I might live through it."
There was some exchange of glances. Carol had already made her mind up. Whether or not anyone joined her, she was going to join the project. The images they'd shown had turned her stomach. It was cold, hard proof that they thought of them as nothing more than animals. In fact, maybe they thought of them as less than animals. After all, there had once been places dedicated to caring for animals until they couldn't any longer—and then the animals had at least been dealt with, as far as Carol knew, with a bit of humanity. Lining people up to murder them—and that's what she'd seen in the images—together in piles was anything but humane.
"I'm doing it," she said, finally. She nodded when they looked at her. "I am. I'm doing it."
"You don't even know what it is," Michonne said.
"And it doesn't matter," Carol said. She shrugged. "I'm terrified of what it might be. That's true. But I'm even more terrified of living the life that I've been living—always knowing what's coming. And always wondering what stupid flag I get for—for looking at somebody wrong—will be the flag that gets me a ticket to the front of the execution line. I'm doing it. I don't give a damn what it is. And—if someone else gets out of all this because of me? At least I've done something with my life."
"I'm in too," Daryl said. He shrugged too. "I'm in. There just ain't no other way to be."
Andrea growled and then sighed.
"I'm in too," she said. "They're going to kill me at the prison anyway. I might as well die a semi-free animal."
Carol looked at Michonne, but she knew that the moment Andrea said she was in, the decision had been made for Michonne. Michonne didn't offer any words, but she confirmed that she was in with a nod of her head. Lisette was the only other member of their small clan that had found them in the mass confusion of the "recess" given to them and she looked around like she was struggling with the decision.
"I'm in," she said. "I'm going to die soon enough anyway. And—I always had the dream that I might do it on my terms. Even if they're going to kill me, I might outsmart them and go before they had planned."
Carol laughed to herself, even though she saw a slightly disturbed look cross Daryl's face. Lisette laughed then, a rolling laugh in her throat, and Daryl looked a little less bothered. He hadn't learned her sense of humor yet—and it was something of an adjustment at times—but he'd get there. At least, he would if they even really saw each other again after they went in and confirmed that they weren't getting on the buses with the rest of the people who were choosing to back out of the project.
They were going forward, wherever that might take them.
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"Please—everyone's questions are going to be answered," Samirah said. "But I'm only going to be able to get to them if you ask them in an organized manner."
"What—are—we—supposed—to—do?" Someone near the front of the room asked, drawing out each word in an over-dramatic way, eliciting laughter that the guards quickly quieted.
"You're going to live in a brand new community," Samirah responded, clearly unbothered by the heckling. Carol didn't know how old the woman was, but Carol thought maybe she was in her mid-thirties. She was tan skinned and her dark hair was tied up, but what escaped the elastics and clips were dark ringlets. In her manner of carrying herself, she seemed very well put together. There was a calm about her that Carol wasn't used to seeing in people that weren't captures themselves. She wasn't high strung around all of them—not like many of the guards were. "It's a—gated community."
There was some laughter and, seemingly in anticipation of it, Samirah laughed too and swung her foot while she sat perched on the stool where she'd taken a seat in front of them all.
"Gated like Region Thirty Three?" Someone asked.
Samirah nodded and hummed. She lifted the microphone again that she was speaking into and hesitated a moment before speaking.
"Yes and no," she said. "You're still inmates. This is a pre-release program. That means that you will start as inmates, but inmates with more freedom than you have now. As the program progresses? Assuming that everything goes according to plan and everyone cooperates? Then you'll slowly gain more rights and freedoms. Finally? It will be a gated community like any other out there."
"Will there be guards?" Someone shouted.
"Absolutely," Samirah said. "At least—for a while."
"Flags?" Another voice rang out.
"There will be a disciplinary system in place," Samirah responded. "I'll have to leave that to someone else to explain. John Hokes will be talking to you about that when we break off. When you meet with him? He'll let you know a little about that. My knowledge of it is limited, but it'll work on more of three strikes and you're out kind of deal."
There was some hissing and booing. Three strikes, assuming they were like three flags, were too easy to get. Depending on the officer in charge, a good case of the sneezes could and would get someone thrown out of the project. Samirah raised the microphone back to her lips and smiled to herself before she spoke into it—she seemed to be enjoying herself more than feeling the need to snap at the dozen officers there to keep control of those who hadn't left after recess.
"There will be a trial system as well," Samirah said. "The strikes—or however it works—won't be arbitrary. If you're rejected from the community? For any reason? You'll return to Region Thirty Three and continue to serve your time as an inmate."
"Until someone puts a bullet in our brains," someone barked.
Samirah's smile, and any hint it had ever been there, dropped. She shook her head slightly.
"If the project works? No one will suffer that. None of you, and nobody else," Samirah said.
"So you believe in this?" Michonne barked out, her voice booming over several others who were trying to shout out questions. It got Samirah's attention because, despite the fact she probably couldn't see Michonne clearly from where she was sitting, she turned her head and looked almost exactly in her direction.
"I have to," Samirah said. "I have to believe in this. And I do. I believe—in the project. I believe—very much—in the idea behind it. I believe that you—that all of you—are human beings. And—I believe that we have to do what we can to make the capture facilities what they were supposed to be in the first place. That responsibility falls on our shoulders."
"You mean our shoulders," Michonne barked loudly again.
Samirah stopped for a moment.
"No," she said. "I mean on our shoulders. Mine too. Each officer that will be there? Working in the community? We've worked on screening them to find the most sympathetic to the project. Each inmate going in? Even those coming from other locations? Has been specially chosen. Even the ones that I choose to fill the spots of those leaving, I'll choose carefully and purposefully. If this project falls through? And humane euthanization of wilds and semi-dociles becomes commonplace? You'll all be executed, but I'll live the rest of my life with your blood on my hands or—at the very least—on my conscience."
She stood up from her position on the stool and walked the few steps that it took to bring her to the edge of the stage like platform that she was on.
"I believe in this project. I have to. But in order for it to work? That won't be enough. All of you have to believe in it too and you have to want it to work," Samirah said.
Carol felt her chest tighten. She swallowed against a lump in her throat that she'd barely felt as it began to form. It had risen up, out of nowhere, because of something in the woman's voice. This woman had no reason to care what happened to them. Not really. She was a first wave citizen. She was a non-wild. She hadn't lived the lives that any of them had lived—out there for so long—and she could go straight from here and back to her life. She probably had very little on her conscious at all. She probably hadn't seen or done half of what they'd done, but she was choosing to take on the guilt if this went wrong. She was choosing to care what happened to them.
She was one of the first people that Carol had met in authority that seemed to care what happened to them.
It inspired a certain loyalty in Carol.
Carol raised her hands to her face and cupped them around her mouth, making a megaphone out of them to guarantee that her voice would carry all the way to the woman.
"We're in," she shouted. "What do we have to do?"
Samirah searched her out and, unashamed, Carol waved her hand in the air to help her to find her in the crowd. She didn't know if Samirah would even be able to see that, but the woman did smile and point in her direction when Carol waved. She brought the microphone back to her mouth.
"From here? We'll break off into groups to make it easier for you to speak to everyone. Small groups. Six to eight? Once we're set up, the officers will guide you through so that you can meet with each of the people who has something to say to you about the project. We'll explain all the basics to you. Tonight? You'll be bussed back to Region Thirty Three. You'll pack your things, whatever that might be, and after breakfast you'll be taken to the community. It isn't very far. Construction is still underway on some of the houses, but it'll be complete before they're all necessary. Then? Tomorrow I'll be there to meet you—along with the officers and a few others that you'll meet—and we'll get started with the rest of your lives. Your new lives."
