DAY 9

'Archibald'

"Hey!" I banged a fist on the door, "I have to use the damn privy! Let me out!"

I had been readying for a goddamn good rest when that monster and those knightley looking men grabbed me, dragged me through this derangedly designed prison, and shoved me in this room. I didn't particularly see the point; there wasn't a damned of a difference!

"The door behind you!" A voice answered, the one they called Sev, in the red warpaint. He was the roughest of the white knights, tugging and pulling on me the hardest, jamming that pointy broomstick in my back whenever I jolted away from him, which I did to get a sense of his character. I liked him the most, much better than that yapping one in the yellow, whatever his name is, I didn't care.

I knew the door behind me was a water room, strange and abnormally clean and luxurious, but for dropping loads nonetheless.

I sighed, giving up my hollering and sat in the big ass bed. I was happy to be locked in here; kept me away from all those freaks, the split-face and snake head giving me the shivers just being near those big animals.

I spat a big loogy on the floor, away from my bed. I was right pissed when I saw that split-face grab that miss- a strange looking miss with blue hair, right out of a damn carnival, but a miss nonetheless. I saw those teeth, the hunger in his eyes. This was probably his home, his cave, his nest. He certainly walked like the lord of the house.

I gently tapped my nose- "gah!"

It still hurt a mighty bitch. Miss Comstock did a good job at fixing it. Her hands were those of a saint.

I chuckled. I knew I wouldn't have stood a chance in that fight, not with that beast of a green knight lurking about. But winning wasn't the point. Everyone was on each other like animals, wild and bloodthirsty.

I grabbed a clear see through bottle of water, half expecting it to be made of solid glass, only for it to crumple easily, almost like damn paper. I spun the lid open- just like a regular canteen- and took a sip out of it. I remembered hunting in the woods in New Hanover, a pack of wolves had set their sights on this buck. A beautiful one. They had surrounded him, growling, and tallying off which parts they would chew on first.

I gulped the water down. The deer didn't run, for this deer was a mad one; it braced it's antlers and just charged the wolves. Now, this buck wasn't making an airheaded move, and I could tell it might have actually sharpened its antlers against stone, regularly. It gored one of the wolves before they could maim it good. It jolted out of the throes of their paws and teeth, scratching some mighty bad before standing over them. The wolves weren't starving that today, and they weren't stupid.

I felt my chest. I remembered warm blood- my own blood, dripping down it before I lost the world. Twice.

Living in the wild meant you had to pick your fights, even if the fights were your food. The wolves left the mad buck alone, not willing to join the one whimpering with his guts out.

I hurled the water into the air, smacking the wall with it and puddling the floor. I didn't gore shit! I gritted my teeth in frustration. Those meager rabble rousers were useless! My gang would have swept the floor with those asses! Holes in their heads! Necks wringed!

...I stopped. I took a breath, and fixed the frayed hair blocking my eyesight, slicking it back. I didn't have my gang right now. I didn't have the count, my revolvers, or even my damn hat. Someone swiped it when I lost it in the fight!

I covered my eyes, letting out a heavy breath. I was alone now...I had only myself to trust...but wasn't that how it always was?

I'm pulled from my self pitying, by the sound of paper sliding through the underside of a door. A folded piece of paper sat in front of the only entrance to my 'jail'. I stood up, the spurs of my boots clanging against the tile floor as I moved to pick it up. I unfolded and looked it over. With each sentence my eyes travelled across, a smile inched into existence on my face...

The Captain - A place on the Mountain

The golden skies of dawn managed to leak through the grey clouds overhead. The blizzard withdrew into a smaller flurry, flakes dancing down, landing on the piles of bodies wrapped in whatever we could grab; their former white bed sheets, tapered and ripped green tent covering, and whatever jackets and shirts they had on them when they died. Flames crackled from the bodies of burning Frankensteins, creating napalm scented enclaves of heat for the men to warm themselves around.

I blew warm breath into my shaking hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to spread the warmth. I ordered Lieutenants Dance and Jenkins to gather their men to grab the bodies and dig up the graves, marking their spots with sticks jammed into the ground as poles to hold up their helmets, collecting their dog tags in the cleanest sack they could find. The graveyards in the base had gotten too numerous to fit any more; we'd have to bury them all out here.

As the shovels started spraying dirt into piles, I turned the heels of my boots and walked into the base. "Where'd you boys get those?" I spoke with a smile to the three men standing guard in the hole that led to our new home; they sat behind a waist high sandbag wall, a browning .50 caliber heavy machine gun propped against it on it's bipod legs pointing outward, smoking cigarettes.

"Traded my underpants to get these for the boys," One of them answered, smoke pluming from the curves of his smiling lips.

"Those must've been some good underpants," I chuckled back as I walked past them.

"Washed them every day, Captain," He saluted me.

I saluted him back, "Carry on Soldier."

The rocky, uneven walls that lead deeper into the base gave way to smooth grey concrete, and the orange light of the entrance came into view. The main hall was perhaps the busiest, with furnaces in the walls billowing with great currents of heat as the steel grates were opened, and thick tongs pulled out glowing hot containers, and molten metal poured out into palettes of bullet casts, a collection of the cooled off products building in a wooden barrel full of water.

A handful of men worked at a table, assembling caplock primers, pressing bullets, and manning chemistry stations, mixing and creating gunpowders out of whatever materials the rangers dug up from their tiny mining outposts. It was a small operation, and luckily most of the bulk ammunition was collected from the scrapings of the war parties sent to attack the base, from magazines strapped to bodies to grenades those lunkheads had thrown without pulling the pins. Men from the frontlines ferried the spoils to a separate pile, where a squad of 8 jotted down inventory on their small leather notebooks.

I spotted the head of the operation going down the same path I was taking, "Captain Doyle."

"John," He looked to his side as I joined him, our boots clanging up the rusted steel stairs. "How's it looking out there?"

Being the commander of Ranger company C, I was half-way to being the best person to ask, "Not too good. They got past the first garrison line."

"Jesus," He covered his mouth. Men came running in from the entrance below us, a groaning and bleeding private in the gurney between them. "How many?"

I ran the math in my head, glancing at his tightening grip on his notebook, "Seventy men from each of the five garrisons in the front, they picked off twelve from the second line before their offense broke."

"Eighty-two," He didn't round off a single number, "That's three times more than what we lost last time."

"It's FUBAR sir," A man from a squad overlooking the main hall overheard us.

"FUBAR," I repeated.

Doyle huffed, "FUBAR."

We passed the saluting soldiers into a door that led into the empty troop quarters, where we had to step over bunk sheets, pillows, and tooth brushes littering the floor in the tussle to meet the attack outside. The quarters were long and cramped, but they fitted nearly everyone we had, the surplus out sleeping in rolls at their stations waiting for a mattress in the shift change...or when vacancies are made.

We passed the partially lit and filthy hall to reach a rotten wooden door, and quietly entered the meeting.

The leaders of the mixed three battalions sat around a rectangular damp table, a pencil sketched map in the center, journals full of inventory statistics, troop movements, operations, and enemy intel in front of each respective lieutenant colonel.

I pulled my helmet off, saluted, and handed a piece of paper torn from my notebook to my commanding officer in the helmet with the silver oak leaf painted on the forehead, "Casualties and wounded sir."

He took the note and rubbed his greying mustache, reading it in thought. "Take a seat in the back, Captain."

That was my cue to keep quiet as the table of men read through reports, Captain Doyle handing off his own to Lt. Colonel Alexander of the Engineering battalion, other troops filing in reports from the situation in the front, their Captains too preoccupied to leave their posts. Doyle had peeled the skin off a black spotted banana from a bowl, grabbed by the foraging parties the Rangers sent down the mountain.

It's when it hit the thirty minute mark did the meeting actually start.

Lt. Colonel Blithe of the 1st battalion of the 18th infantry swiped the blunt end of his pencil between the two edges of the mountain top ridgeline, "We've lost three of the five machinegun posts furthest out-"

"I can spare more men to keep them up," My superior, Anderson, interjected.

"No we didn't just lose the men," Blithe continued, tapping a finger on a folded piece of paper, "we lost the guns themselves."

"Of course they'd grab them," Colonel Alexander observed with a cynical smile, the balding stubble-faced man leaning back in his chair, "we'd do the same thing."

"Our front is exposed," Blithe rubbed his temples. He avoided looking at Colonel Anderson, "We need to pull some from the back."

Anderson knew 'the back' only meant one place, "We need those guns there-"

"There hasn't been a damn thing from the tunnels in months, Walter!" Of course, Blithe had just chosen to downplay the reports of activity from the outpost down there, and the Colonel and I both knew it. "The Steins are getting closer with each push, at the rate we're going it's gonna be another sinking ship."

Anderson wasn't having any of it, "We give you those guns, they come back and take them-"

"Not this time," Blithe, who took his position simply by being next in the chain of command, shot off a half-baked answer. "We won't let-"

The screech of Anderson's chair against the concrete floor cut him off.

"They come back and take them, both our flanks are exposed!" Anderson pointed down at Blithe, "It wasn't your men who went in the tunnels when we first got here!" His finger then went to the ground behind him, "Go down there and take a look for yourself if you think it's safe!"

"Then what are we going to do?" Blithe was stammering now under the hard glare of Anderson, "W-we can't leave south along the mountain exposed, they'll run right in, and we can't grab what's on the scaffolding from the east and west edges, then they'll just scale around."

I sighed as the bickering continued. They were getting worse with each month we were here, everytime our reports came back with nothing. No way to leave. No signs of getting out, of getting back home. Anderson was the only one of the three getting rest, and even then every waking minute was spent working.

This meeting barely reached a compromise; the combat engineers would work double time to supply the infantry manning the front crow's nest, only having springfields and rieslings in hand to pick off and hold back the weakest of attacks, retreating back to the remaining M2 nests behind them when the bigger pushes arrive. When. Not if.

With that settled, the Lieutenant Colonels broke off from the meeting, Blithe going out front to watch his men from afar, Alexander to go over maintenance reports, resource allocations, and manufacturing quotas with Doyle and the rest of his Captains, leaving only Anderson still in his chair.

When the room was finally empty save for a handful of inattentive troops on guard, Anderson looked at me silently; my next cue to get up and stand at attention.

"At ease," He stood up too, and he looked hard into my eyes, doing what he always did; seeing how badly his man was doing. I couldn't hide the slight quivers in my right hand, the one that took the trigger.

But my role as a company Captain was to tell others what to shoot, so he ignored it. "A squad from B Company reported the small Stein party moving up towards us from the south East," He pointed his finger on the map, drawing me closer to look at the sketch; a topographic map that showed a ring, that was our half mountain half mesa, our base on the left western side, his finger- the Stein attackers- on the bottom right corner.

"They radioed it in-" I knew what was coming next; the rangers had the only portable transceivers, their job needed it most, so the crow nests needed messages delivered on foot- "and by the time we sent word to prepare for a party of ten, the rest of their army was already halfway across, and it was too hot to reinforce the first line."

In other words, they left the men in the front to deal with a charge by hundreds of eight hundred pound monsters with five, distantly separated M2 machine guns and a handful of grenades combined, while they readied the guys behind them with everything we had in the base. I couldn't criticize the strategy of it; the Steins slipped through the first line like butter only to fall into a hornet's nest of trouble.

"This report, John," Anderson held the piece of paper I gave to him, containing the casualty numbers- and one single detail he omitted from the meeting. "You found someone?"

"Yes sir," I pointed to the space between the first and second line of M2s. "I pulled in behind the infantry with a small platoon, collecting the wounded and scavenging whatever equipment we could find- rifles, magazines, frags. My men heard a man, a white english speaking man in his sixties by the look of it, calling out to them before falling unconscious, sustaining bruises and a single bullet hole through his right shoulder."

Anderson pinched his lower lip, "And he's not one of ours?"

I thought it out with some trepidation, "I don't know sir. He was disheveled and wore ragged clothes- like they were made from a potato sack, and his boots weren't even close to the standard servicemen pair." I mulled over these extra details I had omitted, turning the thoughts around in my head.

His eyes scrunched in confusion and that ever present worry he had nowadays, "What is it?"

"He…" I was about to sound crazy, but we've seen a lot of crazy things lately, "His voice came out strange when he first called out."

"His voice?" It was true; I remembered actually feeling the soundwaves vibrate over my skin.

"I damn near thought he had a megaphone on him," I worried my words wouldn't be taken seriously, but since the first time we got word of the Steins from scouts, Anderson took everything seriously, no matter how much of it turned out to be superstitious imaginations. "We took him, he blended right in with the rest of the wounded, no questions asked by the men. He's in the Hospice being tended by the medics right now."

I could see him thinking through the situation as I reported it to him. I saw him think about having this stranger so close to the heart of the base, so close to the men, so close to the guns. What came next didn't surprise me all that much, "No. move him into the lower levels. Take a medic with you if he needs it."

He looked behind me at the sound of knocking at the door. He moved to a whisper, "lock him up, John."

Sully - Back in the Prison

"What do you want me to start with?" Nate sat on his bed with a rigid posture, "I told you what I knew at the dinner-"

"Hey, ease up," I snuffed the end of my cigar, not wanting the smoke to ruin the atmosphere, if you would think something so beautiful could do that. "This is ain't an interrogation, just an interview. Take as much time as you need."

Cole came to me, liking what he saw with the dinner. He thought I had the people skills to open everyone up for him, like I was unwrapping christmas presents for the kids. Cole shuffled in his seat. His notebook rested on his lap, and his pencil hovered over it, "Well I wanted to start with-"

I placed my hand on his shoulder. Let me handle this, the gesture said. I leaned forward in my seat, "You joining the soccer game later today?"

Nate mulled it over, looking off to the side, "I've needed the time to unwind."

"Red or blue?" I had an idea for his answer.

"Red," of course I'm wrong. "I've had enough of blue."

"Oh god, tell me about," Okay, joke time. Something relatable, "I feel like I'm at the bottom of a pool half the time, all that's missing is the smell of chlorine and kids screaming in your ear."

Nate and I chuckled together, and I could see that some tension had eased off his shoulders. Cole only managed to stick a few heh's in the mix, his posture awkward and stiff, and that's when I knew that he was making his own damn job harder on himself.

Alright then, time to give you a damn bullet point. I rubbed my chin, "You said you served in the army?"

"108th infantry," Nate still had a smile on his face, but it wavered slightly, "2nd battalion."

"Infantry trooper?" I eyed him up and down, exaggerated for effect. "You'll do well on the field."

That renewed the smile on his face with a chuckle, "So you're doing it in the garden?"

I held a hand to the world around us and shook my head with enthusiasm, "Not like we have elsewhere!"

"What was the war like?" Then Cole wiped off whatever smile Nate had left. He shifted in his seat, uneased by the question as he thought on it, and I could tell he was getting flashes.

I sighed, and shot a hard glance at an unaware Cole. Oh boy.

Nate started with the small annoyances; faulty weapons misfiring during transport, power armors- pretty cool from what he described- losing power on patrol and having to lug it back to base, trench foot, starving stomachs, and language barriers.

Then came the stuff that really made our stomachs churn, with comrades losing legs to landmines, machines hacking someone to bits, virus bombs that made one guy hurl out their lungs. His eyes gazed off with a certain level of...numbness in them. Even as he told us when the military promised an injection to protect against those bioweapons, even when the tide started to turn when power armor production kicked into high gear, when robots were used more and more, coating the frontlines with walls of walking steel- he still had that defeated look on his face

It all didn't matter to him, because when he got home to his wife and child, nothing stopped the mushroom clouds rolling over his home, the death of almost all of his friends and family, and his wife being shot to death while their child was ripped from her arms.

"Jesus chris..." I resisted the urge to call him 'kid'. He wasn't a kid now. "You've been through a lot."

"Yeah," He sighed out the words. "I managed."

Cole's bedside manner could've used a little work, "It couldn't have all been bad."

I barely met the man, but already I'm starting to wish that he'd shut the hell up, and I was a quarter of a second into delivering my best 'shut your damn mouth' glare, when Nate's answer actually surprised me.

"No actually," Nate said, his posture opening up more. "After the war, surviving in the wasteland was actually...empowering."

Me and Cole shot quick glances at each other. "Empowering?" Cole asked.

He seemed to piece together the words with his eyes for a moment. "When I woke from cryo-sleep, the world was devastated, don't get me wrong. I came across this group of people, and these...raiders cornered them in this building."

"What did you do?" I asked, this train of thought seeming to be good for him.

"I took care of the raiders, and brought them back to what was left of my neighbourhood," At this point, I could see the pride in him causing his posture to rise, a soft smile on his face. "We rebuilt it- named it Sanctuary. We built water pumps, crops, beds, generators, turret defenses, and we spread out, networking with other settlements. By the time I ended up here, we were building our own houses out of concrete."

I smiled hard on that, "that's amazing."

Cole joined in, "you found purpose."

"That I did," Nate responded with a wide smile.

Then, Cole kept pushing. "what about your son?"

The smile vanished again, and the sighs came back. "Well...When I woke up, I was ready to hunt him to the end of the earth."

He closed his eyes, and seemed to squeeze his whole face like the whole thing was a fist; Anger and sadness all together.

"But...When I saw the rest of the world, full of...monsters and slavers and murderers…" His voice croaked on his next words. "I didn't think I could've handled seeing...What happened to him."

Damn it Cole, you have to stop talking. We want him to stay comfortable, not relive trauma! If you've been doing this to everyone this whole time, you're gonna cause a lot of trouble.

"You did well soldier," Cole tried to reassure him, "all things considered."

Aw geez. He didn't like that. His gaze became sharp enough to cut through glass. All things considered? I felt him think, you mean that I did everything right, except look for my kid?

"I think I'm done now," Nate said.

"Uh-" Cole stammered his words and fumbled through his notes- "but I had some more questions about your wife being here-"

"That's okay son," I tapped Cole's shoulder and stood up. I led him out the door, "we'll leave you be, give you time."

"Thank you for your time-" The door was slammed in Cole's face, the gust of air nearly blowing his hat off.

I pulled him a couple ways from the door before I reprimanded him, "What the hell was that?"

Cole looked like he was at a loss, "Excuse me?"

"You said you were a war veteran," I pointed to Nate's room, "you'd know you don't dig up trauma like that."

Cole seemed confused, "trauma?"

"You know, like flashes of a bad experience!" I shouted at him in a whisper.

Cole eyed the door behind him, "You think he might be unstable?"

Goddamn, you are really that old fashioned aren't you? I heard that Cole came straight from the 1940s, which explained the dated getup; the fedora, pinstripe suit, suspenders...

His time was behind on a whole lot more than just bedside manners.

I sighed, this was gonna be a long one.

"Listen," I started, "I know where you come from, things like shell shock exist, and doctors can't make heads or tails of it, but where I come from, the answer we found was kindness- giving people room to heal. You can't keep bringing it up like that."

Cole's brows furrowed at my words, "but we need to know what's happening-"

"We need everyone to be at ease." I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. He looked at me with a befuddled expression, "Don't look at me like that. We can't all work together if you're riling everyone's feathers just to find out what's happening from people who don't know a damn thing."

The words seemed to finally make their way through his thoughts. He started to slowly nod, "I suppose you have a point."

Great. Now for the other stuff, "And what's this Negro and Man's job stuff I've been hearing from people?"

"What?" Cole's confusion returned.

Yep. Long one.

I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. "I'm gonna bring you up to speed with some things," I tapped a finger on his chest as I led him to the garden, "lunch is on me."

Scorch

"So what do you think he is?" I asked through a mouthful of jerky.

Fixer cringed at me; he never liked it when I spoke while eating. The guy was always so uptight on the manners, all the way back when we were barely 3 years old, going through combat training. "I haven't seen anything like him in the Republic."

Fixer took scoops out of a can of fish food- tuna, the label said on it. He gulped it down before speaking, "then he's probably an outer rim native, something too far away to see a lot of."

I could've sworn the storage room wasn't this cold when I first got to see it- my ears started freezing whenever I took my helmet off.

"What about that thing that Franklin guy was talking about?" I thought the theory was cool; different worlds with the same people, like someone was out there cloning entire planets.

"Alternate worlds?" Skepticism was Fixer's default tone, "crazier than extra galactics."

"Hey! They're out there..." Really, he should've been watching the same holovids I did. He'd be a believer by now.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Fixer pointed his spork at me.

"Maybe you did," I pointed my spear at the door leading out, "we still don't know what half of the other aliens are."

"One galaxy's a big place," Fixer stacked his empty can with the pile we had started. He pulled his bladed hammer into his lap, "we don't need another one to explain them."

"Yeah but you gotta agree everyone's a little strange."

"Strange isn't proof."

"You know what I mean!" I threw my arms up. "Take that blue girl for instance-"

"That's just hair dy-" He stopped to prevent a burp from coming out with his fist- "Hair dye. It's popular among mandalorian teens."

I shook my head, "Mm-mm, other blue girl. Bald, has explosive blue energy coming out of her body...A lot of tattoos."

Fixer thought it over. "Can't say she's a jedi." He replied, and he was right. What Jedi did was invisible, no light to show off what was happening in the background.

"Exactly."

The only door to storage snapping shut grabbed our attention towards the filthy clothed human woman. Ellie, I remembered from the dinner party.

She glanced at us briefly before trying to casually stroll past us. I stopped her by stepping in her path, "Hang on there little lady." I held a hand up, "state your business."

She eyed me up and down. "Not your business."

Oooh, we got a tough one!

Fixer caught my right flank, "outgoing items need to be logged, before and after you grab them."

"Who the hell wrote that rule?"

"Who wrote what doesn't matter," I crossed my arms, and this time it was me eyeing her up and down. "You still have to follow it."

Her eyes darted between us, and I could see her hands started to bunch into fists. "What the fuck are you going to do? Kill me?"

"What's going on here?"

Our heads swivelled to the man in the wheelchair, who suddenly appeared by our 'guard post'.

"Holy-!" I squealed courageously at his… somehow stealthy entrance. "Where'd you come from?"

His wide eyed glare focused on me. I felt a shiver climb up my spine, "They bothering you?"

"They're hoarding everything," Ellie uncrossed her arms, and her face softened at the sight of Mr Glass.

People were split with Mr Glass; Marcus, Elizabeth, and that Nate guy are all buddy buddy when he's out and about. But our superiors- Arbiter, Cole, and I guess that Jaime character now- didn't like how he was spending so much time alone in his workshops...

Fixer pointed at Ellie, "We just need her to log anything she takes."

Mr Glass brushed the tips of his fingers over the grey stubble on his chin. He smiled, exposing that dirty teeth of his, "This Arbiter's new rule?"

Fixer crossed his arms, "It is."

He didn't like our new boss being disrespected.

Glass wheeled closer to Ellie, "How about she accompanies me and I just tell you what she grabs?"

Hm… That could actually work. But Fixer wasn't having it, "That's not gonna work for us."

"Now hang on," I grabbed Fixer's shoulder. I held a finger up to the two, "let me speak with my colleague real quick."

Ellie skirted up next to Glass as he watched us with a smile. I pulled Fixer away and faced away from them. Fixer eyed as he dropped to a whisper, "What are you doing? We've got an assignment."

"Use that big brain of yours Fixer," He swatted away an attempt at poking his forehead. "Around twenty people, all of whom know how to fight? Two guys ain't doing anything."

His anger melted into a deadpan. "You think he is?" He nodded back at the guy in the wheelchair. I didn't see his point.

"Who'd hurt a guy in a wheelchair? Be proactive." I turned towards the pair, Fixer's argument having died in his throat. "Delegate."

The Captain - Mountain Base

Screams waited for me in the next room, red staining a pathway into it. I stood at the door and took my breaths. Hospices used to just be a reality I was used to; men get injured, some die, some live to fight again, many go home. But now it's different, now we can't go home. For many, the Hospice is the last thing they'll see.

I exhaled deeply. And the best medical equipment we got is the only medical equipment we'll ever have. These days, I could feel my pulse in the back of my head just by standing at the door.

Groans turned my attention down the hall. Two medics rounded the corner, a gurney in between them. More wounded. I jolted from where I stood when I realized I was blocking the door. When I realized that their hands were obviously full, I jumped back to open it for them.

We didn't bother speaking to each other as we entered the room together. The noise was unbearable. Men groaned alone in their beds, and sported painful injuries that weren't enough to use what few morphine we had. Screams would fill the Hospice, medics tried their best to remove shrapnel and bullets with what tools that hadn't rusted all the way.

"Momma!" Three medics held a young corporal down as they went to work on his body. They ripped open packets of powdered disinfectants and poured them over his gaping wounds. Bullets plucked from his body clanged as they were dropped into a metal tray.

I moved past them, trying my damndest to drown out the screams. It wasn't my job.

He was unconscious, laid out on a bed with bandages wrapped around on his head and shoulder. I was astonished no one had posted a guard on the newcomer; he was too old to look like he belonged. But he wasn't completely alone.

Sergeant Daniel Jackson sat against the wall, far from the sleeping man. But he was watching him. The man was a gifted sniper; he could be a mile away and still see every detail of his target, from the type of haircut they had to exactly what kind of shoe they wore on their feet.

I was lucky to have him serve under me.

Then, the sleeping old man started talking. I moved close to hear his mutters. I got up and shouted at the room, "I need a translator!"

The man was speaking in a language I wasn't familiar with. I called on some more, being met with more blank eyes; Jackson had gotten up and had started calling with me.

Finally, a hand tugged the lower part of my jacket. "I can help."

I looked to see a young man with a bloody bandage wrapped around his eyes. The patch on his shoulder had the tripled arrowed symbol over the letter 't'; he was a fourth grade technician. "I can translate. French and German."

I sucked on my lips. The old man wasn't speaking either of those. "How many languages do you know of?"

"Most of Europe, sir." He kept his hand on my jacket as he spoke, "little Asian and South American, but I can only guess with the Middle East."

"Can you stand?"

"Yes sir."

"Can this man stand?" I double checked with a medic who was moving between all the beds, keeping a close eye on everyone on this side of the room.

He gave the technician a quick once over. "Only for a couple minutes."

"What's your name?" I leaned down to him.

"Tim Upham sir," He replied.

I gripped his hand, "on your feet Upham."

I pulled him up and guided him around the beds to the old man, still muttering in his sleep. Upham couldn't see, but he knew the whispering he heard in front of him was what I wanted deciphered. He leaned his ear down to make out his words. Upham whispered back.

"What are you talking about?" Jackson asked, still keeping two arm lengths away from the two.

"I don't know the language-"

"But you're speaking it," Jackson grew impatient. I didn't like the attitude he's been giving off lately.

"I'm just repeating what he says so I can get a bearing." Upham continued whispering the man's words back to him.

I eyed Jackson as he seemed to grow too eager. "Take a seat by the wall Jackson."

He looked confused, but his jaw clenched a little. "Sir?"

"Take a seat by the wall." I was firm. His jaw clenched some more, and he turned to move back to his spot.

Upham kept speaking garbled words into the old man, before the words finally trailed off. "I…"

I made sure to grip onto his shoulder so he knew where I was at. "What is it?"

"I never heard the language before," His covered eyes faced me. "But it brings back a lot of memories from lectures in ancient history. It sounded Celtic. Maybe Welsh?"

"Welsh?" I remember fighting with a couple Welsh soldiers, and picked up a couple words myself. The words the old man was muttering did sound a lot like it, but there were some I never even heard before.

I gave a tap on the young technician's shoulder, "thanks Upham. As you were."

I led him back to his bed, and then I approached Jackson. He continued glaring at the man.

I bent my knees to get closer to eye level with him, "you mind telling me what's going on with you?"

He bit his lip, and caressed the cross around his neck.

"I asked you a question, Sergeant." I pulled rank to try and break his silence.

"Sir," He faced me, "I saved him from a stein, sir."

"Come again?"

He tucked his cross away after giving it a kiss, "I spied him being attacked from my perch point. I thought he was one of ours, so I took the shot and saved him."

I saw the regret he felt. He heard the man's voice when the frontlines discovered him; he wasn't just some ordinary man.

"But the lord is faithful," He clutched his cross through his shirt still as he recited his verse, "He will establish you and guard you against the evil one."

"Amen," I finished, quieted as his fear coursed with me.

I left and quietly ordered some men from infantry to move the stranger into the lower levels. Jackson didn't put up a fuss, but he followed after.

After going through the Hospice and seeing the state of the men, I had to go to the prayer room. The decaying concrete didn't do the room justice, but the men had filled it with the belongings of the dead; family trinkets, pictures of loved ones, and dog tags that didn't have a grave to go with. When a soldier died without leaving anything behind, the rangers would collect a good-looking flower on their foraging trips and bring them here, with a large mass of trilliums, violets, and mayflowers clustering the middle of the diorama. But the room only smelled of salt, vinegar, and sweat.

It was bustling today, which didn't surprise me; an attack had just happened, after all.

We all prayed on the floor, in groups separated by faith; the Christians and Catholics prayed together on the right. The Jews got the left. Muslims got their own room in a southeast facing part of the base, but there was argument if Mecca truly was in that direction. We were in the English Channel when we ended up here after all.

I prayed for the Christian side, but not just because I was born and raised a Christian. Most of my men were Christians. They needed to see me pray at the cross. But a lot of the men in infantry were converting to Catholicism; many were saying that this place was purgatory. That we had died during the operation and came here.

Whispering deafened the room; Hebrew and English words, with Catholic, Christian and Jewish prayers being uttered for the dead. The Military Chaplains used to oversee the prayer rooms, but...they've since been lost.

When all the words were said and done, we all went back to our duties. I decided I should check in on C Company, and took that as the opportunity to stroll the base.

The platoons had been split up and were doing work all over and outside the base; I visited Jenkins, left in command of the squads scouting the outside, keeping things safe for the infantry to rebuild the defensive perimeter.

"We've found a couple live ones out here," Jenkins said. A Sergeant assisted him, communicating with the other Sergeants commanding the squads in the distance using a signal lamp, dashing morse code back and forth.

They managed to snag some hunting rifles, revolvers, and loose grenades. The Rangers were so good at it, Blithe had raised a storm at Anderson during the last two pushes, accusing him of hoarding what little weapons the battalions could get their hands on.

That accusation had actually gained some weight for the most part; I followed some of the Rangers back to the front hall. The pile had shrunk a little, but only because it had gotten big enough to be emptied out into the arsenal.

I'd learnt from Jenkins that Dance was in the room over, and they were shooting arrows down the range. They wielded a mixture of long and short bows, carved from wood gathered outside and strung together with paracord from parachutes that were cannibalized for parts. The arrowheads were made from scrap metal, taken from broken guns, loose bullet casings, and from the hull of the Samuel Chase. Fletchings they got hunting turkey and other birds in the wild.

Dance's platoon worked with platoons all over the three battalions, all training the men to work bows, spears, shields, and even swords. "It ain't good, Captain," He pulled me aside, away from the men. "At the rate we're going, we won't have any bullets left to put in all the guns. They'll just be hunks of metal."

I inwardly laughed at the poetics; they were literally pushing us back to the stone age. When the situation would get dire enough, infantry was more likely to get the sticks and stones first. That was Dance's assessment anyway.

"We're too important to go out there with a flimsy piece of sharpened wood," Dance spoke honestly. "Infantry will put up a row, but the rangers are always the first to go in."

He didn't see me shake my head as he moved for a private who had broken the string on his bow. It wasn't going to be rangers with guns and infantry with spears, we lived in a hierarchy after all. The command portions will keep the best gear; platoon leaders, company captains, headquarters…

I swiped a couple bullets from their gear while they weren't looking. I wanted a goddamn sandwich for breakfast in the morning.

Arbiter - Back in the Prison

We had our first meeting- a real meeting- in one of the rooms we emptied out for the Hospital. With the bed gone, we carried in a table and some chairs to go with it, as well as a water jug, cups, and a fruit bowl. I was the only one sitting in a chair, at the side facing the door.

Three had chosen to take the first meeting; Cole Phelps, placed in charge of gathering whatever information we could get, stood to the side with Jaime Lannister, who had a history of being in command and wanted to provide whatever help he could.

I already had a debriefing from Phelps; taking on that man, Sully, had seemed like it was a good idea for Cole. Ridley had complained about his...older worldviews, the other day. Sully seems to have pointed that out to him.

The Delta squad leader, Boss currently had the spotlight, his helmet underneath his arm. "Wrex has been a bit stingy with the rotations, most times I can't seem to get him to leave to get some rest."

"He's a solid one," I observed. "It may be his kind, but I feel that he needs far less rest than you."

"Only means it'll go longer until his movements are slowed," His helmet shifted under his arm, "as for the new guard set up in storage, Scorch and Fixer have had very little problems."

"But there were still problems?" I wondered; Glass frequented storage, for all intents living there. To tell the truth, I was hoping for more clues as to what he's up to.

"Not much on that front, luckily." The leader of the small troop levelled his eyes with me; he knew what I wanted, and that it would be wise that no one else in this room knew too. "Just a small heated discussion with that girl in the red."

"Sounds like Ellie being a handful," Cole commented with a grin. "That kid has to learn some respect."

"You need to pass around word of what we're doing," Jaime hid his prosthetic underneath his left armpit. "Decrees are important; they let the people know the rules when we've changed them."

"A decree? That's a bit overdoing it," Cole eyed Jaime. "There's only twenty other people, most of which are already on your side."

I listened quietly to see if they would finish.

"All the more reason to cement his position," Jaime looked between us. "Arbiter has established a centre for the group to rally behind, but after that we need to establish conduct to support the whole thing before it collapses."

"What are you going on about?" Cole raised a brow. "He stopped another bloodbath. That doesn't make him our king. No offense."

"None taken," I assured. It occurred to me that Jaime was of older views than Cole. Still, I couldn't help but slightly agree with him. "Transparency about what we're doing is gonna be important to maintain trust."

They were thrown into a debate. Many ideas were offered up: written posts put up where everyone could see them, having me stand on a pedestal and make an announcement to everyone, or having one of Delta squad go around and call out new rules. Problems were pointed out with those ones; written posts were too impersonal and lacked legitimacy, delta squad was as spread thin as is, and having me at a podium, declaring the rules, created the sense that I was set on becoming a 'king', as a Cole put it.

It was at that point, Cole brought up something called 'fireside chats'.

"Address everyone personally." Cole explained, "No speech, no one-sided announcement. Balance out formality with informality- as if you were talking to a friend in the bar."

Jaime furrowed his brows, "I've never heard of it done like that before."

"When the great depression made it's waves," Cole began, "President Roosevelt would go on the radio. Everyone would tune in to hear him speak. It'd be like the president would be in the same room with you, he'd talk about the state of the war, new efforts, and new rules."

Cole was drawing a good picture of this human leader; I couldn't believe I never heard of a human leader who seemed as honourable enough to take the time. "But it wasn't a cut and dry decree," he dropped his fist into his palm, "he'd explain his opinions, why he thought the new deal worked and why the war against fascism was important."

Jaime seemed to mull it over. "Creating the illusion of friendship. It's a sound strategy."

"And it pulls everyone out of the dark," I said.

Boss smirked, "What I would give to hear Chancellor Palpatine try one of those."

We hashed it out until Cole's feet grew sore and he sat for a bit. Hot button issues would be the focus of the chats. We didn't really have a radio, but Jaime reasoned that our group was small enough that it could be done in person. His idea was a social event, like another one of Sully's dinners. We invite everyone where Arbiter discusses his plans, thoughts, opinions, and some additional information. A chance to report to everyone.

"It's just what we need," Cole took a sip of water. "No offense, but the group needs to see you as a friend looking out for them."

I was no fool; I took the real meaning behind those words. "As opposed to a monster going around beating his chest, making the rules?"

Jaime giggled, but I knew when a human was laughing because they were nervous. Truth be told, I only spotted a handful of people who were comfortable with him. But we were in this together, and I knew that closeness would chip away the fear in most of them. Most of them...

After all was said and done, I let everyone go.

"You coming to the game?" Cole asked at the door, the last to go. "Sully set the whole thing up, we're having beer…"

I was surprised at the invite. "No promises." I appreciated the gesture, but I regretted that Cole was already gone before I could express it.

Elizabeth peaked through the door. "Arbiter?"

"Come in," She looked nervous, twiddling her fingers in her hand when she came in. "What's wrong?"

"It's Kaneki."

My heart nearly skipped a beat. "What's happened?"

"It's more what will happen," She grabbed a seat in front of my desk. "He's starving to death."

A breath of relief escaped me. It would be a lie to myself to say that the creature wasn't better off…

Elizabeth, as compassionate as she was, glared at me when I took the news too well. "You can't seriously be okay with this? His death won't be painless, far from it."

"What will you have me do then?" I snapped at her. "The only food he can eat- are the people in here with us. Even if we were out in the world and not in here, letting him free would let loose a monster on other innocents!"

Again, she did not cow. "The world is full of scientific solutions, miracles that can give men the ability to fly, light fire between their fingers and open gateways to other places. We can find a way to treat him."

"If you're up to the task then…"

She stood up, "I'll do it myself if I have to. I'm not gonna sit by and watch him waste away to the bone."

She barged out of my room. An idealist, a small part of me sneered. She'll get herself hurt.

I dwelled on the moment, and I realized that I shouldn't have been so callous. She's the closest thing to a doctor we have right now.

A knock on my door got my attention. "Arbiter? It's Marcus."

"Come in," I responded. I avoided showing my surprise, when the door opened to reveal Mr Glass sitting below him.

"He wanted to talk to you," He said, wheeling him in. "Maybe you should move your office to the bottom of the stairs?"

"Not everyone can get up as easily as most people," Glass said with a smirk. He turned his head to Marcus, "thanks Marcus. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Elijah," Marcus turned a shoulder to the door, still on guard duty in the Hospital. He eyed me and the table, "If Arbiter's too busy, just call for me. I've got good hearing."

I raised my eyebrow at hearing Marcus utter another name for Mr Glass; he hadn't told anyone his full name until now.

I looked to Elijah Glass, "You wanted to talk?"

"You're moving quick." He smiled, studying the room. "Locking people up, putting guards where the food is...you even have your own cop going around interrogating people."

I suppressed a growl; I hadn't missed his words pitting my own actions against me. "They're logging food, not guarding it. Cole's just looking for answers, or help."

"All true I'm sure," he shrugged, "doesn't change what everyone's thinking."

I'm lucky humans don't know what it looks like when my people smile. Cole's idea is gonna change what people are thinking, but now's not the time for Glass to know about it.

I decided to spin the spotlight onto Glass himself, "Ripley wants to know what taking so long to make those doorbusters."

I thought I had him, making him out to be the one person slowing our escape from this place. "You mean those pieces of plastic? Those aren't gonna work. Leaving this…" He looked around, with what surmounted to a look of...admiration, for our prison. "It just can't be that easy."

"Does that give you the right to stall?" I pressed on.

"3d printers aren't very quick," He waved a hand, "and I've had a whole list of things to make. Sully had to get that dinner setup from somewhere-" a smirk spread on his face-"alongside those lock upgrades to your prison cells."

"Upgrades?" My eyes went wide.

"Oh, Delta Three-Eight didn't tell you?" His smile only grew stronger, "I replaced those stupid bedsheets with proper locks, something that won't rip up with a single yank."

I broke eye contact, facing the empty fruit bowl. Boss hadn't reported anything on getting new locks from Glass; he omitted an important piece of information. And he knew I was expecting news on Mr Glass' movements.

"I'm grateful for the help," I said, still looking down in thought.

"Don't mention it." Elijah, wheeled for the door, before stopping to say one last thing. "Oh, and you should probably check in on that white haired kid you got locked up, I can hear his groans all the way in Storage."

Sully

I downed a quarter of my bottle as Kara took the ball from Joel's feet. "Oh so it's gonna be like that, huh?!" Joel laughed.

Cole sat beside me in one of the chairs overlooking the game; Joel and Franklin against Kara and Chloe. Red vs blue. Jack did goalie for Kara's team against Franklin, until Nate joined moments later. He didn't make eye contact with Cole while he replaced Franklin at the 'net'. It was just two sticks hammered into the soil with a single piece of string connecting them at the top, but it worked anyway.

"Seems like everyone is getting along..."

I looked at Cole. Joel had managed to take the ball back from Kara close to his team's net. Kara chased after him as he ran to shoot past Jack, who moved to block him. But just at the last second, just as Kara reached in to take it back, Franklin ran up far behind her, and Joel kicked the ball to him who took the shot at Jack's opening!

"Yeah baby!" I got up and cheered. Cole stared wide eyed at the spectacle; but I realized quickly that he was staring at Franklin.

"He gave him the ball so easily," He tugged on his collar.

I took a seat and pat him on the back. "I told you, things work differently here."

Franklin delivered a high five with a running jump. I eyed Cole carefully, "How does that make you feel?"

Cole stared straight back at me, "Relieved."

"Relieved?" I avoided smiling just yet.

He turned away to face the game, "Color mattered a lot to folks back home. My father, my grandfather, most of the men on the force, including my boss, and my wife. I even felt something from my partners."

"Not you, though?" I passed another beer from the cooler and took his empty bottle.

"No-" he popped the cap off with his own hand- "but I...had to take on some habits. So many eyes on me, especially during the war."

I sighed, understanding his meaning. "You couldn't break rank."

He nodded. He watched Joel and Franklin huddle together, "Looking at this now… I'm ashamed I didn't. Maybe others would have stepped up with me."

That's good, I thought to myself, shame is good. I gave him another pat and grasped his shoulder. "Maybe you still can. The chance to make things better is always there, it just moved to here."

I saw doubt in the look he gave me. "Am I doing the right thing Sully? Interrogating all these people just to figure how we can use the-"

"Oh no, you're absolutely doing the wrong thing with the interrogations." I cracked a smile, "We're just asking for help, Cole. More like… job interviews than pressing for information."

I stretched my back into my seat, eliciting an audible crack. Youch. "You gotta be more laid back."

I could see Cole trying. He sank into his chair, his arms and legs relaxing, loosening...

The ball was still in the field when he sat up straight and asked me about the dinners I had planned.

"Oh heck," I put my beer down on the arm of my chair, "of course it's gotta be a regular thing." I pointed to the six playing soccer, "They're good for people."

"I agree," Cole leaned forward like he didn't want to be overheard, "but I wanted to ask a favor of you."

"Don't you already have me doing a favor for you?" I gave him a smug look.

"Well...yes," he took a breath. "But this is more a favor for Arbiter."

Oh. I'd seen the thing- the alien. I've been to strange places, seen the rotting flesh spanish colonists feast on mercenaries, those blue skinned gorilla people guarding shangri-la. Arbiter would have to be the most freaky looking creature I've ever seen, but he wasn't half bad. And I was technically working for him.

I took a sip of my beer, "What's that guy want?"

"He wants to use your dinners to make announcements," Cole glanced at Jack jumping in enthusiasm at running a score, "tell everyone what's going on, what we're doing…"

I saw right there what they were doing. I knew they were setting up guards in the storage, heard it from that Ellie kid. People aren't gonna react well if Arbiter keeps them in the dark while he starts making more rules, more restrictions, and gets more people doing work for him. He was pining for more support from the people.

"Alright, you want me to help you some more," I leaned back, and I wished I had my cigar handy to go with the smugness I was projecting. "I'm doing these interviews for free, but this? What's in it for me?"

Cole seemed to have been ready with an answer, "Peace of mind."

I rubbed between my finger and thumb, "Oh?"

"Arbiter stopped the violence," he looked to Joel, rushing to take the ball from Kara. "He still is."

Oh damn, I thought with some unease at his hard sell, he's actually right. Like it or not, all these people were at each other's throats just a couple days ago, and I wasn't too innocent myself either. Trying to squeeze something out of Cole or Arbiter was pointless; they knew we needed them.

"Alright, alright," I put my beer down. I didn't have the stomach for more violence anyway. I clasped in a mock beg, "you've sold me, have mercy!"

We laughed at that. Jack was on the field this time, and she gave the other side a run for their money. When she got the ball, not one person could keep up with her. Nate and Franklin tried closing in on her together from both sides, but she escaped narrowly with a sidestep. Chloe kept shouting she was open for it, but Jack ignored her, and took the shot!

But Joel caught the ball, Jack rushing too much to have picked a decent spot. And for the small moment it looked like Chloe and Jack would fall into an argument, a cry diverted their attention.

"Help! Help!"

It was that woman in the grey jumpsuit; Ripley. She came from the living area, fear etched onto her features.

"Ripley?" I called out, but she was at a loss of breath, "Ripley!"

We all started circling her, and I got to her first, "What is it?"

"That Japanese girl- she's bleeding out in her room," she looked to everyone, Joel pushing in close, "he fucking slashed her throat!"

"Who?" Joel asked.

"That fucker Arbiter had locked up- he's loose."

Sully felt his own pulse in his skull. There were two people they locked up- that kid with red sprouting tentacles, and that guy who picked a fight the other day. Sully remembered watching them get moved around, and now they didn't for sure who was where.

But Joel felt it had to be that man in the suit. Him, Nate, Cole, Jack, and I decided to go in on our own. We all knew we could handle a fight, and we stood better with numbers. Kara took Ripley to go see Arbiter; he'll join if it looks like it won't be easy.

Chloe, that stubborn teen, wanted to join in, "hold on take me with you-"

"Go with Kara, get to safety," Joel didn't seem to feel she could handle herself. "Now!"

Chloe stared at him, and there was a hint of her being frustrated. But she did what he said nonetheless.

I was old, with grey hair and creaky joints. But they knew that I could handle throwdowns, I only told them every single bar fight I had.

We rushed through the halls, and the sound of enraged screaming filled out ears. When we broke into the block we all lived in, he was holding that girl in the red hood- Echo, her name was- at knifepoint. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were drenched in blood.

Echo had tried to make a go at him, which the blood dripping from her face indicated.

He noticed us, waving his knife around, "Stay back!"

"What the hell did you do?!" Joel shouted at him.

Blood dripped on the floor from the blade. It was fresh off an attack.

"Give it up!" I was off my negotiating game; I just wanted this over. "You're outnumbered!"

I remembered seeing the man fight against the deltas; he was just all talk. But he had a knife now, and the risk was too dangerous.

"That may be true," He backed up, until he was past the opened doorway of an empty room. "But only one of you can get in here at a time!"

We spread out in front of him, but I realized the man wasn't too wrong. The narrow gap kept us from ganging up on him at the same time, so only one could really fit in for the attack. But I felt that he was being cocky, thinking he could handle us.

I was nearly proven right when Joel made the first move. He rushed, fists up. The man made a swipe with the blade. Joel jumped out of the range, but the man didn't follow, keeping in the door. Joel feigned a step forward, the air being met with another swipe. The third time, Joel went in all the way, and caught the wrist holding the knife. He delivered a blow to the face, and the weapon fell to the ground.

But the man managed to get free with a hit to the forearm, and he proved useful with his fists. He blocked a hit and struck Joel in the centre, and delivered a quick throw of the fist, square in the jaw.

When Joel was sent staggering out of the doorway, the man tried to go for the knife on the ground. Cole came and kicked it away, and his punch from above was dodged. Cole pulled out quick, trying to lure the man farther out of the door, but the man didn't fall for it.

Nate jumped in, rushing past Cole head on. He delivered one blow to the head, before he was grabbed by the collar and headbutted. His shoulders were gripped and he was thrown into the door frame, where fists pummeled into him against the wall.

"Get off of him!" I shouted, and ran in with a kick. He staggered as Nate was pulled to safety by Cole, but he kept his guard up. His eyes were on me now.

I kept my fists up, and I kept moving left and right. When I saw his body ready itself for a punch, I ducked. I sidestepped another hit. I pulled back on a swing. He expected me to dodge now, so when I did the unexpected and blocked with my forearm, I caught him off guard with my knuckles straight to his collarbone.

He staggered backward slightly, and that's when I realized that if I could get him all the way into the room, we could all go at him at once.

I went all in; at the first swing, I went under and came up with a hit to the jaw. His stagger gave me an opening to punch him in the rib. I grabbed him by the collar, but I sent the punch from my right, he caught it with his right.

I could only see his arm locked around mine as I received a blow to my sides, knocking the breath of me. He knuckles smacked into my temple, and stars blurred my vision as a hand pulled me out, his lock on my arm loosened.

"I got you!" I heard Nate's voice.

"Nathan?" I spoke in a daze, and for a second I thought I was in the London underground library again with Cutter and Drake.

When I came to my senses, the man was still at the door. We were beat; we'd underestimated him and got our asses handed to us. One of the big ones would have to handle the blood covered man.

Joel stood in a stance, at the ready should he try to make a break for it at least, but he was clearly winded. "Who the hell are you?"

The man spat a glob of blood out on the floor. "I'm Dutch van der Linde."

I joined the men in covering his exits, but I had forgotten Jack and Echo staying on the sidelines, still fresh and eager.

"Don't try it," Dutch said to them as they got closer.

"You're not looking too good, old man," Jack sneered at him. I felt some resentment bubble out of me; she had stood back and let us pick away at him, hoping he'll be exhausted by the time she'll get her chance. "You can only go on so long."

"Bring it on then," Dutch invited her with a wave of his fist.

Jack moved, and Echo stayed close behind. Jack formed the front, keeping her fists up. They were smaller than him, but Jack was tough, and Echo seemed to be trained, and while Dutch's advantage was that he was bigger and probably more experienced, the fight the men gave had taken a number out of him. But he still stood ready a foot in the door.

A body swung from the railing above, past Jack and Echo's heads. Two hard feet smacked into Dutch's face.

Dutch was sent falling back into the room on his back, and his assailant swung backwards, dangling on a rope made of bedsheets. Jack and Echo rushed into the room, kicking and punching Dutch, preventing him from getting a bearing.

Cole stared at the dangling Asian woman. "Mikasa?"

Joel was quick to seize the opening, "Go in! Now!"

Feet rushed into the room, Dutch caught between Echo and Jack. "Bring it!" he shouted with a delirious laugh, "Bring it!"

Joel and Jack delivered their punches together, hitting his face and rib. Joel gripped one wrist again, but this time Nate grabbed the other one, and they both delivered blows to his face, knocking him out of their grip. He hit the floor, and Cole kicked him down before he could get up.

Soon, we all took part in kicking at him. "That all you got!?" he shouted in between having the breath knocked out of him, "that all you got!?"

He took a beating all over, before Cole and I broke out of our daze and put a stop to it. The brawl had gotten smears of blood on me- on everyone. We had him tied and face down on the ground when Arbiter managed to reach us, "What happened? Who's been hurt?"

Cole reported the fight, telling him everyone involved. Seeing Arbiter this close again- he was massive. I had doubts when he came alone, but this towering monster would've probably taken Dutch down one on one. I caught his eye as it followed a line of bloody footsteps, leading up one of the stairs. Ripley's words echoed suddenly, she's bleeding out in her room!

Cole noticed it too. He, Arbiter, and I followed it into a room- a pool of blood spilling out the door on the floor. It was Akane.

"Oh Jesus," Cole held a fist up to his mouth.

She was on the ground, her clothes dyed red. He got her along the throat.

"Oh god." I saw the way Cole looked her over; she was a cop, just like him. "Cole…"

He clenched his fist. "How did he get out?" he pointed outside, directing his anger at Arbiter, "there were guards posted at his door-"

"He's unconscious!"

We rushed out into the neighboring room. Echo kneeled over Scorch's body, beans spilled out on the floor. I knew this one was a slacker.

"Hey!" I called down at him, furious myself, "Wake the hell up!"

I shook him. Smacked him. Splashed a water bottle into his face. That's when I went from frustrated to concerned; he was out cold.

"Arbiter!" Cole called from outside. He'd beelined for the room that man- Dutch- was being held in. It was the plastic, 3d printed lock made to keep the doors from opening. A part had been cut.

I locked eyes with Cole; his face was still, but it conveyed all the anger it needed to. Someone outside had let Dutch out.