"One seldom recognizes the devil, when he is putting his hand on your shoulder." - Albert Speer

"Present, arms!"

The clatter of rifles came, as the ten girls at the line assumed the firing stance, one foot behind the other, shoulder-width apart. Their eyes were steady, locked to their targets.

"Aim!"

The rifles were lined up and awaited the signal. Tense was the silence that fell on Blackwell's front quad.

"Fire!"

A chorus of sharp KRAKs snapped the air, and the targets shook from being pelted by the rounds.

"Cease-fire!"

Commander Madsen watched as the Second Company under Chase's command held their rifles up and stood still as stone. The assistant instructors were making their way to the targets now and would begin their assessments on who was still struggling or not.

There's just not enough time.

It's been the same conclusion to the majority of his problems. Evacuating those who couldn't fight? Supervising the construction of the trenchworks? Getting every militiaman and volunteer ready to fight? Figuring out logistics and security details?

Not enough damn time.

Collier's rear guard were about five miles to the north, last he'd been told. It would not be long before the storm would descend on them, never mind the possibility of a pincer movement from the south.

He had most of Arkadia's own men to this southern front, and a strong defensive position to go along with it. So long as the Reds don't effectively coordinate their attacks, the lines would hold.

It would also be nice to not have to send the ill-prepared and inexperienced into battle, if it could be helped.

He sighed tiredly as the instructors returned behind the firing line and signaled for another go. Teaching the girls to aim was the priority here—if nothing else, their chances when engaged would be best if they could simply retaliate.

"Fire!"

KKRAKK

"Cease-fire!"

That, and ammunition is a finite resource.

The frown on his face grew prominent that the thought. It would not come to that, he hoped. Once the Reds' might be tested, he would support the lines wherever necessary. This was just a precaution; in case something went wrong.

Another cup of some coffee would do him well, once he got the chance for it.

A militiaman strode up to him, giving him a short yet crisp salute. Madsen returned the greeting, and the man spoke, "Sir, news from Lieutenant Corn. The defense line over on Third Street is fully prepared."

"And the extra supplies?" he inquired, hopeful.

"The fishermen are bringing back as much as they can, but the men in Depoe Bay have only so much they're willing to give," the runner pulled forth a slip of paper folded into thirds, and handed it to David, "The Reds are closing in on them from the north, and it seems like they'll be in the same situation as us until the National Guard arrives."

Madsen read the note, and crumpled it once he was done, "Go on, then."

"Sir," the militiaman about-faced, and left Madsen alone, so once again the commander was back to watching the Angels drill with their rifles. It seems the Second Squad had finished with their rounds and was making way for their comrades. First Squad, led by Caulfield, stepped up to the firing line and unslung their rifles.

There she was. Fourth from the left, donned in her leather jacket and kit. Many girls were wearing jeans like she was, but Madsen could see the streaks of blue hair poking from under the steel-gray helmet she wore. His stepdaughter stood tall beside the other girls and held her weapon diligently.

He took this all in with silent pride. He could not say it outright out of fear for favoritism, but seeing Chloe standing there as though she belonged was something he had believed to come true. His prayers had been answered, and he beheld this gift to high esteem. Here, in this moment, he could just be the father to an only child, and nothing more.

"Aim!"

Rifles were raised.

"Fire!"

KKRAKK

"Cease-fire!"

David's brow furrowed. It was with a heavy heart to know that it took the whole world going to hell for them to have a degree of civility between them. The Lord knows he's been burdened by many things, and yet he could not find the time to be there for Chloe when he knew he should have. Relying on Max and Kate was only going to help him so much; the rest of this opportunity to make amends would have to come from him alone.

He will make Joyce's wish of seeing Chloe happy once again come true. Once the fighting's done, once the Arkadians have won, they will return to their home, and be not as a family disjointed, but as one.

"Aim!"

The girls aimed their rifles steady.

"Fire!"

KKRAKK

"Cease-fire!"

They will win. They will hold out until help comes; Madsen knew this to be inevitable. It had to be. To believe in anything otherwise, was their downfall.

"Get down, get the fuck down!"

The stretcher in her hands was brought down onto the grass field along with her person, as Alyssa braced her sudden fall with her free hand. The canteen on her back rattled against the rucksack and clanged along with the others' own, as the girls quickly fell into the prone position.

"You are not being hit with tennis balls, nor toilet paper this time around—oh hell no, these things have the potential to kill you, to rip you apart and send your guts flying into your friend's face! Unless you want to end up like some fucked up Chef Boyardee commercial, you will listen to my advice, and you will do it right!"

The assistant Madsen had for them this time was a former drill instructor, a boisterous sonuvabitch that held no regard for the figurative handholding they've received from instructors previous. As per his expertise, he was to teach them the basics of ducking and utilization of cover and concealment, and this meant being lectured for a couple hours on the football field.

Lecture was a very generous word for this, in all honesty.

But Alyssa was impartial to this stern man's temperament. One did not learn without some measure of failure, and a whole lot of practical assessment. To hone one's instinct may very well mean the difference between life or death.

"The person trying to kill you is going to do so without a second thought. So driven by bloodlust are they, that they don't give a single flying fuck about who you are, or what kind of family you got. You are to make sure that such a trigger-happy motherfucker does NOT get the chance to drop you while you're busy helping your fellow men," the DI walked amongst the prone forms of the Angels surrounding him as he spoke, "that is why you all will repeat this simple phrase, and burn it into the deepest, darkest recesses of your memories: I'm up, they see me, I'm down."

I'm up, they see me, I'm down.

"The amount of time it takes to say that is the same amount of time that you are up and running, and then right back down again. Otherwise, you are crawling on your belly, and keeping your fucking head down because you all are smart, and do not wish to die to some eight-ball with an AR-15!" so the instructor assumed the front of this little formation, and barked to them, "Stand up! All eyes on me now, watch what I do and repeat it!"

He assumed a prone position then, and the girls watched as he began his demonstration.

"I'm up," he propels himself from his prone position, standing quickly.

"They see me," he exaggerates his leg movement whilst staying in place, to substitute for what would be a full sprint, before immediately collapsing back into a prone position.

"I'm down," he concluded, and then popped right back up, "Now you all will do what I've just shown, except you will do this with your gear on, and with your rifles empty and stretchers at the ready. Go too slow, and you'll take a bullet to the face before you even think of dropping, too fast, and you'll look like a fucking jackrabbit off its rocker! Form up into two lines at the touchdown right here; do it right the first time, so that there will be a next time!"

"Yes, Drill Instructor!" the Angels affirmed, and assumed their positions. Alyssa was second from the front, and beside her in the other line was Christensen. In front of her, Max and Victoria were first up, and awaited the instructor's signal with trembling anticipation.

"On my mark, you will rise from the prone position, sprint, and then drop back down to the ground. You will do this until you reach the other end of the field. Once you reach the other end, you will shift over to make room for your comrades and repeat the process until you are back here. You will recite the phrase in your heads, and you will follow it to the fucking T!" and he bellowed one last time, "First-in-line, assume prone, second-in-line, prepare to follow at my command! Ready—"

Caulfield and Chase got down to their stomachs. Alyssa and Taylor prepared to do the same.

"Set—"

Alyssa's heart drummed. Excitement carried her nerves.

"Mark!"

It was wordless. The two squad-leads were up, sprinting for no more than a second, and then crashing down to the grass again. The instructor followed their pace and stood parallel to where they laid.

"Again!"

Max was a bit slow this time standing up, and when she fell back down again, she started by bouncing up, and landing with her arms braced. The DI seemed to take offense to such a mistake, and stomped his way over, standing over her prone form.

"You! What's your name!?" he barked, and she responded instinctually, "Caulfield!"

"Congratulations Caulfield, you just took a bullet to the face because you took one fucking second too long to lay your sorry ass down on the ground! Now your buddies are going to be carrying your faceless corpse back to mommy and daddy, and you'll have nothing to say to them because you're fucking dead!" and Alyssa could see the poor girl flinch under the roaring voice above her, "Now do it again! I'm up, they see me, I'm down!"

"I'm up, they see me, I'm down!" she recited, following the motions again. Chase was right beside the brunette, no-doubt repeating the same mantra in her head, desperate to not receive a verbal lashing from the irate instructor.

Anderson could hear the worried whispers of the girls standing behind her, and she hardened her stare. She would not fail; she would not make a mockery of herself. She had not spent all the time and energy sharpening her physique to perfection, only to be done-in because of a simple mistake. Years of effort brought her here, to this very moment.

"Next up in line! On my mark!"

Grass blades tickled Alyssa's chin as she went prone and gave a reassuring nod to Taylor off to her side. And she imagined it in her head, the simple phrase. For it was not meant to confuse or obfuscate the truth, and that truth was to live another day. Death may come, but he shall not have her now, nor her sisters-in-arms.

I'm up, they see me, I'm down.

I'm up, they see me, I'm down.

Sweat poured, her elbows ached, the stretcher was heavy in hand, but Anderson never wavered.

"This has got to be the worst!"

Cloth was rolled away, and the sound of friction grew, as Jenny scratched at the flank of her forearm. After that taxing exercise they had gone through, all of the girls were sweating bullets. Many burned through the rest of the water in their canteens and would need to hold out for another hour before lunchtime to refill. In Thompson's case, she had thought to roll up her sleeves once she'd reached the other side of the field, thinking that the extra fabric on her elbows would ease her crash landing when dropping to the ground.

Time has proven that to be a mistake, as the thorns of grass had scraped her exposed forearms with absolute prejudice and gave way to the worst itch she'd ever felt in her life.

"Fuckin'—oh God this sucks," she whined, her arms red from the blood rush, "Hey Sara, when're we getting a chance to wash off? This itch is gonna kill me at this rate~!"

"Stop scratching it, and it'll go away," Sara scowled at her, short of breath, "you're just going to make it worse if you keep messing with it."

"But it itches so ba~ad!" and the blonde shook her arm, as though the itch would fling off her person, "Couldn't that instructor have given us a break or something once we crossed the field? I was so tired after the first three times, and now my stomach hurts like hell—"

"Quit your bitching, you're going to draw attention to us," Wilson snapped at her left-hand, who shut up quick, her eyes frantically glancing around to see if anyone was listening in on them. Thankfully for them, only Jasmin was within earshot, sitting silently beside them. Otherwise, the rest of First and Second Squads were doing their own things.

Wilson and her posse sat under the shade of one of the trees in the front quad, in a corner of its large grass plot. The rest of the Angels were spread out, recovering from the intense workout they received. There was nothing planned for them in these spare morning hours, so they rested.

There was no time to rest for Sara, however.

Jenny had informed her of River's little chat with Greenock yesterday, and it was now that the figurative ball had begun rolling. If Schwartz had half of the mind Sara did, then news of their struggle would be swiftly heard by the nearest point of authority. It was lucky enough for Sara that River had been mostly held up by their threats, but that was not going to be enough to keep her quiet. Soon, action would need to be taken.

The doubt of her own works was growing like a weed. To be honest with herself, everything was growing like a damn weed. News of the Reds pressing closer and closer was all the talk she heard whenever they were down in Arkadia town.

Her feelings morphed from their thoughts, and entangled were they in all forms and manners. Her malice for Schwartz the rat, and for Caulfield the coward. Wilson's delight in having snared the Queen of Blackwell, and her lust—love, her love for her friends, and especially for Greenock, oh how she could do with a whole trio of friends by her side!

And there she was, as Sara eyed her across the quad—the hermit sat at the base of another tree, sipping from her canteen. Emilia was flanked by the two aides of the squad-lead, Wagner and Christensen. They were talking to each other, having a moment to themselves.

Sara smiled.

Soon enough.

The two aides would not challenge her claim to the position of second-in-command. She had made sure of that herself, in her spare time, having some pleasant one-on-one chats with them both. All that was left was the Queen, and once she made the decision, it was as good as hers. And if this did not come to be, if the Queen dared to defy her wishes by her own volition, then all was still well. Some changes to the plan would have to be made, but it was nothing Sara and her friends could not handle.

The three of them were all in too deep now. The idea of simply removing themselves from this mess had been entertained, and summarily brushed aside. Sara had not told her two friends this little subtlety, for she did not need to.

They would take comfort in the beautiful destruction of the fire. The flames will sear by their own merit and engulf this shantytown regardless of its mounted defense. Where once there was assured doom, there would now be opportunity. The fires of the revolution would be their ticket, not their downfall.

And if she could snag a couple more friends along the way, all the better.

"Soon enough," the brunette whispered to herself.

"Who's enough? What?" Thompson snapped from her daydreaming.

"The plan. It shall be upon us all, once the time is right, and then we'll do what must be done."

Jenny seemed enthused at the idea of some genuine mischief on their part, "'Bout time you thought of something good—what is it then?"

"Not here, too many ears around us. I'll tell you once we're by ourselves."

Sara had a growing itch of her own, but it lay not on the flesh of her arms. No, this itch was intangible, and made itself welcome inside her heart and mind. And like a weed did it grow and spread.

River's efforts would be futile. Emilia would be her friend. And they will be free once the storm comes and breaks them from the chains of a doomed populace.

Soon enough.

Max sighed and set forth with typing another message on her phone. Of all the things on the supplies list she'd remembered off the top of her head, she forgot to type down some spare tissue boxes. She'd have to notify Victoria so that these items be requisitioned from the quartermaster, and so that the Queen would not be mad for having to make two trips in her sedan.

And what horror to think of, having to deal with a cold or a runny nose without any damn tissues! Already had the weather shown itself to be a tyrant in-of-itself, and she would not wish a fate like that upon her comrades if she dared. A quick message was typed and sent post-haste.

With that mistake rectified, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and ruminated in the quiet space of the dorms.

Logistics was as much of a pain as she expected it to be. It was a blessing to have not dealt with it up until now, but even then, Caulfield could not find it in her to endure such a mess.

A single Angel, any one of them if one had to pick, would have to receive the following items and essentials: one steel helmet, one combat vest with plate carriers harnessed together, one pair of combat boots, one canteen with mess kit, and one rucksack, which may include any number of personal belongings that said Angel would have on her person.

Furthermore, as for their new additions, each Angel now had one leather bandolier of five magazine pouches and would be—as they've been told—equipped to carry twenty-five rounds of ammunition. This was alongside having a rifle with its cleaning kit, and for half of the poor girls, a stretcher to lug around with, which was due to be issued sometime soon.

And all this equipment was described for one of them. This would have to be replicated for all twenty girls in First and Second Squads. This did not account for possible changes to their order of arms and ammunition, nor rations for spare food and snacks, and drinking water for their canteens, nor any personal items pertaining specifically to hygiene. They would have to work around those issues on their own, and that meant being sparse with such items not immediately given to them—

Already was Max getting a headache just thinking about this kind of stuff, and she stood from her spot in her desk chair. She groaned, her hand reached up and kneaded her troubled brow.

"You good?"

Chloe was laid across her couch, fiddling with one of the straps on her vest, and eyeing the brunette with concern. Max rubbed the pain away, and spoke softly, "Yeah, I'm good. Just a headache, is all."

"Man, fuck headaches," Price emphasized, "my day could be going so fine, and then boom! Fuckin' migraines for days—shit was always the worst after a good thrash, too," sweet memories played in her mind then, memories Max was not privy to, "like, it could be a hella good time once you're in the moment, but afterwards, it'll get pretty rough. I remember this dream where I was stuck in this wheelchair 'cause of a car crash, and you were there, comforting me about being a cripple for the rest of my life—that shit felt so surreal."

"That dream sounds…oddly specific," Max noted.

"I only remember it so well 'cause when I actually woke up, my head was fuckin' pounding. Never felt like shit until that day, I'll say that much," then the punk smiled, "So, how about when this is over, you and I go celebrate? Try some actual pina coladas and all that jazz?"

"Oh, I'm good—" and Chloe chuckled heartily, seeing the nervous look her best friend had, "I'll pass on that, Chlo', honest."

"Alrighty then. Someday I'll get you out of that shell, I swear," and Max shook her head despondently at such a quip. Sure, it would be someday, but not now. Not until they could be sure of a future.

So, Caulfield trekked to her door, calling out, "I'm gonna get something from the vending machine, you want anything?"

"Starbursts! Lots of 'em!" Chloe called back, and Max was light on her feet when she closed the door and began her journey down the hall. Down the stairs she went, to the first floor, and right into the lounge.

This was where most of the changes could be seen, when it came to the influx of people living under the dorm building's roof. Some makeshift beds lay in one corner by the couches, opposite to where she entered. These makeshift beds were for the few girls of Second Squad that wanted their own separate space, away from the clutter of the dorm rooms. It was not like Max and the native students were to go against the decision, as sending them up to the second floor would have caused a whole hassle in of itself.

And as Max pondered about the attempts they made for sudden accommodations she was struck by their self-ingenuity, for this was all done by their own accord. At least they could come together and improvise when necessary, to give each of their sisters-in-arms a helping hand.

It was quiet now. The three girls that use these improvised beds were nowhere to be found, and no one else was in the lounge at the moment. The mousy brunette shrugged the feeling of loneliness off her shoulders and turned to the vending machine.

Someone had left the key to unlock the machine and made it so that whenever a craving for some chips or candy came along, all one would have to do is use this key that was chained on a hook beside the lock, and the plastic screen separating them from the goods could be pulled open, allowing them to pick their favorite snack and then leave without sparing a single dime.

Max had a hunch that it was Ol' Samuel that blessed them with this small act of kindness. She ought to ask him and thank him if it was so—being able to gorge herself on packets of frosted oatmeal cookies had become a daily occurrence over this stressful week.

Turn the key, open the plastic screen, snag a handful of Starbursts and a bag of chips, and away we—

"Max?"

"AH—!" the candy spilled from the brunette's hands as she jumped with fright and snapped her wide eyes to the lounge's entrance.

Standing there was River, a bit spooked herself from the kneejerk reaction. She was despondent, and eyed Caulfield cautiously.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's…it's fine," Max calmed herself, "I just didn't hear you there."

Schwartz closed the door, and made to stand a few steps from Max, as the mousy brunette picked up the Starbursts she dropped.

"Hey, uhm…can we talk?"

"Sure," Max picked the last of the candy up, and looked towards the pony-tailed blonde, "what is it?"

"It's about Sa—well, I guess it's got to do more with…ahm, sorry, I meant—"

Max's brow pinched in confusion.

The blonde sighed, and spoke frankly, "It's about me, and Emilia."

A pause, as they both gauged each other, before Max eventually replied, "Is there something going on between you and…?"

"Yes—wait no, no!" the blonde backtracked at Max's suggesting eyebrow, "I'm not with her or anything like that, I just meant," and a nervous hand attempted to shield her guilt-ridden features, "…shit, can I start over?"

Max placated the anxious blonde then, "Sure, it's alright. If it makes you feel better, I get that way around other people sometimes. You just got to say what you need to say," the brunette encouraged, and River nodded to this truth.

"Right, ahm…I want to start by apologizing, again. I should have told you and Victoria this a lot sooner, and I'm sorry," and Schwartz dared to say it, "I think Sara, that long-haired brunette in Second Squad, is trying to—"

The entrance was opened, and the both of them snapped their attention to Victoria and her two aides as they walked in, chatting amongst themselves.

River's eyes widened in fright, as those emerald daggers caught sight of her and Max, and she tensed instinctually. Immediately did she look down and away from that terrible stare.

"Victoria?" Max greeted her fellow squad-lead, "I thought you were going down to get some supplies?"

"I was," the Queen replied, eyeing River like a hawk, "Steph and Samantha were kind enough to do it for me. I forwarded your message to them by the way, so they'll get everything we need."

"Ah, that's great!" Max smiled, and then slowly wiped that smile away, recognizing the sudden atmosphere surrounding them.

"Well, don't mind us, we're just going to get a little something to tide us over," so the Queen and her aides made to stand in front of the vending machine, and not more than an arm's reach from Max and River. Never once did the pony-tailed blonde look up, so driven by this oppressive feeling of fright was she—

"River?" Max snapped her from her stupor, "what was it you were about to say? Something about Sara, right?"

Schwartz nodded silently. Her hands were balled to fists, and shivering.

"Y-yeah," she muttered, "I think—no, I am sure that Sara is trying to sabotage our unit."

"…sabotage our unit?" Max repeated, slowly, worriedly.

"Yes," River asserted, "I know this to be true, I swear—"

snort

Again they turned back to the Queen, who was snickering with noxious amusement, "Max, c'mon, you cannot tell me you're falling for this again."

"It is true!" Schwartz overcame her fright, and this flux of emotion was molded into a righteous anger, "I know it is! It's why I asked you two on that day, to keep Emilia with you, it was to keep Sara from getting to her!"

"Remind me again, what exactly has Sara done to warrant such a manipulation of our unit's composition?" Chase coldly retorted, "it seems more like it was you who started all our problems, and it has been you this entire time."

"I asked you to protect Emilia because Sara wants her!" River cried, her heart fluttering dreadfully, "I did what I thought was right, because I didn't want to be in the way! I didn't want to ruin the moment of all us girls coming together, I swear on it!"

"Wait, wait—" Max kept the blondes from biting into each other, "what do you mean by Sara wanting Emilia? What does she want from her?"

"I…I don't know," River stammered, "but I know it's nothing good—!"

"Max, you cannot be serious about accepting this sob story she's feeding us," Victoria snarked to the brunette, and River rounded on the Queen so vehemently, "I can explain it! I don't need you gaslighting me out of something that I know is the truth!"

"The truth, sweetie, is that you are fucking around with my friends, and my patience," Chase bit back, and pulled her lips back into an honest snarl, "and I do not take kindly to people who think they can walk all over me and my friends. If you wanted to leave so badly, Schwartz, all you had to do was say so."

"That's not it!" River snipped back, tears stinging her eyes, "I know Sara better than any of you, and she's planning something! She wants me gone because she tried to use me, like she's using those two girls that follow her around—why do you think they never leave her side, why do you think they're always together?"

"She tried to use you…?"

It was the inflection in River's tone that cut through their doubts, "She and her skanks, they tried to—to kill me. They're murderers, I've seen it! They've killed people to get their way, but I escaped from their clutches—!"

"Why the fuck would you wait to tell us this now!?" Victoria demanded of her, "if what you're telling us is true, then you knowingly let someone like that into our ranks and did nothing to warn us!"

"I didn't mean to!" Schwartz was desperate in her defense, "I didn't want to get in the way, I—I just wanted to keep Emilia safe, that's it, that's all I wanted—!"

Victoria and her two aides had slowly surrounded the shivering blonde, and it was only now that River had noticed. And her frightened, honey-hued eyes looked for any means to escape, but with Max blocking her only path, she found herself trapped under their cold gazes.

Oh god, they're everywhere!

"River, are you okay?" Max asked her then, but panic drummed in the pony-tailed blonde's ears, and she sputtered whatever her response was. Caulfield then straightened her brows, and tersely snapped over the din of tension, "You guys, give her some space, she's freaking out right now!"

"Really, Max? Should we let this traitor have some room to cry to her heart's content?" Chase's words bite like poison, and spilled like venom, "Tell me, Schwartz, are you crying because you're upset at being called out on your bullshit, or just to try and make us feel bad for you?"

"That's enough, Vic!" Max bristled, and River could hear the Queen huff, then take a few steps back, and most importantly away from her. She never dared look up from the floor, ashamed. Tears spilled from her eyes and dripped onto the tile floor.

You utter fucking fool.

"River, just…just head back to your room, and let us sort it out. And thank you, for telling us this," the brunette tried to assuage, and once Taylor and Courtney gave her the chance, River stumbled quickly for the lounge's door, leaving without another word.

No one spoke now. The lounge was silent as they stood there, stuck in the present moment. It seemed hard to break from the intangible weight bearing down on them.

"Tay', Court', go on ahead, I'll be right there," Chase muttered. The two spared glances, then exited as well, leaving the two squad-leads alone.

Chase eventually worked up the nerve to speak, "Max, I…I'm just trying to make sure this doesn't blow up in our faces, alright?"

"I know, Vic," the brunette's brows were pinched, the headache had come back full force, "just, promise me you can handle this between her, and her alone."

"I will."

It was with a heavy heart that she thought on this subtle promise. For what was the right choice to make, given these terrible circumstances?

Victoria was slowly pacing her dorm room and brooded over the issue at hand. River had to be dealt with, and quickly. She had half the mind to gather Courtney and Taylor to find the dangerous blonde and drop Schwartz off at the police station with a notice to Madsen of what happened. At least then, the squad-lead would be spared the trouble of being seen booting someone from the ranks.

But this nagging tidbit kept her from acting on this good plan, this terrible gut-wrenching feeling.

River just might be right about what she said.

It was not in her nature to care much about those she did not know, an ironic observation given her position as a squad-leader. But Victoria had been stressing a lot over Greenock. She had done so at the assuredness in her promise to Max, and that promise was because Max had offered both Schwartz and the hermit a helping hand when they had first met. Again, Victoria felt her irritation spark at such a messy situation, and she sighed.

River had claimed the possibility that Sara Wilson, the alleged reason behind Schwartz's actions, was capable of being as much a danger, if not more so than River herself. Chase knew that the brunette Schwartz spoke of had made attempts to suck up to her—and rightly so, Victoria is the Queen after all—but she'd be stupid to think that Wilson was someone to be blindly trusted.

To accuse someone of murder is not to be taken lightly, no matter how deranged River might be. Something's going on.

She needed another opinion on this, biased though it might be. She needed someone from the outside, looking in. And so, the pixie blonde stepped out of her room and into the hall, then strode to Room 222.

She knocked, and waited patiently as someone opened the door.

"Kate," she greeted the other blonde's soft smile, "how're you doing?"

Victoria remembered most prominently the bags of exhaustion that circled Marsh's tired eyes. It was the first thing one would notice when they saw her, that and what used to be the globe of hair atop her head. The bun and the exhaustion have been lost, but the soft smile Kate gave her assured Chase that everything between them was better, "I'm doing alright, Victoria. And you, how have you been doing?"

"The same, for the most part," and not to waste time, the pixie blonde got to the point, "hey, is Emilia with you?"

"Yeah, she's here," and Kate called the hermit over. Chase wasted no time in bringing the shy girl back to her dorm and ordering her to take a seat on her white leather couch.

"So, uhm…what'd you need my help for?" Greenock asked.

"I need your opinion," the Queen started, "you're the best informed of anyone in this squad in what I'm looking for, and I want you to be honest with me when I ask you this."

"Alright then," Emilia agreed.

"What are your thoughts on River, and Sara?"

It was a simple question, short and to-the-point. And this invited a number of possible answers for Greenock to say, and what was she to make of the pony-tailed blonde, and the sly-spoken brunette?

She picked one to describe first, "…well, Rivy's always been nice to me. It's hard to say, since I don't talk to her often, but she does care for me, I know that much. Yet…I know she's under a lot of stress, and that she acts weird around others. She says that Sara's an evil person, but I don't see how that's true."

"What about Sara? Is she someone you trust?" Victoria asked.

Emilia took her time to answer, "…no. She's nice, but there's something about her that irks me. I don't think it's what Rivy's claimed, but I can't help but get a weird vibe from Sara."

The squad-lead nodded. Though it be important to recognize the subjective nature of Emilia's words, it was the closest of anyone's to what could be the truth. Both Schwartz and Wilson should be judged not merely by their initial impressions, but also by their actions.

And it was in this case, that Victoria began to hatch an idea. One that was risky, and that she would have to inform Max of. If it worked, then she'd be striking two birds with one stone, so to speak. If it did not, however…

Believe in yourself, Victoria.

"Greenock," she addressed, and received a look of attention from the hermit, "Yes?"

"If you had to choose which person to trust over the other, who would you pick, and why?"

Again, a pause, as Emilia thought it over. Already had Chase come to an idea of what must be done, but she wanted to know Greenock's side, wanted to see where the logical endpoint of this mess would lead.

"If I had to pick, then I would trust…River. Only because I know that she's actively trying to help me. She's given me a chance to get to know all of you, and I think that to be something meaningful."

Chase silently nodded. She mulled over what was said. It was only now that she realized that the sun was setting, and evening was underway.

"Thank you for your help, Greenock. That'll be all."

Emilia took her leave, and the pixie blonde was alone in her dorm, left to rummage her thoughts, manage her conclusions. It would not be until a couple hours afterwards, that the path lay clear in her mind.