Hello everyone! Wow... I did not realize it had been almost a year since I had updated this story. I am so sorry about that. I got into a dangerously bad place at about the beginning of the year, and by the time I pulled myself out of it, well... um...

*Gestures wildly to a world burning down around me*

The good news is that I'm back now and there really shouldn't be any reason why updates take that long. They may take a few weeks or even a month or two, but never a year. I wanna get this story finished. lol.

Anyhow, that's enough rambling from me. I hope everyone enjoys this. Without further ado, I give you chapter 23...

(Volgograd Russia)

The first thing Obi-Wan felt was the pain. He let out a muted groan as he tried to take stock of his body. The simple act of breathing hurt, while his side felt as though someone had run a knife through it. His head was spinning. He felt intoxicated. Coherent thoughts were slow to form, and his body couldn't decide if he was vertical, laying flat, or tilted somewhere in the middle. Any time his body made a decision, the slightest tilt of the head threw it off. In the distance, Obi-Wan could hear the muffled sound of cannon fire. The ground rumbled with explosions, and through the walls, he could hear the groans of other people. Somewhere in the distance, panicked yelling alerted Kenobi to an unfortunate casualty. The situation he was in started to dawn on him.

His eyes fluttered open but refused to focus, leaving him nearly blind. However, the Force told him all he needed to know about who was with him. He could feel Commander Cody just a few feet away, while the man's battered and stained armor formed a hazy silhouette against the sidewall. Obi-Wan only needed to see the color of the walls to know where he was. He was in the tattered remains of Volgograd's hospital. The Republic had managed to hold it and press it back into service as a sparsely staffed field hospital. The light overhead swung to the rhythm of artillery blasts. An incredibly close explosion caused the light to flicker as drywall rained down from the ceiling. The bleach-white walls were stained and crumbling from the broken pipes leaking within.

"Co-Commander?" he wheezed.

"General."

The response was clipped as Cody looked up from his chair. Whatever excitement Cody flashed in the Force was instantly smothered by the anger and worry radiating off the soldier. Commander Cody looked up from the helmet he was presently cleaning. He let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair with crossed arms.

"You look good for a dead man," he scoffed.

The Jedi let out a gasp as he tried to prop himself into a sitting position.

"Do not do that," barked a doctor as she burst into the room.

Her face was drawn up in a tight frown while her hair was drawn up in a messy ponytail at odds with the crisp white uniform she wore. The woman pushed him back down into the hospital bed. She muttered a few words in a language that neither man recognized and wrote something on a clipboard hanging above Obi-Wan's head.

"We have already had to stitch you up twice. Let us not add to that number," the doctor said.

As she spoke, the woman set to work changing out his bandages. Obi-Wan followed the woman's work intently. The Jedi visibility paled as he saw the black stitching that crisscrossed his side. The result was clean but crude. It was also the source of most of his pain.

Sitting on a chair close by, Cody stared as though trying to compel Obi-Wan to face him. He tightened his jaw as Obi-Wan stared at the wound. His hands balled up as he rose to his feet. Whatever sympathy was left on this rock definitely wouldn't emanate from the soldier towering over him.

"It was one of our rockets that did that," Cody announced curtly.

"It would seem so. Your men did well," Obi-Wan answered as he shifted uncomfortably.

Cody closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He clasped his hands together at his waist and waited for the doctor to finish. This was a conversation that was strictly between them and only them.

In his head, a thousand words swirled, while anger-fueled accusations and fear tore through his mind like a pack of raging toddlers. He desperately wanted to lash out and scream. He desperately wanted to take the Jedi and shake him until some kind of sense returned. In the deep dark corners of his mind, the places he rarely went to, he really just wanted to shoot him. He felt the urge to kill the Jedi and leave everything as it was before- messy but straightforward. However, he wouldn't. He couldn't. He was a soldier and a leader. He had too much discipline and too strong of a moral code to give in to such emotions. The doctor finished her tasks and left, leaving the duo alone, slowly drowning in the tension. It was finally Obi-Wan who spoke first.

"Cody-"

"Don't. You lied. You made others lie for you. All of this was done for what? So you could satisfy a personal grudge? So you could play the hero? Our morale took a hit it will not recover from. People are angry, and they are confused. All of this because you insisted on playing dead," Cody growled.

Obi-Wan winced as he moved so he could better look at Cody.

"Cody… It had to be done. I had to know that Grievous would die," he said, "I knew that you'd order an immediate attack. You had to, and I'd be the cause everyone rallied around."

"So, it was a power trip?" Cody demanded.

"No. It was a fail-safe. I knew that your men could cover the distance between our original lines and Grievous's command post in the time it would take me to confront him. Cody, your men were the failsafe. I needed to know that if I died, Grievous wouldn't escape yet again. I needed to be able to trust that you would bring the building down, without the fear of friendly fire," Obi-Wan groaned between ragged breaths.

"And you didn't trust me to follow through if I knew that you were in there," Cody concluded.

The commander shifted on his feet, unsure with his hands. Obi-Wan watched with relief as the fire burning in the commander's eyes simmered down to a smoldering ember.

"I know what's at stake here, General. I was trained to do my duty… a duty that transcends my conditioning. I've seen what he's capable of and what he has done. Had you given the word, I would've buried you both in a hundred meters of rubble without question. It would have hurt, but I would have done it because I trusted you," he answered, suddenly running out of words, "But that… What you did… The fact that you thought we weren't strong enough to do our job, without a twisted arm… I don't know."

Commander Cody turned, scooped up his helmet, and turned to the door. He made it all the way in silence.

Obi-Wan didn't know what to say. He didn't have the energy or willpower to argue with the man. He expected to die at the hotel, and now that that wasn't the case, he was at a loss. He tracked Cody with his eyes as the man marched to the door and paused. With one hand on the handle, the man turned around.

"At some point, you'll have to resume command of this hellhole. At that time, I can only pray that you trust us half as much as we have trusted you," he said.

With those words hanging in the air, he pushed down on the handle. The latch snapped back, and the door opened, depositing Cody on the other side. The commander didn't bother to spare a backward glance as the door slammed shut. He had a war to fight. Obi-Wan may not have been sure who the good guys were, but Cody was, and they needed him.

(Coruscant Military Complex)

Agent Gardner stared at the table in front of him with a tightened jaw. Laid out before across the table were enough weapons and armor to outfit a small army. There were pistols and rifles of all different kinds set down in uniform lines. Kevlar vests and their metal plates were lined up next to them with the knee pads and the helmets. Further on were the more specialized weapons. There was all manner of combat knives, smoke grenades, flash grenades, thermal detonators, and the standard frag grenades favored by Earth. As he looked through the items, the agent considered what would be happening next. While he had been working his security rotation, some of the other agents had been doing some digging. It seemed that while Pre Vizla was out of reach on Coruscant, his band of criminal rejects wasn't.

Garner let out a sigh and scooped up his choice of tools. He jammed a fresh magazine into his 1911, tucked a small hold-out blaster into his ankle holster, and hid away an assortment of knives and other gadgets. Overall of this, he slid on a set of regular street clothes- sandy brown pants with a black turtleneck under a grey jacket. The clothes were a bit large, concealing his weapons and giving him a much wider range of movement than was immediately apparent. The agent let out a deep sigh as he pulled his hood up. Tonight was going to be another long one. He made his way out of the complex and into the night. As he stepped out beyond the north gate, he was greeted by an icy drizzle and the wind blowing it. Garner pulled his hood up against the rain and started his descent.

The walk from the gate to his destination wasn't actually all that far horizontally speaking. However, it was quite the trip downward. As he descended down through the various levels, he noticed quickly that the people's overall appearances got progressively more worn and tattered. Elegant gowns and spotless trousers rapidly gave way to torn shirts and stained pants, while shoes, if they were wearing any at all, were often full of holes and barely serviceable in their function.

"I guess some things never change," he muttered.

On cue, a Rodian stumbled into him and slurred something before falling against a wall and disappearing down a blackened alley. Garner was brought back to the present as he passed a clone patrol. The troopers looked bored. Their eyes were set ahead as they sauntered down the walkway. He could almost imagine the dead eyes and sore legs encased inside the white and red armor.

Agent Gardner shifted his eyes from the group as he began to read signs. He was starting to get into the legitimately dangerous levels now. With one hand resting next to the grip of his pistol, the agent wove his way down three more elevators and down an alley. At the end of it was a small, flickering sign. The agent took a short, deep breath. Either he'd find what he came for or get shot upon entry. He gave it fifty-fifty odds.

The door snapped open, and he stepped in. A sickeningly sweet smoke poured out of the darkness. The agent stepped in and immediately felt every eye turn to him. No one moved or broke their conversations. However, he could feel them. The talking took a more tentative edge. All around him were tables. Most were empty four-seat tables. However, along the side were booths. Some had two people, some had four, and others only had one. Agent Gardner logged mentally noted each human and alien's location as he made his way to the bar. There came the only source of light, a blue, backlit liquor cabinet.

"What can I do for ya?" demanded the green-skinned Twi-lek behind the bar.

His voice was gruff and dripping with suspicion. The slight twitch in the left tentacle leading from his head seemed to highlight his agitation.

"A drink is always a good place to start. How's your Corellian Ale?" he asked as he produced a handful of credits.

The man looked down at the chips and then at Gardner. His eyes narrowed as he counted the extra credits. Gardner had offered nearly three times what the ale was actually worth. Gardner locked eyes with him and nodded. The man nodded and walked away to get the drink. Clearly, he'd done this a few times before. He turned to the cabinet and selected a long, narrow bottle.

"You have a fine taste in liquor, my friend," he commented flatly as he passed over the shot, "Now what is that you really want?"

His voice lowered to a quiet hiss as he leaned in closer.

"I'm looking for a man named Ortiz Corona. I was told that you might know something," Gardner admitted.

As he spoke, the agent resisted the urge to glance around. If anyone was listening, it was too late to do anything about it, and nervous looks would only cause him to stand out more. The Twilek shifted uneasily as he considered the question. The fear that filled his eyes told Garner a great deal.

"That's a dangerous man," he muttered as he wiped a line of sweat from his brow.

Agent Garner nodded. He'd heard as much.

"I can't tell you where he is right now. Come back tomorrow, and I'll know," he added quickly.

Agent Garner shook his head.

"That's not good enough, especially not for that stack of credits I just gave you," he argued.

The bartender sucked in a sharp breath, the air hissing between his teeth.

"Corona isn't just another low life scumbag either," he hissed, "You don't just walk up to him with a job."

"Look, I've got information… Information that could save Corona's life. Now, either I get to talk to him tonight, or it's your ass when his front door gets kicked in," Agent Garner shot back.

The man paused. His eyes darted across the room as he considered the new information. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that was just another bartender. Being a walking directory of criminal information had helped keep his family fed, but it did come with significant risk.

"Corbel Projects… Unit four, level 1200. Try not to get yourself shot on the way in," he answered reluctantly.

Agent Garner nodded as he mentally logged the information. That was another eighteen levels down, deeper into the heart of Coruscant's gang territory. For the first time in years, he felt his gut begin to churn. He'd navigated dangerous cities and criminal enterprises before. However, he had done it all with a silent army backing him and the small comfort that he knew the people and the customs. Here it was different. He was all alone with only a couple people who even knew where he went and even less that could reasonably do anything about it.

"Thank you," he said as he stood up.

"You gonna drink your ale?" called the bartender as Garner marched towards the door.

"Nope."

With that, the agent was back out into the night. He plunged his hands into his pockets and began the long, miserable trek to the nearest inter-level lift. As he made his way down the walkway, he started to feel the eyes turn towards him. He looked at each one quickly but carefully, looking for any sign of aggression or ill intent. Agent Garner wasn't worried about assassins or enemy soldiers. He was concerned about desperate people… the ones willing to slice his throat for the energy bar in his pocket.

He finally made his way through the crowds to the lift and punched the key to open it. As the door hissed open, the agent was greeted by a woman. She looked at him nervously as he stepped into the lift. She held her arms at her sides, uneasily, and Garner could spot the tremor in her hands. Her eyes were bloodshot, while her dress hung from a malnourished frame. He tried his best to ignore her as he punched in his level. The door hissed shut, and the lift began its descent.

They were about halfway down to level 1200 when he felt it. The cold metal blade poked him directly between the shoulder blades. The agent arched an eyebrow as he felt the tip press against him.

"Empty your pockets," she hissed.

"You sure you wanna do this? I'm giving you one chance to walk away," he answered calmly.

"Bold words coming from the man with a knife to his back," she shot back with a bitter laugh.

As she spoke, Agent Garner felt the knife shift as he reached towards his own waistband. The blade pulled back slightly. He heard her feet shuffle, and her breathing shifted from the ragged, shallow breaths of before to something more controlled and focused. That's when it dawned on him. This was a professional hit, not a robbery. He twisted his back to the side as he threw himself against the sidewall. The blade found air just left of where his spinal column was. A fatal blow if it had connected.

As it was, she found herself stumbling as momentum took over. Garner propelled himself off the sidewall, his own knife in hand. The woman caught his arm mid-swing, and the two went crashing to the ground. With one hand locked on the other's knife hand, neither person could effectively block the vicious blows coming from the other. Blood soaked the wall and floor as noses shattered. He could feel his attacker desperately try to get free, leveraging her small size to weasel away. Using his own weight to hold her down, Garner slammed his fist into her solar plexus. The woman gasped, her body instinctively folding as the air was forced from her lungs. As her abdomen contracted, her legs snaked around the agent, she found her leverage. His eyes turned to saucers as he suddenly found himself wrenched to the side. His grip on her knife hand broke, and the blade swung unchecked towards his throat. In a move of desperation, he put his hand out. The blade tore through the skin and glanced off the tissue in his hand.

"Ow! Fuck!" he cried out as blood gushed from the wound.

The pain, while excruciating, had come with an opening. He gritted his teeth and threw his shoulder into the hyperextended woman. She slammed into the wall. Her eyes went wide as Garner came down on top of her. The sound of tearing flesh echoed off the walls as he buried the knife in her heart. She spasmed once as her eyes glassed over, frozen in shock. With a pounding heart, Garner stayed on top of her, blood soaking his hand as he waited for her to finish bleeding out. Twenty seconds later, the lift chimed, the door hissed open, and he stood up with his knife in hand. The agent could still hear his heart pounding in his ears. Luckily no one was around to see the grizzly sight as he caught his breath.

"It's the small things, I guess," he sighed as he punched the surface level button.

Agent Garner may have been new to this world. However, he had picked up enough to know that help wouldn't be found down here. Garner needed to get her body processed for leads, and himself cleaned up before anything else could happen. As the lift shot up to the surface, he peeled off his blood-soaked coat and slid out of his shirt. His hand was continuing to pour blood at an alarming rate. With nothing else to use, he tore off a chunk of fabric. An eerie silence hung in the air as he tied the piece of the shirt around his hand. Down, on the floor, his would-be murder stared up past him, lost at some point far in the distance. He shook his head as he knelt down.

"It never gets easier, does it," he muttered as he gently closed her eyes.

The shock and emotion that came with killing someone quickly faded in favor of a million questions. As the lift continued its painfully long ascent, Agent Garner quickly sorted them by order of relevance. As he did, a few realizations began to surface. The most important one was that Agent Garner was going about this wrong way. The cell had been hired by someone. He was staring at a dead body that was also likely hired by the same person. If he could find the common link, he could get further than he ever could have with the Death Watch angle.

"Fuck forensics. It's already obvious who killed her," he decided as he knelt down.

He rolled the woman over onto her back and took a deep breath. He stared at her shoulders and ran his hands down the length of her bloody dress. The work was unpleasant but necessary. If she was carrying anything, it would be stuck underneath the fabric- something he wasn't about to just peel off. He had more respect than that. As he slid his hands across her torso, he felt the distinct outline of a pistol grip.

"That could've been unpleasant," he muttered as he moved down to the ragged boots on her feet.

He peeled them off, one at a time, and carefully examined them for clues. The left one was clean, as expected. He checked the woman's sock with the same results. As she was right-handed, it stood to reason that anything of value would be in the next foot. By the time they finally hit the surface, he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he barely heard the arrival chime. The door hissed open to a chorus of horrified gasps. He looked up at the crowd, then to the shoe in his hand, before finally shifting his gaze to the body.

"Right, I should probably call for help, shouldn't I?" he said as he turned to the man trying not to throw up in front of him.

Being on the upper level of Coruscant had its advantages. Help came, with the Jedi not too far behind. Unfortunately, it meant that he had to convince all of those people that the murder had been in self-defense and that he did, in fact, have a good reason for rifling through the body with callous disregard. It didn't take long for the Judiciary to arrive and even less time for them to label him as suspect number one.

"There's a camera in there. Look for yourself," Garner argued.

"We'd love to, if it wasn't broken," shot back the Judiciary detective.

He found himself growing more and more agitated as the conversation drug on. He didn't have time for law enforcement. He needed to get back to that person's house before anyone else could clean up shop. Agent Garner clenched his fists as he stared into the being's dead eyes. He knew the type. This detective had been around the block one too many times to really care. This was just another open-shut case to him.

"Thank you, detective, but we will take this from here," cut in a third voice from beyond the elevator room.

The detective whipped around.

"Now, who in the seven hells are you?" he demanded.

"Jedi Master Plo Koon. We will be taking possession of the crime scene as a part of a larger investigation," he announced clinically.

As he spoke, he handed the bristling detective a datapad. As they talked, Agent Garner smirked. Inter-departmental squabbles were always fun to watch, regardless of circumstance. A part of him found the familiarity of it all to be of some comfort as he sat on the cold, metal floor. The conversation was short but heated as the duo argued over who was in charge. However, in the end, the Jedi and Coruscant Guard superseded the Judiciary. The detective had no choice but to back off.

"You made quite a mess in here," Master Plo Koon said.

As he spoke, an officer undid Garner's cuffs.

"Yeah… Well… The woman knew what she was doing."

As he answered, Garner pulled himself to his feet and massaged his wrists. The Jedi didn't immediately respond but instead surveyed the inside of the lift. The Jedi swept his eyes across the bloody lift before bending down to look at the body.

"She attacked you. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"She tried to set it up as a robbery gone-"

"That's not what I am asking," the Jedi interrupted, "I am asking what physical steps she took to become a threat. Nothing more."

Agent Garner took a deep breath. He had just spelled all of this out for a bored detective. Now he had to do it again.

"I stepped into the lift. About halfway down, the woman put a knife to my back and ordered me to empty my pockets," he explained.

"What level were you going to?"

"Level 1200."

The Jedi nodded, "Was she to the left, right, or directly behind you at the time she threatened you."

Agent Gardner's eyes drifted up in thought.

"Slightly to the right. From what I could tell, her left heel was even with the center of my body," Agent Garner answered.

Gardner's voice took a more clipped edge as the Jedi continued pressing him with questions. For his part, Master Plo Koon didn't seem to notice. He simply continued to examine the body. He knelt down and paused. With much more reverence than Gardner displayed, he finished unlacing the woman's other shoe. As he slid it off, there was a quiet click-clack as a plastic card tumbled across the ground. The Jedi's eyes narrowed in an unmistakable frown as he scooped up the card.

"You're right. This was a professional. The address on the key is on the upper west side, just outside the Senate District," the Jedi explained.

"Well, we know where we're going next."

"No."

"What?!"

"You just killed someone and were caught quite unceremoniously sifting through the dead woman's clothes. Coruscant will soon forget. However, for the sake of the ongoing diplomatic mission, you need to spend some time away from the general public- at least not mixing yourself into an official investigation," Master Plo Koon decided.

"I can keep my head down," Gardner protested.

"Not that well."

Master Plo Koon rose to his full height as he stared into the agent's eyes.

"There will be a time for you to help. However, your status as a burned-out and injured outsider with little to no knowledge of the galaxy puts you at a severe disadvantage here. Go back to the compound. Get some rest, and I will follow up on the card," he argued.

The Jedi's voice was calm but resolute. However, his eyes told a different story. They were no longer cold and appraising. They had softened into a look of concern and sympathy. Agent Gardner stood in the lift's entryway, glaring with increasing intensity as though trying to compel the Jedi to cooperate through a silent force of will.

"You've had a chaotic forty-eight hours. Go back, get some rest and tell whoever is with you to do the same. I'll take it from here and brief you tomorrow morning," Plo Koon pressed.

Agent Gardner let out a sigh and turned away from the lift. He didn't want to admit it, but the Jedi was right. As much as the agent wanted to keep pursuing leads, he needed to stop. He was existing on little more than extreme amounts of caf and a couple energy bars. His body was still nursing wounds from the hotel attack. Every step was an exercise in misery, and he was scared to blink for fear of falling asleep mid-stride.

"Fine, but I want all the details tomorrow," he called over his shoulders.

"Of course."

With that, the agent vanished back into the night.

(Southwest Idaho)

The temperature fell with the sun. There was only one road in this place of rock and sand- a lonely trail of black asphalt that wound its way up through the mountains. It linked the once-bustling valley floor with the wildlands that used to fuel its economy. Walt took a drag from his cigarette. His eyes drifted between the gages and the yellow dotted lines as he willfully ignored the gathering clouds. The aging man guided his truck through the curves like he had time and time again over the years. The engine's muffled roar was Walt's only company as he followed the highway up through the canyon.

"Mother Nature forgot her meds again," he muttered.

There was an irony to be had in this storm. Here Walt was, driving through a desert with a flash flood advisory in effect. Weren't deserts supposed to be wastelands that had no water? He shrugged at the thought. This was a high desert, the land of few rules. Streaks of light danced across the sky. Thunder boomed in the distance, and he let out a sigh. Nights like tonight were best spent at home, watching movies with his wife, not making mad dashes across the desert. Of course, the house, like his family, didn't exist anymore.

He took one last drag of his cigarette and tossed the butt out the window. Without thinking, he produced another one. He guided the truck around the final corner and let out a sigh. He was almost there. At the bottom of the mountain, he could make out a small cluster of lights. As he drew closer, he began to pick out ships within the illuminated group. Five miles later, a bright orange sign flashed:

CHECKPOINT AHEAD

PREPARE TO STOP

The diesel engine let out a groan as Walt began cycling down through the gears. As he brought the truck to a stop, he found himself face to face with two tanks, a pair of humvees, and a line of barricades set to narrow up the road. The glow of his headlights cast an eerie, almost otherworldly feel on the scene as they lengthened the shadows. From his perch at the top of his vehicle, the right tank commander eyed him with suspicion. Walt ignored the two massive turrets shifting his direction as he pulled the air brake. A man, identified by his patches as a Sergeant, shook his head and walked forward with a rifle slung across his chest.

"Cattle truck, isn't it?" he asked as Walt fought to roll down the window.

"Once upon a time."

"Figures. I'm sorry."

Walt offered a half-hearted shrug and took a long drag of his cigarette before producing his driver's license. As the two of them talked, the rest of the squad slowly appeared from the shadows. Without a word, the group began to circle the truck and the flatbed trailer attached to it. Their movements were slow and casual. However, there was a deliberateness to their steps that gave away their task. They were there to make sure he hadn't picked up any unwanted guests. The Sergeant took his license and compared it to a list from his pocket. Lightning flashed off his steely eyes as he examined the two items.

"Know where you're going?" the Sergeant asked as he passed back the license.

"I do."

"Good, and make it quick. You're about to get wet."

Walt nodded and rolled up his window. The Sergeant waved him forward, and he was off once more. Slowly, the desert gave way to cratered fields and abandoned farmhouses before finally surrendering itself to the throes of civilization. Burned-out buildings and the occasional malnourished person were all that greeted him as he made his way into town. These people, as few and far between as they were, all had the same worn expression. They clutched gasmasks like lifelines and always seemed to have one eye pointed to the sky. Shops stood empty with smashed windows and marked with black and red graffiti. Homes were ripped open or simply non-existent- leveled by the bombs that so often fell on this place.

As he drove, the clouds finally gave way, releasing sheets of rain upon the battered landscape. Visibility dropped, and Walt shivered as a cold draft cut through the tired door seals. Eventually, he made it to the supply depot, a razor-wire wrapped mass of water-logged tents and open fields that housed the bulk of the surviving population.

At the gate, a police officer waved him forward. He followed the muddy paths and signs to another person in a yellow, reflective vest. A gas mask was slung from her neck, while a rifle was cradled in her arms. The woman looked like she was working through her eyelids as she motioned him into a spot between four other semis and a string of soft-top military supply trucks. The driver's side door squealed as Walt started to push it open.

"Don't bother. They're gonna be unloading and loading you within the next few minutes," the woman announced as she caught the door, mid-swing.

"What do ya mean 'within the next few minutes'? I'm not even due for another hour," he demanded.

The rolling thunder and clattering rain forced them to almost yell at each other.

"They want y'all ready to go as soon as possible," she said.

"'Wait. What do you mean?"

"You'll be briefed shortly. Just settle down and stay dry," the woman urged as she pulled her hood down low across her eyebrows.

"Listen, lady. I just came clear the fuck-"

"I'm sorry. You'll have to take it up with the Marine Corps."

THUD!

Before he could respond, she had slammed the door shut, effectively imprisoning him in his own truck. He settled back into the seat and let out a tired sigh. These runs were getting more insane by the day.

"End of the world, and I'm still just the errand boy," he muttered.

Walt grabbed yet another cigarette and paused. Without a word, he slid the stick of tobacco back into its pack. He was running low, and cigarettes were becoming hard to find. This was gonna be a long night.