"I'm still not sure if this is a good idea," Timothy whispered.

Their Pictionary diversion had worked wonderfully. Venable and Mead using it as their own distraction to talk away from prying eyes. Emily had overheard Grey's talking about the rendezvous as they did laundry.

"If you don't want to come you don't have to," Emily hissed, doing nothing to hide her annoyance with the man.

Em, on the other hand, was quite done with both of them. Their whispering would make them look even more suspicious and took away any element of surprise they had. "Would you two shut up?"

As they got to the end of the hall, Em paused and listened for sounds of life around the corner. One thing about living with her father had taught her was how to listen for footsteps and breathing to give away someone's position.

Em motioned to Timothy to put out his light, plunging them into darkness save the few candles Venable let burn for the Greys.

The meeting between Venable and her head warden lasted hours according to Emily's intel. This would give them ample time to search one of their rooms and hopefully find answers. Emily had wanted them to split up and search both, but Em had convinced her to succeed at one job before they went on to something larger.

So there they stood, outside Mead's room and praying this went as well as they had planned it to. Emily and Timothy went spread out to Em's right and left, keeping an eye out for any incoming traffic. Her job was to pick the lock. She had practiced for hours on her bathroom door. Hopefully, it would take less time for her to get it down this time.

Channeling the focus she had while sowing, Em set to work on the door and shoved out any distractions. Time meant nothing. If she focused on time she would mess up. Slow and steady won the race… she only hoped nursery stories she heard a million times as a child proved true.

"How long is this—" Timothy whispered, quickly cut off by a scathing look from Emily.

Em was starting to wonder if she'd be better off doing this alone.

Finally, the lock clicked open and Em twisted her wrist to turn it. With a sigh of relief, she pulled her tools out, heart leaping to her chest as the hairpin remained stuck in the lock. Yanking a few more times, she eventually let it stay where it was pursing her lips and turning the handle.

Timothy started towards her, Emily mirroring his actions as they came to stand by the door. Em looked to Emily who simply nodded at the pair.

"I'll tap the wall three times if anyone shows up. Be sure to hide."

Mead's room was just as Em had imagined. Everything had its proper spot and not a single speck of dusk was out of place. Without saying a word, Em and Timothy set off to opposite sides of the room to hunt for anything that would enlighten them to the inner workings of the outpost.

While Timothy rustled through her desk, Em opened the closet. Her hand felt along the bottom, shoes and boxes. She pulled one out to see its contents only to find an old medal of honor and an embroidered decoration with a goat with the words "devil mama" around it. Inside joke? Did Mead have goats before she joined the Cooperation?

Whatever it was, it wasn't important and Em continued to investigate. Finally, she felt a latch near the back of the closet. Moving a few more boxes, Em revealed a secret compartment that revealed exactly what they were looking for.

"Timothy!" Em hissed, quickly looking through the notebook. He hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through the pages — random notes with no coherent organization. They were marked with military time.

One entry was on the day of Stu's death. Nothing of importance was written — more about the settings of the Geiger counter than anything else. Em pulled out her phone and captured a picture.

"Where—?" Timothy whispered, Em cutting him off as she continued to hunt.

"I got here before everyone else, remember?"

She snapped a few pictures of notes on different residents, mostly status reports of Greys and Wardens — who was doing the best, who could be trusted with which tasks and so on. The back of the journal was the most informative, listing exit procedures for Wardens in case of a breach as well as a small booklet no doubt given to Mead by the Cooperative itself.

Em took as many pictures as possible, not really reading over the notes. There'd be time for that later.

A knock came to the wall. Then two. Then three.

The pair threw what they had found back into the closet, only making sure the secret compartment was where they had found it. Timothy stood, wide-eyed as he looked for a place to hide. Em scanned the room and pulled him towards the bed, shimmying to get under.

She had just enough time to pull her skirt out of view just as the door began to open. Her heart leapt in her chest as she held onto Timothy's hand. She spared a look behind them to make sure they were properly out of view.

Em had always made fun of her mom's insistence of putting a skirt on the bed frame. Now it was the difference between survival and the gallows.

The door froze for a moment, a small sliver of light coming from the hall as well as the muffled sounds of conversation.

"I just wanted to talk to you about the interviews," they could hear Emily say from the hall.

"I don't know anything about those," Mead responded, short and obviously wanting to leave the conversation.

"I just felt like I was so nervous I completely blew the first one and it's my life on the line… literally."

The older woman sighed, "when Langdon wants to talk to you he'll let you know."

"But—"

"Goodnight."

Em smiled to herself. She was proud of her friend for putting on such a good performance. Timothy's reaction was much more panicked, looking to Em with wide, horrified eyes.

She flipped his hand over so his palm was to the ceiling… or, in their case, the mattress. His brow furrowed, but he made no move of disagreement. What could they do? Jump out and yell, "surprise?"

Her own heart was hammering in her chest as she felt the bed press down above her. She wondered how Mead couldn't hear it, the sound like a drum in Em's ears.

Mead sighed, a tired and defeated sound before muttering to herself, "damn kids."

A shoe landed with a thump than another which sat in front of Timothy's face, far too close for comfort. His hand reached out to push it away, but Em pinched his hand. His jaw was tensed as he looked at her, expression asking her what in the fuck he was supposed to do.

Em simply shook her head. If they wanted Mead to believe they weren't there, they had to act like they weren't there.

The woman didn't even look down as she grabbed her shoe. The sliver of an opening between the bed-skirt and the floor gave Em just enough view to see the woman's hands grasping for the boot before stalking over to the closet and throwing them in. The sound of something falling in the closet made the woman curse.

"Stupid boxes," She grumbled, Em watching her feet as she opened the closet door. There was no sign of the woman seeing anything out of place, but Em still held her breath.

They laid there under the bed as Mead straightened up the room, finally meandering to her dresser where she poured herself a drink. Another knock nearly made Em gasp, biting her lip until it hurt to keep the sound from escaping her.

"What now?" Mead huffed under her breath, uttering a few choice expletives and setting down the drink with more force than necessary. Em's fight or flight instincts were going wild, but the action simply added to them.

She could see Mead walk to the door and saw the barest hints of a pair of polished shoes on the other side. Em could picture Mead's shocked face as her voice betrayed her emotions.

"Mr. Langdon!" the woman said, quickly calming herself at his sudden appearance, "How can I help you?"

"I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," he said. Em could also tell he was smirking… only slightly. "I was told you had been in a meeting before."

"Not at all. Is there something wrong?"

Em watched as Langdon leaned back on his heels. Really, he was so easy to read just by posture alone. "I'm here to collect you for your interview."

"Interview? At this hour?"

Langdon took a step away. At least, she thought he did. He had moved out of her view, at the very least. "I could always come back."

"No need. Just give me a moment."

The door closed and Mead pulled her shoes out of the closet. Once again, the bed dipped as she rushed to put them back on. Em could feel her footsteps vibrate up her arm as the woman walked to the door, opening it and pausing.

She'd seen her make-shift lock-pick.

"Something wrong?" Langdon asked.

"Nothing," Mead said, the door closing and muffling their voices. She hadn't attempted to lock the door… not that she could.

Timothy moved to shimmy out from under the bed, but Em caught his arm.

"She's gone," he whispered.

"We need to wait at least five minutes."

Timothy sighed, but relented into her demands. His lips pursed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. They both stared at it, the seconds ticking by painfully slow.

Finally, they skittered out from their hiding spots. Em's back popped as she rose, limbs protesting at being constrained and tensed for what felt like an eternity.

The door squeaked ever slightly and the pair froze, too late to hide. Em felt her head become light as she leapt towards the back of the door as if she could somehow slip out before it closed once more.

Emily's head popped around the corner as her breath caught in her throat. Timothy sighed and leaned down on his knees.

"For fucks sake!" Em hissed, hand grasping at her heart.

"Just hurry up before anyone shows up!" Emily hissed, tugging the two out into the hallway and shutting the door quietly behind them. The three musketeers hurried back to the Purple's living quarters as quickly as their feet could carry them.

"What did you get?" Emily asked, panting ever slightly as they made it back to safety.

Em's smile was giddy, the adrenaline not quite worn off, "we'll talk tomorrow."

Timothy was almost as giddy as she was, laughing anxiously as he realized they had pulled it off. "Where?"

"My room," Em said, nodding as she tried to collect her fractured thoughts, "anyone could listen in the library."

"Where the hell did you get a phone?" Timothy asked, chuckling and leaning on his knees as he shook his head.

"A phone?" Emily echoed.

The brunette frantically shushed the pair, looking over her shoulder to make sure they were alone, "last thing we need is Venable confiscating the only evidence we have!"

The pair quickly closed their mouths.

"Tomorrow. My room. After lights out." Em ordered, "I still need to look into some things."

"Do you think it can help us?" Timothy asked.

Em shook her head, the high finally wearing off, "I don't know, but it's a start."

They righted themselves as a shuffling was heard down the hall, disbursing and returning to their own rooms. Em leaned against her door once she was safely inside, not yet convinced they had really pulled it off.

Locking the door, she made sure to hide her phone in the compartment she had made in her bed frame. She sat on her bed, not quite ready to go to sleep.

Were Mead, Venable, and Langdon on the same team? Em could never discern a proper answer to that question. They belonged to the same organization, certainly, but where did their loyalties lie? They were definitely up to something. Those numbers listed on the date of Stu's death… they couldn't mean anything good.

Whatever was going on in Outpost 3, she was going to figure it out. Em would rather die with the truth than believing in a lie.


Others were starting to notice the frequency of Em's visits with Langdon. They didn't say anything, but she could tell from their gaze. Probably what the man intended, isolate and divide.

It certainly made her stick out like a sore thumb. So much so that the three musketeers had to halt any further investigation… or at least any that relied upon Em as a factor. They needed to be on the offensive.

Honestly, she was far too preoccupied with her new advances to care much about the last interview. If she was able to collect information from Mead she could most certainly survive another interview. It was almost a trip now, the adrenaline. Something to live for.

Em took a moment outside his door to collect herself. She was a purple… she didn't know about how the outpost was run… she didn't know anything beyond the threat of looming death. Like a mantra she repeated it in her head, hand raising to knock.

"Come in," Langdon's voice sang from the other side, his eyes meeting hers as she slipped into his office and settled into the chair, "Hello, Emily."

"Langdon," She greeted, a small smile coming to her lips, "this is my… third interview? What else could you possibly want to know."

"You know I can't divulge the criteria I must assess you on," He said with a smile, knowing she already knew his response.

"Maybe one of these days you'll slip up," Em noted, "worked on my mom when I wanted a cat."

"Oh?" he asked, "you badgered her until she said yes."

"Actually, my grandmother went behind her back and took me to the animal shelter," Em admitted with a smile.

A smile of his own formed on his lips as he looked at her, "why am I not surprised?"

Her eyes avoided his, dragging down to her skirt which she suddenly became preoccupied with.

"I doubt you brought me down here to reminisce."

He sighed and started looking at his file, "Always to the point."

"I'm certain you have other interviews to conduct."

"None as interesting as your own," He noted without thought, more preoccupied with her file than what he was saying, "What skills could you offer to a new society."

Em sighed and straightened up a bit. He never did come with easy questions.

"I'm no scientist or engineer," She admitted, "I'll admit my skills come into need much later in a society's development, but I'd argue the recording of history is important."

"Is it?"

"If we are to learn from our mistakes."

"And look where it got us," he noted, "a land of nuclear waste."

"I could sit here and argue the effects of revisionist history," Em said before sighing, "but that would bring up an argument of the cycle of corruption and I tend not to think about that these days."

Langdon leaned back in his seat, "you think we're bound to repeat ourselves."

There was something about the brunette today that caught him off guard. She was lighter, less fidgety. The restraints she had put upon herself were almost… gone. He didn't know what to make of it.

"With this lot you've chosen there is no doubt of it, sir," she said, leaning forward in her own seat, "this situation seems to be the hollowed-out shell of a plan."

Langdon cocked his head, "how so?"

"A self-sustaining society is not too far-fetched." She noted, arms coming to rest on those of the chair, " The Cooperative is supposed to have planned to wait out a nuclear winter and all they have is a few shelters with no way to sustain life past a few years?"

She scoffed and shook her head, "Unlikely."

He hid his face as he smirked. So she was playing her cards. Her interviews were always much more fun than those of the other residents.

"Timing was not in our favor," He noted, raising his gaze from the file, expression unreadable. Em could see the glimmer in his eye. If he was going to put a target on her back, she might as well make it large enough to shield Emily and Timothy.

"Then why give false hope?" She probed, "I think I'd have rather been blown to hell than wait patiently to starve to death."

Her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing as she seemed to read him like a book. Recognition dawned on her and she leaned back in her chair.

"Unless that's what you're hoping for," she noted, "to have us tear each other apart and the survivor be taken to salvation."

"The Cooperative's mission is to sustain the lives of people underground until it is safe enough to go above."

Em shook her head. He sounded like some Utopian commercial selling the idea of paradise. "I find that very unlikely at this point."

He stood and wandered over to the fireplace, hands behind his back as he stared at the flames.

"You're quite brazen," He noted, smiling at the flames before turning to look at her over his shoulder, "I could fail you simply for challenging authority."

"Then fail me," Em said, standing and coming to rest next to him. She stared into the flames as he had, but made no move to look away. "I would gladly take a death-like sleep."

Langdon took a step back, eyes almost worried as she continued to stare at the fire. Finally, she turned to him, hand held out expectantly.

His hand raised as if he would give in to her demands, faltering as he did so. Instead, he curled his hand over her own and gently pushed it down.

"You are quite fascinating, Emily," he admitted, so close she could almost feel his breath on her face, "It would be quite stupid of me to let you die now."

He expected her to pull away. Instead, she drew closer.

"You are quite arrogant to think you have any say in that."

Langdon was at a lack for words as she pulled away and walked towards the door. His first reaction was to call her bluff, but he did not see one in her eyes. For a long moment, he stared at his hand, realizing how empty it felt without her own placed upon it. Finally, he turned in her direction,

"Are you a martyr, Emily?" he asks as her hand reached for the door handle.

"There is no reason for me to cower," she said before chuckling to herself, a sad and lonesome sound, "and I refuse to die afraid."

He took a step forward, "The heavens frown upon suicides."

She glanced back at him and laughed right in his face, "oh, darling. We're well past that notion."

The door closed behind it and Langdon could only stare where she once stood. Slowly, his eyes dragged back to the fire. He stared at where she had stood as if reliving the memory again, mouth agape at the audacity of it all. The hand which was still raised clenched into a fist before returning to his side as he looked inward.

This certainly was a most unexpected outcome. There was an uncertainty in his chest he hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling of worry, a feeling of fear.

Facing death was never easy, but Em had finally convinced herself that, if she did die, she would do so with grace. She didn't know what about the previous night's expedition had done to her mentally. Perhaps she had finally proved to herself that even the most intimidating of forces were but shadows dancing on the wall — cast them in light and they became such small creatures. The dog that snarls usually does so out of fear rather than a desire to kill.

Didn't make them any less dangerous, however.

Em paused ever slightly as she made her way down the hall, still riding the high of adrenaline of freedom. A figure came her way, familiar and unpleasant. The momentary faltering was slight, but enough for the other woman to notice.

The brunette pushed forward, sparing a smile at the woman she loathed. "Kill them with kindness," her mother always said. Kindness gave a facade of weakness if used properly and it most certainly made it easier to kill them. Metaphorically, of course.

She had made it to the steps before she realized Venable had stopped in her tracks. In fact, she had already taken the first few steps down when Venable realized she'd have to do more than stare to get the other woman's attention.

"I'm quite perplexed," Venable spoke, tapping her cane against the floor for emphasis. The sound of it echoed down the hall. Part of Em was tempted to keep walking just to piss her off, but it was always better to face the cockroach and deal with it before it slithered back into whatever hole it had crawled out of.

She turned slowly, hands coming to rest behind her back as she centered herself on a step, "about?"

Venable took a step towards the girl, closing the distance between them, "Miss Mead came to her room to find a pin jammed into her door."

"You confiscated my sewing supplies ages ago," Em reminded with a smile.

"Not a sewing pin."

"Then," Em asked, taking a step up, "what?"

Venable chuckled, more a scoff than an act of amusement, "I know what you are doing."

The brunette simply stood, staring and showing no sign of speaking any time soon. Finally, Venable was forced to break the silence.

"Mead suspects Gallant, but I know you're planning something from the shadows," Venable said, moving even closer to Em, cane making a sharp sound as it hit the ground. She glanced down to her feet then back to the woman before her as if she could read where the brunette had been by examining her shoes. "Thing is, I can't find out what."

Em looked to the ground, mouth twisting in thought before so looked back at the woman with a cocked brow and an air of innocence which made Venable's blood boil.

"So you have no proof?"

"I have my gut," Venable spoke slowly, lips twisted into a scowl as she came within arm's length of the girl, "and it churns when I look at you."

Her nostrils flared as Em quietly chuckled.

"I'm pretty sure that's starvation."

Em moved to turn away from the woman, taking one step down. Venable never could stand to not have the last word.

"I can't wait to see you burn," the overseer spat with as much venom she could muster.

With a sigh Em faced the woman once more and stared her dead in the eye, green ones lit with fire.

"I am a MacLeod of Raasay," she warned, voice even and stern in warning, "I cannot burn."

Venable simply scoffed, "we'll see about that."

Em was more amused than aggravated — though she certainly felt a fair amount of the latter. Unlike Venable, she was able to wield it.

"You can't even properly investigate a break-in," Em noted, her expression a mocking grin, "What makes you think you can be anything more than a glorified babysitter?"

Venable's rage was visible. It had been visible for most of the conversation, but now her chest rose and fell with it, nostrils flaring and hands tightening around her cane. It was an instant, hardly longer than a second, between Em's last word and the woman's hand flying out towards her.

She had intended to slap Em the same way she had Coco all those many evenings ago. This time, she wouldn't get the satisfaction. Em's hand was tight around her wrist, nails digging into her flesh as she used Venable's arm to pull her in closer.

Venable's eyes widened with shock, a gasp leaving her as she was forced to abandon her cane which clattered to the floor.

"I'll advise you to use your words, Miss Venable," Em growled, breath fanning onto the woman's face.

Venable could hardly find enough air to speak, but still tried to play at superiority, "Is that a threat?"

"A warning."

She lightly shoved the woman back, allowing her to collect her cane. When Venable rose back to her full height, she noticed Em looking off into the distance. Her cheeks flushed as she turned to see Langdon staring at the pair from down the hall, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

"Until next time, Venable," Em said with a smile, turning and descending down the stairs.

"Miss Venable." The woman corrected, looking back tot he girl in anger to find she had disappeared. When she turned to look at Langdon once more he was also gone.

Venable's rage was palpable, her hands itching to claw the girl's eyes out. Gritting her teeth, she collected herself and stalked down the hall, beating her cane against the floor to dismiss curious Greys that stared as she passed.

Em, on the other hand, was quite content. Finding her way to the salon, she had run into Erika. Their conversation quickly turned to the usual— food.

"How's the agricultural investigation going?" Em asked her, turning to look up at the woman as she walked.

"Slow," The Fist sighed, "yours?"

"The same. I could use your blog right about now."

The Fist smiled at her, "We may not have the internet, but feel free to ask me about anything you wish. My information may not be accurate, but I will pull from my memory as best as possible."

"I believe we're quite overdue for that talk about preservatives," Em noted, "my bad. With all the interviews my head has been lost."

"We wardens have also been busy prepping for what happens after the interviews," The Fist nodded, "If I remember clearly, preservatives could alter shelf life by an exponential—"

There was a power in familiarity. It was easy to take satisfaction from knocking a ruler off their pedestal, but a leader that lingers among the people… leaders that become an integrated part of society… that's where true power lay.


Mead watched as Venable paced in her room, wearing a hole into the floor. She sat in one of the poorly constructed chairs that always made her feel like she was using furniture meant for children.

"That bitch has been a thorn in my side since the beginning," Venable seethed, "and she has humiliated me for the last time!"

Mead stood quietly as her superior ranted and raved. She could feel a flare of anger in her belly, but for Venable or Emily, she didn't know. In all honestly, she had come to like the girl. Em had been one of the few purples she approved of, witty and smart. Then again, being the most tolerable purple wasn't a large feat. It was like being the smartest person on Family Feud.

"We need to get rid of her," Venable declared, raising a finger as she approached Mead, "the others will fall in line, but she's far too stubborn."

Mead sighed.

"Let her be," she tried to reason, "if we condemn her without her breaking rules then the others will be more likely to rebel."

Venable opened her mouth, most like to chastise her on being too soft. Mead beat her to the punch.

"Tensions are high as is," Mead reminded, "if we strike too soon this whole thing will pop like a balloon."

Venable's lips pressed into a thin line, but she took a step back. Her rage was speaking before her reason.

"You're right," she conceded, eyes flickering with inspiration, "why take out the lamb when you can take out the entire flock?"


Em paced in her room. Whatever feeling of victory she had over her previous actions gone and replaced with seething and riotous anger.

That bitch had tried to slap her. No… she reasoned. She wouldn't let the anger win.

Sitting back down, she focused on the task at hand.

She had started the afternoon researching, as per usual. The three musketeers still had a meeting of which she needed a plan of action, after all. She had even gotten her hands on an ancient science book with a section on radiation.

Her intention had been to find some information on the Geiger counter mentioned in Mead's notes. All she had been able to deduce was that some of the shorthand notes referenced to the sensitivity. The rest of the notes might as well have been written in gibberish. No matter how many times she read over them nothing stood out.

With a huff, Em threw down the papers she had been reading from. She had always worked better on the floor — more space to spread things out. Didn't really matter when you couldn't focus on said work, however.

Langdon was right, rage bubbled inside her like a volcano. Venable's actions mirrored those from her past far too well, making unsavory feelings shift to the surface. It had taken every ounce of self-restraint she had not to kill the woman there and then.

It would have been easy. All she'd have to do was pull the red-headed woman a little closer and toss her down the stairs. She was tired of playing games of politics and submission. It would be so much straightforward to usurp the outpost by force.

Em resumed her pacing, wringing her hands which clenched and unclenched and tensed into claws. She wanted to punch something so badly. She wanted to let go. She wanted to destroy. Her body buzzed and all she could think about was wrapping her hands around Venable's neck until the life faded from her eyes.

There were two types of rage, the deadly silent and deafening roar. The former often showed itself in annoyance or disgust — emotions often brought out when she was around Gallant or Coco. It was easily managed with a roll of the eyes, a well-placed jibe, or a long-winded rant to a friend.

The latter was much deadlier. It made one see red, making logic null and void. All that mattered was winning, the taste of iron in your mouth as you stared down at the corpse of your opponent as satisfaction made your heart feel light.

It defied all logic. Hurting someone wouldn't help the situation. Destroying something would only cause more problems— a mess to be cleaned up.

Em stalked to the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her chest heaved, knuckles white around the sink she leaned upon like a lifeline. The eyes that looked back at her weren't her own, they were something other. Someone she did not recognize stared at her, tempted her.

She didn't even realize her knife was in her hand until it was stabbing into her leg. It broke whatever spellbound her to the mirror, a silent scream leaving her as she crumpled to the floor.

Shaking hands hovered over the blade, not sure whether to pull it out or leave it in. Blood bubbled to the surface and dripped onto the floor. It wasn't as if Outpost Three had a doctor. Then again, they probably didn't expect residents to stab themselves.

"Fuck," She muttered, doing her best to keep her voice low, "fuck, fuck."

Doing her best not to move too badly, Em dragged herself to the shower, reaching up to grab a towel from the rack. Her fingers barely brushed it and she made the executive choice to move and sit up on her good leg.

Gritting her teeth through the pain, she tore it down. She was lucky she was in her Victorian underwear or else she'd have to go through the gruesome process of collecting the fabric from the wound.

Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she tried to make her breathing even. Eventually, she calmed a bit. Her hands shook as she reached for the knife. She was lucky it was only two inches long… much easier and much smaller a wound to deal with despite her body's protests.

It was like the carrot metaphor, she reminded herself, the only thing stopping her from biting through her finger was her own mind. The only thing that made her falter was her fear of pain.

Closing her eyes, she yanked the blade out, biting her own shoulder to keep from making a sound. Tears left her eyes as the knife clattered to the tile, her hands grabbing at the towel and putting as much pressure on the wound as possible.

Gasping for breath, Em leaned her head back on the cool wall of the bathroom. She was lucky she still had the needle and thread from mending Coco's dress.

This new world was bringing something out in her, something dark and raging that she had buried before the bombs dropped. Em wasn't sure if it was something she was ready to face.