"There is, among those in various parts of the world who serve their people, a kinship of sympathy, as there is also such a kinship among those who labor for the destruction of peoples." - Corneliu Zelea Codreanu

Taylor had hoped the weather would take a turn for the better. Her mother always prided her with being at least diligent enough to know when to be hopeful, and when to prepare for the worst of things.

She silently thanked the heavens that her mother would not see her sitting here like a fool, clutching close to her denim jacket, waiting patiently for Courtney to finish shoveling the bucket full of mud. At least she had jeans on this time.

The rain had done a number on the work they put in yesterday. Already were the walls to be widened by another foot, and the drainage ditch to be dug another six inches deeper than last time. The only redeeming point to this mess was the mud was easy to shovel and made for faster working in this bitter cold weather.

A clang, as Wagner smacked the blade of the shovel clear of any muddy clumps on its blade, and then made to hand the bucket to Taylor, and she took it by the handle and dumped its contents on the berm.

"Fuckin' rain, fuckin' mud," Courtney grumbled, her boots squelching as she shuffled to receive the bucket again, "I outta have a shower after this, an actual hot shower, man that'd be the jackpot—"

"I heard they shut off the water and the gas at certain hours, to save up for the rest of the people down in the town," Christensen muttered, "You'd have to ask Vic when they'll have it on or off."

"Ah, wonderful," the black-haired girl rejoiced, "Now I get to ask nicely to wash off! What's next, I gotta ask to go to the bathroom?"

The denim blonde shrugged, and seemed to expect this reality, "I wouldn't be surprised if it came to that. We already have buddy systems."

Another shovel's worth of mud into the bucket, another grumbling to go along with it, "I just don't know how Vic deals with those people."

"Which ones?" Taylor asks.

"Everybody. The pastors, the doctors, grumpy Old Madsen—I'd lose my shit having to tip-toe around them all."

"Like how you are right now?"

Courtney snapped her glare up to Taylor, who had a humbling glint in her eyes, smiling so audaciously. It made slinging the earthen sludge on the shovel's blade at the blonde all-the-more enticing.

"Yeah, ha-ha, laugh it up," Wagner retorted, as Christensen began snickering to herself, "I'm just—I'm just stressed, is all."

And the blonde stopped her laughing, and asked of her friend, "What about?"

Courtney set her shovel down, and handed the bucket up, "I haven't gotten word from my parents. They…they were supposed to be heading east from Seattle to Yakima or somewhere 'round there."

"Is your phone dead? I can help you—"

"That's not it, Tay'," she clarified, "They just haven't called or texted in a while. I'm just worried."

Another pouring of mud, and another round of shoveling to follow.

"…how about you? How're your parents?" Courtney asked.

"They're doing alright. Mom's keeping to her meds, Dad's been with the volunteers at the church," Taylor replied earnestly, "They're doing okay."

"That's good to hear."

Except the shovel's spade was striking the earth with unease, striking in that tense grip. It grated on Taylor's ears, but not as badly as the silence between them.

"Court'."

Shnnk-thunk

"Court'," Taylor rose her voice emphatically.

"What?" Wagner snipped up at her, anxious.

"You need to stop worrying about them," she started up, but already there came a scoff and a shaking of the head, "I'm not that upset about it Tay', I swear I'm not."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, okay, so they're my parents, and you wouldn't be worried about your own family out there, fleeing for their lives?" and the flow of emotion boiled into words, and spilled like lava with its scathing heat, "no need to remind me Tay', no need to fuckin' remind me."

"You're going to worry yourself to death at this rate," Christensen noted, a sad tone to her muttering, "I'm worried you're gonna end up all stressed out, like Vic."

"The fuck would Vic know about this shit, huh? Her family's all in California, remember?" came the hot-headed response, "She doesn't have to worry about losing her mom and dad to some fucking psychos out to kill everyone, no, no, she's all sunshine and lollipops in that case—!"

A hand reached up into the sky and came down on its target with a flat palm.

smack

"Oh, what the fuck?" Wagner groaned, as she steadied herself from the sudden blow to the helmet. Wincing, she looked back up to Taylor, who stared down at her with a solemn expression. Her right hand shook the slightest and was tinged red from its impact on cold hard steel.

"You need to quit worrying about everything," the blonde said unto her, and Courtney held still from the sudden gravity brought by these words, "You cannot control these things that you're upset about. There's nothing you can do, and even then, it's too little to make an impact. You need to stop feeling obligated to fight every problem you face."

Courtney said nothing this time. She was too shocked of her senses to respond. Instead, she stood there, shovel hanging from a limp hand, feeling the weight of these words hammer her down like a nail.

"Vic's stressed because she's worried about you, and me. She's stressed because she cares for people outside of her family," and Taylor eased into a crouch, the fire in her voice flickering out slowly, "I used to be like this, where I couldn't have a moment to myself, where I was wound up all the time. You remember that, don't you, Court'?"

And she did remember. Wagner remembered the first time she'd met Taylor, when she didn't wear such light-hued denim jackets and shorts. The times when she'd determine Christensen from everyone else by how prickly the blonde had been. Because even at that time, when everything seemed to be going their way, there was bound to be something to cause them grief, and that grief metastasized in Taylor by how short her temper had been, how quick she was to anger.

The Taylor of the past was nothing to the Taylor crouched above her, looking down with a tired, downtrodden face, "I was always stressing over my mom. Her reactions to the meds they gave her were sporadic, and she'd flip from being okay one day to staying in bed the next. I was convinced that if I wasn't there by her side, I'd never get the chance to say goodbye."

Courtney was snapped from her reverie and beheld the faraway gaze her friend had. Taylor was looking to the clouds now. These gray clouds above them were parting, and the morning colors had painted their warm hues on their surfaces.

"I still feel like it, even now," and Taylor looked back down to her, "I know it hurts, but you need to let it go. It will tear you apart before it helps you."

And Wagner looked back down, to the shovel in her hands. So, gripping it properly, she began to shovel once more, and muttered, "Yeah, yeah, I hear you."

If only she'd look up then, she'd have noticed the relief in the blonde's eyes, and the hope in her smile.

Lunch hour was short. Word from Max and Victoria hinted that they'd be done before evening set in, and this was all the motivation the Angels needed to be quick about their mealtime. Already had most of First Squad ate their fill, and sat around their section of trench, waiting for the rest of their ilk to come back from Blackwell's mess hall.

"And I kid you not guys, he turns himself into a zucc—"

smack

A chorus of laughter erupted from the lot of them sat atop the berm, as Stella's wonderful and hilarious joke was abruptly cut short by a hand getting frisky with the top of her helmet, knocking her off her spot.

"Aw c'mon man! An' I was getting to the good part!" the ebony girl rasped, throwing a pout to the nefarious evildoer in their midst. And what a sardonic smile they gave, with their treacherous glare behind those bulky spectacles—

"I told you I'd do it," Brooke reminded her matter-of-factly, "I told you, and you went ahead and resigned yourself to your fate."

"A'ight listen here, fuckin' filipino-despacito-quentin tarantino lookin' ass," and the giggling rose to a feverish pitch, as Stella let her have it, "I'll have you know that I was gonna say zucchini instead of pickle. Professionals have standards, and I'm not a professional for no reason."

"Uh huh," came the sardonic reply, and Brooke beat her to the draw, "It's filipina, by the way. There's a difference between the male and female descriptions, so you need to use the A instead of the O."

"So what you're telling me, is all that separates you from being called a dude is one letter?"

And when Brooke gave her a look of sheer discontent, the others clutched their stomachs and held hands to their mouths, cackling like hyenas.

"Fine then," came Stella's reply, straightening the helmet atop her head, "Fuckin' filipina-pinta-maria havin' ass, I see how it is."

"Is there any reason for why God gave you the ability to speak, any reason at all?" and Stella snickered at the woes of the Filipina, for she held the power, the reigns of clownery, and directed the full might of these powers on this woeful soul at her mercy.

"You know, it's so sad that you've come down with a bad case of sugma, B'."

"Please, shut the fuck up," she begged, she pleaded it to Stella, but the chuckles from the other girls around them gave the brunette too much incentive, and she'd gone mad with power. And she smiled a toothy smile, a righteous smile, and Brooke's eyes widened at the display.

"Stella wait—!"

"Sugma balls."

As if by some stroke of divine intervention, the section of wall that the Filipina was sitting on crumbled under pressure, and the poor girl was sent on her side into the still muddy trench floor. Immediately came of chorus of howls, as the rest of them fell back into sputtering laughter at the sight. What luck! What agony had befallen this poor soul, who dared to stand against the mad Jester herself!

"She's dead, oh god she's fucking dead!" Dana sputtered between chortles, as Juliet clutched her shoulder for support, "Somebody get a stretcher!"

"You alright Brooke?" Alyssa peered down from her spot above, a bit worried and a bit relieved she was spared from a fate that abysmal.

With muddy sleeves and a desire for vengeance, Brooke pulled herself from the muck and the trench, speaking malevolently, "That's a good one Stella, that was a damn good joke. Come here, lemme hug it out with you—"

"Hey-hey hey! Don't play me like that!" and with wide eyes and a pointed hand, Stella shuffled from the sinister look being given to her, "Look B', I didn't know that the Almighty was gonna catch you lacking like that, that wasn't me, I swear—!"

All too quickly came the swing of the sleeve, and Stella yelped as flecks of mud pelted her, enough for the Filipina to close the distance and straight tackle her to the ground.

"Fight, fight, fight!" came the rallying cries, as the two wrestled it out on the grass and the twigs. Tiredness crept up to them soon enough, and after they both were rightly covered in scratches and earth, they hauled themselves up.

"Not like I wasn't showering today anyways," Stella would tell them afterwards, having failed to keep her clean hoodie and jeans from Brooke's earthen wrath. It wasn't her fault God had appointed her worthy of his power for comedic effect! What was she, if not blessed by circumstance, and so then punished by circumstances beyond her control?

And it was this cheeky, light-hearted atmosphere that Steph and Samantha walked upon, having finished lunch and making their way to their stations.

"Hey guys," Gingrich greeted them, 'what's all the fuss about?"

"Stella got her ass handed to her by Brooke in a wrestling match," Juliet joked, and already the ebony brunette was disputing the results, "No I ain't! You all saw it, I held my own!"

"What do we think guys, did Stella hold her own, yes or no?" and with some very serious whisperings, Steph witnessed the lot of Juliet's group answer her question resoundingly, "Nah~"

"Oh hell naw, this is rigged!"

"Stop the count guys, stop the count—!" Brooke mockingly chirped, and before they could stop the two they were at it again, seeing who could send the other back into the muddy trench.

"We're just relaxing, enjoying our time before Maximus comes back," Juliet returned to the two newcomers, "How's Victoria been?"

"She hasn't gotten pissed at us specifically, not yet at least," Steph replied, "I…don't think she's ever gotten to that point since she last yelled at River, has she Sam?"

Sam shrugged, uncaring, "I dunno, probably not."

"Isn't River the blonde one with the low-hanging ponytail?"

"Yep, that's her," Steph decided to take a seat beside them, and Sam followed her lead, "I also happened to talk with her afterwards, and man, it was something."

"Hey, guys! Quit fighting, Steph's got some tea to spill!" Dana called to them.

Alyssa, the impromptu referee, simply wedged herself between the bickering duo, and they let the match go undecided for now, congregating around Steph.

"Alright, so we were finishing up that big-ass pit that Vic made us dig, and it was just her and me scraping the walls. I get her to open up, and she goes on telling me that she's got some beef with this girl in Second Squad named Sara."

"But that's the thing that bothered me most about it," Gingrich continued, "River said that she was trying to stop Sara from…'targeting' this other girl, the short, black-haired one that Max was being nice to. I can't remember her name, though."

"Emilia?"

"That's it!" the beanie-brunette remembered, "So, you can imagine how I felt, having no clue what she's going on about," some chuckles arose at the quip, "and I just decided to go along with her, and gave her some advice."

"What d'you say?" the group chorused, and were answered, "I just told her to be honest with Max and Vic, that maybe she'll solve whatever beef she's got with Sara."

"What, do you believe her?" Juliet asked.

"I…I don't know. The whole thing seemed too out there, but I could tell River definitely believed it. Maybe Vic's yelling shook her really hard, maybe she's just cuckoo-for-cocoa puffs, I dunno."

"Oi, don't you disrespect Cocoa Puffs like that," Stella snickered, and the others pounced on the opportunity.

"Wow, look at this bitch, actually liking Cocoa Puffs; Cheerios is where it's at," Brooke scoffed easily, and had her glasses swiped almost instantly, "who the fuck—?!"

Dana swung those spectacles in her hand, smirking despite herself, "Y'all are joking, everybody knows it's Fruit Loops—"

"Wait, I thought we all agreed on paninis?" Jules worriedly reminded them.

"You think I know what a panini is!?" the three responded back, and then fell into fits of laughter at their synergy.

Steph noted with bubbling amusement, that Alyssa sat quietly amongst them, pulling apart another protein bar's wrapper. The others had not noticed, lost to their squabbles.

The trenchwork was finally over. Emilia sat tiredly at the top of Blackwell Rock, as the girls now call it—this slab of limestone that sat in between both Squads' sections of the trench line. It was here that she could see the militia further down the slope, still toiling on their own, and lay witness to the vastness of the land stretching past them. Further down the slope, Greenock could see the dry bed of a long-forgotten creek, marked by the lack of pine trees on its ground.

Wind rustled the branches surrounding her, and she looked up. The shaded silhouettes of these pines, which rose from the earth, towered over the Angels in their midst. Above them, the sky was coated with clouds.

Rustling came again, footsteps. Emilia looked back down to the earth, and observed another Angel climb up to where she sat.

"Glad you could make it," the hermit greeted her, and this Angel replied to the snide remark, "There was some other work I had to help with. Those roots were a pain to clear."

"You're telling me, I was stuck helping some other girls with digging the walls out. Goes to show how awful hard labor can be."

Except Emilia's companion found no fault in this toil, "Well, I don't think it's that bad."

"Oh really?" the hermit giggled at the possibility.

"Well, I mean it's just…it's the effort you put in, that you eventually receive in return. It's feeling like you've accomplished something worthwhile, you know?"

And Greenock nodded, and solemnly agreed, "Yeah, I know."

Time passed. They could see the rest of their squads gathering together to celebrate their hard work. Voices carried with the gusts of wind, and the rustle of the pines.

"Kate."

"Hm?" the blonde looked to her.

"I…I'm sorry."

A frown, then, "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything to—"

"Not that," and Emilia sighed, for it was now a moment to ponder, a moment to realize that this should have been done long ago, "I've not gotten to thank you, and your friends, for helping me when I didn't have anyone to rely on," so the hermit looked back to her closest friend in this place, "so, thank you."

"Of course, of course!" Marsh assuaged, "It'd be rude of us not to help. So many people down in the town needed our help, it was only right that we reached out to as many as we could."

Emilia's brow pinched, "…even with that other blonde leading Second Squad?"

At that, Kate hesitated, and took her time to answer, "Victoria is…well, she's a very cautious person. She doesn't appreciate the trouble the Reds have caused, and so anything that comes her way gets looked at from a perspective tainted with worry. She's worried about her friends, and her home. She doesn't want to lose it."

"Then why does she seem to think I'm the one that's going to do it?"

"Because you're the only one she can see."

Green eyes flickered down to her boots, and the grasp of her hands on crisscrossed knees tensed. It was not like Greenock could say it was just speculation and nothing else.

But still—

"What about the others?"

"I'm not so sure. Maybe Victoria sees them the same as you, maybe she doesn't. I would have to ask her to know," and Kate turned her head to look at her, "but I know you're a good person, Emilia. I know that you care about me, and everyone else. Even with all that's happened, Max and I are not going to leave you."

And what had her luck brought her, here in this moment? All this time having to be a leech to others, having to ask for things, and even more so having to brave it out by herself. All the nights traveling with the caravan of strangers, clinging to her clothes to keep warm, and the campfires full of sour faces, and the goddamn latrines.

All the times she dreamed to see her mother and father, of seeing her brother, they swept her mind and hit her with so much emotional force that she cowered instinctually. And before this force could translate into sobs, a placating hand graced her shoulder, and waited patiently for Emilia to reign herself in, "I'm—forgive me, I didn't—"

"It's alright," the angel assured.

It took a minute and then some, sitting there on that rock-face, watching their comrades in the distance enjoy their relaxing time.

And once she no longer shuddered, Greenock sniffled, and spoke, "I never told you about me, did I?"

"No."

"Figures," she chuckled at herself, and Kate's concerned brows pinched at the self-depreciation, "I grew up in Astoria, to the north. The Reds came, and the whole city was in upheaval, people panicking and all that."

"And…my Pa went off, to join up with the militia," the hermit muttered, "My mum an' my brother were with me, but—I don't know why she did this, but she sent us with this family of four in their truck, telling us to go ahead and that she'll eventually catch up. My brother was all I had then, but he went missing and I haven't found him. It's just me now."

The sun was bright against the clouds on this October Tuesday, but for Emilia she could only see the blackness of ash and smoke. No farther could she hear beyond the powerful din of car horns and panicked voices, and the fear in her mum's whispers.

Kate kept her hand there upon the girl's shoulder, watching as she curled up. Emilia drew her legs up to rest her head upon her knees, and so then wrapped her arms around herself, as if cold. Short, fluffy black hair swayed a bit with the breeze.

"Maybe Mum thought we'd no other choice, maybe she thought it was our best chance. Doesn't keep me from wishing I'd stayed with her."

Kate's hand gently squeezed her shoulder in silent support.

And Greenock continued, knowing she would not be dissuaded, not be turned away, "Every day, I wait for them to come back—my Mum, my Pa, my brother. From the early hours of morning to the sunset, I wait for them. I have to live, I have to fight, for their sake. I can't let it be in vain, I can't let their—"

Emilia clamped her mouth shut and tightened the curled fists. It could not be in vain! To know the possibility was beyond the scope of speculation—and if perhaps her family already be lost to her, then it was only right to give unto those who wronged her a taste of this bitter medicine.

Confidence is an elusive beast, that which so many wish to tame, but few would ever know how. It was true that Emilia had never tasted the sweetness of it, had never felt it flow through veins and stimulate the mind and heart. Yet she understood its presence all the same, and dared to seized it by hand, clinging with all her might. For there was no way now, no way but forward.

The hand upon her shoulder gently squeezed again, and Emilia looked to her friend, her angel, and smiled. She was not alone to this feeling of righteous determination.

The harbor was a lively place. It was here where the civvies stood up from their slumps and were taking turns looking down the lines to see how close they were to the piers. Aside from the street, where the few traffic-controllers cut the line in two to keep from accidents, the flow of men, women, and children was a constant stream, widening and narrowing by chance.

River looked at it all from her spot in a moving truck's bed, as she and the other Angels were ferried down the harbor's dead-end street. At the end of the asphalt, a cul-de-sac allowed the heavier trucks and multi-wheelers to pick up or offload whatever cargo coming to and from these docks.

As much as it was luxurious, the introductory ride she had taken with Chase in her BMW had proven itself cramped and cluttered. To fit the five people it was designed for was one thing, but to fit ten people, along with their gear? It would not do, not unless they'd wish to be packed in like sardines once again.

A kind Arkadian militiaman had volunteered upon Old Madsen's most generous persuasions to give them a lift, and the ten girls of Second Squad followed their companions and arrived at the hangars built along the harbor. The giant metal frames of these hangars, rusted and worn by the sea, stood fast to their heavy bolts and concrete placements, as the girls were offloaded as quick as possible.

"Up and out girls, let's go!" Chase barked at them, hurrying quickly to where First Squad was forming up, "Thirty seconds to the hangar and form ranks, let's move!"

"She's far too excited for this one," River heard someone say, and she glanced side-long to where the fiddling of a jacket's zipper came, "I bet she's got some trick up her sleeve, something terrible for us all—"

"Don't be such a debby-downer, Sam," came a more light-hearted tone, and Steph smiled openly, "I've bet she's been wanting to see the bay just as much as you have."

Myers shook her head, a single hmpf denying the sly allegation. River stopped caring to what they said, and walked steadily to where they must gather, under the shade and protection of Hangar One's sheet-metal roof.

It was mostly barren, in this giant shelter. On the far side, farthest from the two squads of Angels, the final resting point of the line made itself known, as several families sat at the ready for the signal. All that which they carried never amounted to more than a single suitcase, and whatever laid in their hands. The cries of the babes and infants echoed in this enclosed hangar and grated on their ears.

"Listen up!" came a call, and all eyes turned to Victoria, "We're going to be supporting the fishermen in offloading any cargo coming back from their trips. Anything they take off the boats, we haul to this hangar. We may need to use those dollies over there," she pointed to the four-wheeled instruments shoved into the nearest corner of the hangar, "in case they have anything too heavy to carry by our own."

"We'll be at it until dusk, keep to your canteens and provisions until then," so they broke rank, and awaited the next arrival to come.

River quickly ducked her head when Victoria turned to her, like the Queen would strike her down with her venomous words and commanding glare.

The pony-tailed blonde awaited the moment the cold fury would hit, when the feeling of a spotlight would shine its burning rays of light onto her hunched form. Already did she turn her back to the approaching squad lead, unable to look into those evil green eyes again.

"Court', Sara, you're with me, we're going to meet with the Quartermaster over by the piers with Caulfield. Taylor, you're acting squad-lead until I get back."

River dared to glance back and watch as the pixie blonde singled out the two she called, and together did they make their way back to the town, like a cluster of friends.

She furrowed her brows. Sara was not idle all this time.

Looking around, she spotted Emilia, alone and tending to a small book in her hands. It had been a good couple days before they had the opportunity to speak without intervention, and River wished to capitalize.

Schwartz carefully walked over to the hermit, and dared to sit down next to her, "Hello, friend."

Greenock turned to her, putting the book away and smiling softly, "Hey there, Rivy. Was wondering if you'd ever talk to me again."

And River silently, figuratively kicked herself, for she should have done something sooner, for all this talk of trying to help had never metastasized into action.

"Yeah, I uhm…I'm sorry about that."

Emilia looked back to the harbor, watching the militia buzz around like bees, "It's alright. I'm not going to hound you about it."

"You should," she blurted, "I've been so worried about what they've been doing, I never went to talk to you."

A pause. Others around them were engaged in conversations of their own. Outside, they could see the fishermen, and the militiamen making their rounds at the sentry posts. Victoria and Max were with their entourages, and were speaking with the quartermaster, a pudgy six-foot colossus of a man who was adorned in a beige colored cloak, and—

"Why?"

River snapped back to reality, "Hm, what?"

"Why did you…why are you trying to keep me from Sara?" and Emilia was looking at her like the first time they met, as though she was a Cheshire cat, a snickering little devil on her shoulder, whispering mischief. Schwartz felt her heart seize, and she knew why.

"I…I don't think you'd want to find out—"

"I do," Greenock interrupted her, "I've talked to her, y'know. I don't see why you're so spooked about her."

"Sara's an opportunist, not an open book," the blonde tried to explain, "If she knew there was a chance you could just walk away from her and her goons, then of course she'd hold off."

"Then what is it? What is this thing that you keep hinting about?" the hermit hissed at her. At least she was tactful to not wish for eavesdroppers into their conversation.

But it didn't matter much if River was held up by her own feelings. Even now, it had not gone to the lengths it felt like it would, but the mere idea of it, the thought of what could have been held her tongue. To think that Emilia would experience such a thing of her own was all that made her say it out loud.

"She and her two friends, they...I met them on the journey down south," she quietly rasped, "they were the first to be friendly with me, so I didn't suspect them when I should've. It's how I met...it's how I met your brother."

It was easy to tell Emilia's shock from the furrowed brows, and her wide greens.

"What?"

This was dangerous, very fucking dangerous. Just stop, save yourself before Sara notices.

River sighed, long and heavy, "It was at some rest-stop along the caravan's path, I don't remember the name of it. We were huddled around this campfire, and that's where I first met him. He was the only one I took an interest in, and it must've shown," Schwartz rolled her knuckles nervously, yet kept her voice steady, "It was when we last stopped at that small village, the one with the few shops along the street. There was this place, about a mile inland—a creek with a waterfall. I..."

"...what, what?!" Emilia hissed, frustrated by the sudden pause.

River's cheeks were flushed red, and she ducked her head down, "I...I had feelings for him, so I confessed to him."

Silence stretched. Various emotions crossed Greenock's features, each more troublesome that the next.

"But that's beside the point," River was quick to continue, "Sara, she...she knew I had feelings for him. She wanted him for herself and tried to stop me with the most batshit-insane plan she could think of—she waited until we were under the waterfall and tried to drown us by tossing a tree stump over the edge."

Emilia could see River's honey-hued eyes flicker around, darting from one spot of concrete to another. Her hands shook, her jaw was clenched, "I tried to save him. I'm sorry, I tried to save him, but..."

"River, what are you talking about?" Emilia cut through the excuses. Her voice, normally soft and inviting, had a cold inflection to it.

"She—she killed him," came a nervous whisper, "Sara tried to kill me, but he got caught in the crossfire. Now they're holding his death over my head, and if they find out I've told you this, they'll hurt me and my family. I can't stop thinking about it, about how…how terrifying they were," and she focused her gaze back to Greenock, and begged, "You can't let them know I told you this, not even a word!"

It was a while before Emilia said something, but she dared to ask, "Why haven't you told the others this? Why didn't you let Max or Victoria know of this?"

Distraught, and with a hand placed upon her head in shame, River replied, "I don't know. I guess it felt like I would get in the way, like I would ruin the idea of all of us working together to fight the Reds. Maybe they'd think I was crazy, and not fit to fight. I can't tell them, especially if Sara and her minions have gotten to them already—"

A hand fell upon the dismayed blonde's shoulder, and the hermit reassured her then, "You can still do it, it's not too late. If you're telling the truth, then you should ask them to hear you out, and they'll listen to you."

If I'm telling the truth?

"Wait, do you not believe me?"

Greenock stared at her. It was only now that River saw the tears glimmering in her eyes, and the sadness in her frown, "I don't want believe you. I really, absolutely don't want to think you're telling the truth. But if you are, then you shouldn't wait; tell them while you've still got the chance."

She's right. As much as it hurt to know, Schwartz knew not everyone was going to take her word as fact. Already would Sara and the two bitches by her side deny it to be true, and whoever would buy their platitudes might defend them if she came forward. It would only get worse, the longer she cowered from this predicament.

You just had to wait this long, didn't you, River? You fool.

A sixth sense rolled down her spine, and she scanned their surroundings, glancing to every face that might dare to look their way—

River locked eyes with Jenny the blonde, who was staring sidelong at them from under her brow. With her was the quiet girl, Jasmin, who was blatantly observing them talk.

Schwartz felt her brows furrow instinctually, her hands clenched to fists and she glared them down, for how dare they look at her, how dare they look at Emilia, like she was destined to follow in her footsteps. Whatever mistakes Schwartz may be plagued by, she would never let those vipers have her friend.

Jasmin looked away eventually, disinterested. Jenny took the time to smile at River, to taunt her for what she knew, before turning back and leaving them be.

She had to tell Max, she had to tell Victoria, before it was too late.

"Come breast the bars, bullies, heave her away—weigh, hey, roll and go!"

"Soon we'll be rolling her down to the bay, to be rollicking randy-dandy oh!"

"Heave a pawl, oh heave away—weigh, hey, roll and go!"

"The anchor's on board and the cable's all stored, to be rollicking randy-dandy oh!"

The chorus of the song turned quickly to jubilations, as the fishermen and militia hoisted their pints to the heavens and spoke their joy in mighty peals of laughter.

They had reason to celebrate, after all. As of this span of twenty-four hours, they had managed to ferry over a third of the remaining souls down to safer pastures, and so treated themselves to a night of drinking.

Victoria noticed these were the men that sailed the rough seas, not the ones they saw back at the docks. Their cloaks were glistening wet under the diner's interior lights, and the very air surrounding these bearded men smelled of stale salt and fish.

It was why the Angels that supported them lounged on the other side of the diner and took to their dinners with a more reserved grace. The crates and packages offloaded from arriving vessels exacted a toll on their aching muscles, and the dollies had saved them from lagging behind their stronger male counterparts.

"Did you see the way that one lady was carrying that suitcase of hers?"

The pixie blonde glanced down to the booth she stood beside and watched Taylor's eyes widen with recognition, "Yeah, I did—that was the weirdest thing."

"She clung to that thing harder than she did to her kids!" Courtney snickered between bites of a bagel with cream cheese, "I wonder what kind of stuff she had in there, she had to be clutching it like that for a reason."

Christensen chuckled at the thought, "My bet's that she's got a fat load of jewelry—she had a fur coat on her as well, she's gotta be really rich for that."

"What, like rich rich, or Tori-rich?"

"Hilarious and original as always, Court'," Victoria shut their schemes down before they could bloom, and they snickered light-heartedly. Chase scoffed and shook her head.

It was beyond her what people wore, or how much wealth they held to their name. Truth be told, she almost wished to be in that woman's place, to be given the opportunity to avoid what came next.

But she glanced down to her two close friends and knew it to be true: she would not leave them behind, not now, not ever. Not after all they'd been through. Her heart ached at the thought, and try as she might, the cold Queen felt tears in her eyes.

"I'm heading to the bathroom, be right back," she quickly muttered to them, and with haste she trekked her way past the droves of elated fishermen and ventured to the diner's bathroom.

It was a relatively small bathroom for a restaurant, this being compounded by the fact of it being the only bathroom. There was no separation by gender, so one made do with whoever happened to be inside. At least the stalls could be closed off entirely, so no one could try to break in once the doors were locked. Two sinks with a single soap dispenser were to Victoria's front, and those stalls took up the rest of the space to her left.

She needed to get these tears out of her eyes before they betray her presence. Teary-eyed squad-leads commanded no respect from their peers.

A splash of water to the face, then she checked herself in the mirror, patting down a slight crease on her jacket and tucking a stray lock of blonde hair into place. A moment to herself, free from the terror of emotions.

But the regret has been mounting. It was small then, when she knew nothing of what would come, when she and everyone else was ignorant to everything around them. Now she stood in front of the mirror and saw the cracks in her walls.

Max was right. The weight of dealing with nearly a whole squad of people she knew next-to-nothing about proved to be more than she expected. It's made worse, for she still had no idea who to choose as her second-in-command. Taylor and Courtney were not inclined to accept the position, as they had told her, and no one else seemed trustworthy. And this was all topped off by keeping a secondary eye on Greenock—

"Squad Lead?"

Victoria whipped her head back to the entrance, for she had not heard this newcomer enter. Her heart steadied itself; it was but another of her charge, and not some drunk fisherman. Sara must've gotten tired of the singing as well.

"Sorry, you startled me there," Chase commented, and faced back to the mirror. She did not notice the smirk Wilson sported, nor the way the door's lock was silently clicked into place.

"It's alright, I have a bad habit of being light on my feet," and Sara took her spot at the other sink, and checked her appearance beside the pixie blonde, "My family would always call me Sneaky Sara, because it seemed like I could move around without making a sound."

It seemed odd that Wilson would share such a conversation to someone she barely knew. Yet Victoria would not be cold-hearted now, and she cued her again, "Really now?"

"Yeah, gave my grandparents quite a scare every time I bumped into them," Wilson continued, eyeing herself in the mirror next to Victoria, "I've tried to keep it from happening, but I guess I haven't gotten rid of it quite yet."

Compulsion drove Victoria to relate to this brunette. It told her to open up, to share something in common with this technical stranger. Why shouldn't she; it was a comrade she was speaking to. They were due to spend the coming days in the struggle against the intangible foe, and to be divided by any stretch of the imagination would give them unnecessary problems.

And yet—

"That's a hell of a thing to be remembered by," Chase commented, "far better than what my parents remember of me."

Wait, what?

"Oh? Do tell," Sara happily encouraged, and that compulsion was clutching Victoria's heart, and she spoke upon command, "I used to…to uhm—"

Why am I even saying this?

"Don't be shy, Victoria. You can trust me," a hand was placed upon the pixie blonde's shoulder. Eyes of a sinister glint glowed from a veil of shadows, as they circled behind the blonde's paralyzed form, and settled on the crook of her neck. A terrible smile accompanied these eyes colored like spoiled chocolate, and Chase shivered involuntarily.

Don't listen, don't listen, stop—!

"When I was very young, my family and I went to visit relatives in California. I don't remember how, or why, but I had ended up alone, in the same room that my relatives kept their guns for self-defense. I never even touched them, nor held them, but when my parents found out that I easily could have, they went livid on the rest of the family. That was more than five years ago, and to this day they still hate each other, all because of me being in that room. All because of what I did."

Regret. Bitter, heart-wrenching regret.

Tears began to swell in those somber emerald eyes of hers, "It was me that divided our family, it was me that destroyed our family's trust in one-another. I swore I'd never touch a gun in my life after that, but—but I couldn't even keep that promise. I'm in over m-my head, I…I can't do this!"

"Oh come on now, I know you can, everybody knows you can. You just need someone to help you, to give you the advice you need," Wilson whispered into her ear, "If you were to make me your second-in-command, I could make sure you'll never break a promise ever again. With me by your side, anything that comes our way can be handled by the both of us, working together."

Compulsion told her to accept this offer by her most trusted companion. Victoria agreed. Though her mouth moved, her eyes never strayed from her reflection in the mirror.

"You're right. That's a good idea."

The sinister eyes and the cracked smile faded away, and the voice called one last time from the threshold of the door, "Well then, now that you're not burdened by all that, we best get back out there. Wouldn't want anyone to worry about us, now would we?"

"Yes."

Victoria blinked.

She was alone, in the diner's bathroom. A quick glance around showed her empty stalls, and a vacant sink by her side. Yet, her stomach was twisted to knots, and she couldn't keep her breathing steady.

What the hell—?

A look in the mirror gave evidence to her worries: teary eyes. She'd been hit by some kind of emotion. Taylor and Courtney had mentioned something, and it must've struck a chord.

Nothing a splash of cold water can't fix.