TW: This chapter contains subjects of substance abuse and self hatred, which includes language and themes that may not be suitable for all audiences. I wanted to put an extra warning on chapters that specifically mention sensitive subjects.
Chill wind whipped through the trees and howled in the night. Hours past curfew, all laid quiet. He knew he wasn't supposed to be out at night, but today he was on a very important mission. Out here, no one would bother him, he could be alone. No keen ears or watchful eyes could reach him now- so long as he didn't get caught.
He had to find a way around the iron gate fence that closed in the public park. The edges were sealed in by trees, their leaves slowly thinning as the days got shorter. As he reached his destination, he started getting nervous. What if he's not here? What if this is all a setup? As he planted his feet firmly at the edge of a grass clearing, he took in all of his surroundings. It was so eerie out there, all alone. He wondered if anyone would hear him if he screamed, hopefully I won't find out.
Then a voice from the treeline startled him, "holy shit, you actually showed up." He whipped his head around but there was no one there. The voice sounded like it came from all around him, and it wasn't until he heard a thud behind him that he turned to see a young man appear from the darkness.
"Why were you in a tree-? And, yes of course I showed up! Why wouldn't I?"
"Jesus, haven't your parents ever taught you stranger danger? I could have been some creep and killed you." He had his hands in his pockets and shouldered past him nonchalantly. He's not what I was expecting him to look like, but I guess that's not that weird. He looks...mad old.
"Well...I," he didn't know what to say. He changed the subject, "you look so much older in person."
"Do I?" He took off his baseball cap and fluffed up his umber brown hair, unbothered by the comment, "I'm only nineteen."
"O-oh," he tried to brush off the mistake, "well, I just thought everyone in the server was around my age…"
"If everyone was your age, there would be no one to make the big shit happen, there's only so much you little scraps can do." His attitude was shocking to someone so shy, it was like he didn't even care. In a way, it was kinda cool.
"Well anyways," holding out one hand he introduced himself, "my real name is Roy." Roy's weight shifted between his feet awkwardly as he didn't respond to the handshake offer.
Roy's new companion simply turned his head and stared at him with a flat brow, "Fun Dead."
"W-" Roy blinked, "well yeah, I know that's your username, but I told you my name so-"
"Good lord you really don't know what you're doing, do you?" Fun Dead rolled his eyes and pinched his nose with two fingers. "It's a good thing I have no ill intention for you, otherwise you would have been as good as dead by now." Roy retracted his hand and rubbed his arm, looking away. Fun Dead noticed his mood worsening, so he gave him a quick smirk, "I'm sorry for being rough with you, I just got a little worried is all. You're only thirteen aren't you, Night?"
Roy perked up, "you don't have to call me Night, I'm just Roy in person. And I'm sorry...I haven't met someone from the internet before, I didn't know about that stuff you said." He felt so little compared to him, in size and brains. It was obvious that Fun Dead had years of maturity and knowledge above him. How would he still want to help him after behaving like such a child?
"It's alright, kid. You're with me now anyway, I won't let you make any stupid decisions anymore." He took out a stick of gum and let it hang off his lip while he put the pack back inside his pocket. Lapping it up, he said through his chewing, "speaking of which, you said you wanted to talk about something important?"
"That's why I called you here, yeah. I know you haven't been in the group for that long, but you're one of our best members, and like I said in DMs I think you'd be able to help me best with it."
He popped a bubble, "go ahead, shoot."
"I want to take over Monabi's position." Roy stood tall as he said it, stance full of confidence, but his expression said otherwise. He hoped it wasn't obvious.
Fun Dead tipped his head to one side, "take over Monabi's position?" He echoed. "That's quite the feat." To Roy's gratefulness, he didn't sound as shocked as he was afraid he'd be. "How is a little shrimp like you gonna take over the Resistance? Do you even have what it takes to lead a group like that?"
Roy gulped, "I know it's a lot, but I'm ready- ready to take on the responsibility I mean. I-I know it can't happen right away, but if Monabi isn't coming back, the group can't fizzle out! I won't let it." When Fun Dead looked at the ground in thought, he added, "besides, I knew Monabi really well, I know her intentions for the group and stuff."
Fun Dead's eyes shot up to meet him and Roy jumped at the sudden interest. His eyes glittered, "oh yeah! You two seemed very close!"
Roy took this in the best way, grateful that he was excited too. Maybe this way, he'd support him in his journey. "Yes! She used to talk to me all the time about the stuff she wanted to do. She may not have told me everything, but I'm pretty confident I have an idea of what to do from here," Roy felt a buzz from his hoodie pocket and a surge of fear shot through him. He took it out and prayed it wasn't his parents texting him wondering where he snuck off to after curfew. He let out a deep sigh of relief when it was just a friend. Connecting to his next point, he continued, "it's just that- I'm not sure what kind of things I can accomplish on my own. I don't have a lot of resources as it is. That's why I thought you could help me, since you seemed to know a lot about the RA and have been to London a lot."
"Not just that, but at least I can drive!" They shared a laugh and Roy was relieved to feel the tight air of their first meeting fleeting fast. Fun Dead was cool, he was a confident young man with a sense of mystery to him. He dressed like such a teenager, with slim ripped jeans and a black denim jacket with a fluffy collar. The baseball cap on his head was old and worn, looking more grey than white, but it made him look like he really got around. "Alright kid, I see that spark of yours, I'll help you. It's the least I could do anyway, it'll be my way of honouring Monabi. But for now I think we should just…" Roy raised an eyebrow as Fun Dead's voice trailed off. His gaze shifted to the treeline and he saw his features change like a cat with raised shackles. "Get down!" Without argument, Roy crouched low to the ground with him. He whipped his head around to find what it was he was looking at, and as he did a beam of light shattered on the branches and dotted his face. He winced as it temporarily blinded him, but the harsh whisper of Fun Dead behind him gave Roy some direction, "to the treeline! Follow me!"
Roy gave him a nod, but he didn't know if he saw. Only the faint shape of Fun Dead could be seen in the contrasted darkness. He was heading for a thicker tree trunk that could hide his frame. They couldn't hide behind the same tree, so he had to find some other type of cover. A few feet away from the tree was an iron-backed park bench. It wasn't much but it would keep him out of the direct light until he could think of something better. As he crept, the browning leaves crunched underfoot, and no matter how softly he landed his feet it was still obvious that a creature was stirring. With a few moments now passed, Roy came to the logical conclusion that the light was from a flashlight- someone had found them. Their hunter made no sound, but only swerved their flashlight around in the night searching for anything that moved.
Catching his breath, Roy pressed his back to the bench. Its cold bars sent a shiver down his spine, yet his forehead still sweated with stress. From where he was, Fun Dead was only partially visible to him, and when he turned his head back to check on Roy, he motioned with one hand to join him. Roy questioned this, but figured he knew what to do better than he did. Catching a last glance towards the prowler, he dashed for Fun Dead's position. As soon as he was at his side, he fretted, "who is that guy?"
Fun Dead was calm and steady, his eyes locked onto them through the trees, "a guard, no doubt. There's always enforcers haunting the streets at night." He spat, "I thought I steered clear of them on the way here, but I guess not. He must have followed me!"
Roy's voice wobbled, "well, what are we gonna do now? We'll get arrested if he catches us!"
"Not gonna happen, I know what to do."
Roy fully turned to him, confused yet willing to trust him, "what?"
He pointed to the branches above and smirked, "we go up!" With that, he grabbed onto a low branch with a strong fist and hoisted himself onto the bark. His back arched as his feet planted squarely on the trunk and as easily as if he were on the ground, walked up the trunk until he could throw a foot onto the branch he was held onto. Roy watched in awe at his skill. Before he knew it, Fun Dead climbed to another branch above that, one that was thicker and sturdier than the first. He looked back and realized that he was working with someone without any experience. "Hold on, I'll come get ya," he rasped as he lowered one leg onto the lowest branch.
Roy gulped when Fun Dead held out his hand for him to take, coping with the fact that he too would have to climb high into a tree to save his own skin. On any other occasion, this would be exciting, but not when it felt like his life depended on it. They grabbed onto each other's wrists, creating a tight bond between them. "Alright dude, when I say go, I'm gonna drag you up here. All you gotta do is put your feet on the trunk and leverage yourself until you can get on this branch here. Got it?"
"Okay-" he was cut off by the flashlight heading in his direction once again. This time, his movement was spotted. The enforcer shouted at them, and Roy's breath quickened.
"Now!" On his mark, Fun Dead hauled him up with great force, sending Roy's arm far above his head. With a grunt, Roy heaved himself onto the tree, the grip of his sneakers slipping on its bark, sending brown shards to the ground below. He didn't know where he got the strength from, but somehow with Fun Dead's help he made it to the branch in one piece. But there wasn't time to celebrate now, the enforcers steps were so close they could hear the sweeping of the brush under his heavy boots. "Okay, now throw your right leg around this, and when you get your butt up, lift up your legs so he can't see them, that'll do it I think!"
Roy only huffed in response, unsure if he could follow through. When he could make out the shape of the enforcer, panic was the only thing pushing him forward. With a great bout of effort, he swung his leg up. It didn't quite make it, and his ankle crashed into the branch, sending a shot of pain up his whole leg. He clenched his teeth but dared not to cry out. Fun Dead swooped his arm down from above and grabbed his pant leg, hoisting it those few inches over. He silently thanked him and with every effort in him he used his upper arms to lift himself onto the branch fully. It felt uncomfortable on his tailbone, but he leaned back and brought his knees up to his chin regardless. He felt unbalanced, like a simple gust of wind would send him crashing down to the ground. Blood roared in his ears as he looked down, he was well above the head of anyone below. Checking for where Fun Dead was, he found him even higher in the tree, eyes fixed on the enforcer. One foot was hung loosely off his branch and the other was placed firmly against the trunk to steady him. Overall his stance looked relaxed and assured, Roy couldn't be more impressed.
A twig snapped from the enforcer stopping in the middle of the clearing where he looked around with his flashlight. He called out for them, but Roy stayed paralyzed with fear. Fun Dead hardly even flinched as his tone grew more aggressive. He muttered something to himself that Roy couldn't make out from so high. Then, he heard a quiet rustle from above him. When he looked up, a yellow leaf drifted into his face. He winced and let his eyes adjust to the pitch black of the tree top. He spotted Fun Dead emptying his pack of gum into his pocket, and crushed the box in his palm. The hell are you doing? Are you not freaked out right now? He couldn't believe the only thing on his mind was sugar. But his frustration lowered to curiosity when he realized it was all part of a plan. With a good wind up of his arm, Fun Dead threw the cardboard ball across the treeline and on the other side of the iron fence. It landed in a bush, causing a stir amongst its leaves.
The enforcer turned, startled by the movement behind him. He went for it at once, trying to beckon it over with forceful words, convinced the boys were trying to escape that way. When he thought the officer was well enough away, Fun Dead lowered himself silently to the branch just above Roy. He motioned for him to get out of the way and he obeyed. Using only one foot to leverage him, he got to the lowest branch with ease and with a small thud, he leapt to the ground. He turned back to Roy and held out his arms, intending that he'd catch him if he fell. Nervously, Roy wiped the sweat from his brow and stared down at the ground below him. It's always easier going up than it is going down...not that going up was easy. He gulped down his fear and decided that this was the last of the stunts he had to do before he got away, besides, this will make for a great story for the server!
With faith, he stepped carefully down to the lower branch, acutely aware how differently his weight shifted going down instead of up. Gravity was not on his side at that moment, because as the branch started wobbling under his weight, Roy started to panic under pressure. If he made too much noise, the distraction would be for nothing. Just as he thought he would fall, Fun Dead beckoned for him to jump instead of regaining his balance. He put his trust in him wholeheartedly and his feet left the bark. Within moments he crashed into Fun Dead's arms. He grabbed Roy's shoulders and lifted him to his feet where he quickly straightened himself out again. Shining with pride and surprise, he couldn't keep it in, "you're a genius! You really sent him off!"
"Shh!" he shushed and put a hand over Roy's mouth. "We're not out of the clear yet," he conducted the next directions with his hands, "we're going to go out that way and off Alm's Street. Where do you live?"
"You want to know where I live?" Roy cringed while they started off tip toeing to the fence.
"You think you're going to make your way back home alone with all these officers walking around? Fat chance."
"I got here by myself! And listen I'll be careful, I know this town pretty well." When he didn't look convinced, Roy added, "besides, if I'm going to take over the Red Resistance, I'm going to have to be as brave as Monabi was, and she was the bravest person I know!"
Fun Dead stayed silent until they were on the other side of the fence. Fun Dead climbed over, but Roy was small enough to squeeze through the bars. There was no sign of the enforcer since. "If you think you can, then I'll trust you. You have a long way to go kid, but you just proved you got the guts to try. We should plan another meeting like this, but maybe not at night...just text me as soon as you get home, okay?"
"Okay! You can count on me," Roy stood tall and proud before turning to leave. With a dip of his head, Fun Dead turned too. Roy started to jog away, exhausted yet energized- scared yet thirsty for more. Despite his ankle screaming with pain, he didn't care. This was just the first step on his journey of taking his stand. He was going to lead himself and his friends to victory- a world out of the Red Army's rule. He could almost taste it, freedom filling his senses as he could finally be rid of the chains that kept his family weak. It wasn't just for him, but for Demeter's sake too. He was going to avenge his sister even if it was the last thing he did, and now he had a trustworthy ally to help him.
Tom's forehead held a deep red spot above his brows. His headache was so bad, he let his face fall to his desk, heavy with sorrow. His eyes were glossy with the mist of tears, but none fell. He stared down at the carpet below him, now stained with the spill of his drink. What have I done? He thought, mournfully. He was grieving alone in his office. So late at night, there was nobody around save for a few overnight workers that surveyed the news. But they were on another floor, and from where Tom sat no one was there to hear him groan. This was not the first night he's allowed himself to spiral like this. At times, the stress of leading an organisation and being on the run from the police was too much for him to bear. His daily shot turned into a drunk night, and then into a night like this. It was hard for him to stop once he started. He made excuses on why he could afford to keep going, why it won't affect him the next day, how no one would know. But in the end, he always ended up in the same chair on the edge of tears, tearing himself down until he felt like nothing. It's all your fault, he told himself, you led them to danger, what the fuck did you expect? He was thinking about the gun fight in the warehouse in an attempt to trade Alison for rights. Looking back, the plan made little sense. He just allowed himself to make stupid decisions for Edd's sake. In the process, they had lost one of the long-time members of the order. Tom blamed himself for her death, and Matt's injury. He felt stupid for putting them in a situation where he was played so easily. He should have seen it coming- what was he thinking putting even a speck of trust in the Red Army?
His stomach rumbled, breaking him out of his self destructive train of thought. He shifted his eyes down at himself and felt disgusted. Shut up. He had come into his office on an empty stomach around noon that day. Now around two in the morning, he hardly even got up out of his chair. He wanted to go home, to lay in bed and sleep this night away forever, to abandon his pain at least temporarily. But he couldn't even have that simple thing, he didn't have a home to go to anymore. Since the fight, he realized it was far too dangerous to stay in the same place he kept Alison. Surely she would blab about everything, every last detail of his apartment and its location. He couldn't risk it, so as soon as he could, he broke his lease and moved out within two days. Now all his things sat in boxes littered around his office and the door outside when there was no room left. He felt embarrassed, having his whole life displayed for his coworkers to see. No, not just his coworkers- the people who looked up to him as a leader. The order's tech lead, Medi, was the first to raise his hand to help despite his shoulder injury. He insisted it was no problem, and he thought Tom was brave for risking his own livelihood for the group. He told him that there was no need to be ashamed of keeping his stuff at the base, because everyone was proud of him and wishing him good fortune to get back on his feet. Tom could hardly believe him though. While he left the fight just barely bruised, two of his friends left bloodied- one limp and battered beyond repair. How could he be brave when he couldn't protect his own? How was he the one making the sacrifice? Matt, who barely even wanted to be in the order at all, who disagreed with fighting, who just wanted peace, was the one to make a sacrifice. The one with most to lose lost the most, and how could Tom keep himself propped up on good fortune when Matt was struggling to breathe properly?
He went to take another swig from his bottle. He woefully lifted his head up, it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. Raising the vodka high in the air above his lips, his tongue felt drier at the disappointing lack of alcohol pouring out. Only a few drops dripped out, missing his mouth and dribbling down his cheek. He stared up at the mouth of the bottle. His hand started to tremble when lifting his arm up for so long began to make it sore. Fuck this, a frustrated grunt came from him as all the weight clambered down onto the edge of his desk, smashing the bottle from the bottom. In his hand remained the piercing sharp remains of the spout, with thick chunks of glass littering the floor. Remaining moisture from what was inside splattered onto his paperwork and his lap. One drop landed on his pen ink, smearing the words in its wake. He browsed his desk, three other bottles stood empty on top of paper piles. Breaking the glass raised anger in him, seeing the mess he made only made him more frustrated with himself. They all relied on you, and what did you do? He took one of the bottles, you failed. Another smash ripped through the air as he threw it with all his might at the wall. Paint on the point of impact chipped off and joined the shards on the ground. The beads hit the floor in soft thuds, the carpet muffling their fall. It was all his fault. She would never see her family again. Matt can't be the same father to his children like he wanted anymore. He was permanently damaged. It was the one thing Tom didn't want for him. I've done everything in my power to protect him, so why? Why did this happen? He threw another bottle, this time a few pieces punctured the thin wooden door and jutted out. Dim neon light from outside his window glistened on its edges. But I guess that means I didn't do everything I could, eh? He almost started laughing, he felt so loopy. Dazed by his drunkenness, all the sensations in his body felt like a blur. Very little input from his surroundings could reach his senses. His mind could only focus on one thing at a time. He barely even felt the texture of the glass leave his hand when he sent the last bottle flying towards his desk lamp, which hit the ground hard. The light bulb flickered off, disconnected from its current, while everything settled Tom stood heaving in the darkness. The lump in his throat made it hard to swallow properly. And yet his eyes wouldn't allow the tears to leak out. It felt like a wall behind his eyes, blocking him from crying. There was so much pressure in his sinuses, his whole face blocked and heavy. He was flushed and sweating, miserable and alone. He wanted to scream, somewhere high like a building or a mountain, and let out all his anger and sadness in one belt. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so blocked up, ready to burst with emotion.
When Tom realized what he had done, he raised his shoulders in shame. He scrunched his neck as if to hide from no one. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone seeing him in this state. Pathetic, weak, and frail. That's all he was at his core, a weakling. He would never be able to accomplish his goals, all he did was ruin everything he touched. He didn't deserve to lead anyone, he wasn't competent enough anyway. Because of him, multiple lives have been ruined. No, I can't stay here like this, he flinched when his eyes adjusted to the darkness to bear witness to the mess he had created in his fury. He needed to get away, just somewhere else other than there. There was one place he thought of, somewhere no one of the order would find him.
"Well, that sure does sound like a lot." The bartender was shaking a drink between two silver cups as he said it, paying only half attention to Tom's story.
Tom looked up weakly at him, "and what would you do if you were me?"
The bartender looked up in thought for a moment, "I suppose if I made a mistake where it ended up hurting people I cared about, I would try my best to make it up to them somehow."
"But I can't do that!" Tom wailed in defeat. "Well, I guess with one of them I can, but the other...it's too late to make it up to them."
"Hmm," the bartender poured the contents into a glass and set it on the table. Shortly after a muscular hairy arm reached around from Tom's side to grab it. "How do you know it's too late? Have you asked them?"
Tom shook his head in shame, "they're…not here anymore. They cut off contact with me."
The bartender dipped his head apologetically at him, "I see." He paused their conversation to serve another hollering customer and Tom stared off into space.
He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to drift off into the scene of the bar. He could hear a group of young men playing pool and while listening to them cheer he felt jealous of their youth and comradery. Just behind him, a woman was bragging to her friend that she could sing better than some celebrity. Yeah, sure you can, Tom thought sarcastically, I'd love to hear it. Just to the right of him, a burly man let out a heavy sigh as he sank into the chair. He assumed it was the same man who ordered the drink. He was speaking to another woman next to him, and Tom couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversation. After a few short exchanges he reached a premature conclusion that they were on a date, or at least he was flirting with her. She didn't sound very interested in him though, and Tom thought it was rather humorous to listen to his failing advances.
"It's just that, I didn't think girls that have your type of hair get degrees like yours, heh," he joked.
"Was that a dumb blond joke?" Tom pictured her raising her brow at him in disgust.
"No!" He stuttered, "more like girls that spend money on hair probably aren't good with the money they make." Dude, you gotta do better than that, Tom wanted to laugh out loud, but the world was still spinning.
"Okay…? Whatever." Her heel clanked against the metal bars of the stool as she got up to leave, but he stopped her. "Hey!"
"Wait a minute, aren't you gonna finish that?" Tom opened one eye to see what was going on, as the context clues weren't enough for him to understand. His vision focused to see one of the man's meaty hands firmly holding onto the girl's arm. She looked visibly unhappy and surprised at his sudden move.
She waved her other hand at him and tried to move her arm away, "no, I have to go."
"But I bought it for you."
"It's getting very late, and my friends are leaving now."
"But-"
"She said she's leaving." Tom held his head up despite his raging headache and turned himself fully to them. At first he was worried he wasn't going to be able to hear him, but when the man flashed him a set of burning eyes he realized he was much louder than he anticipated. He noticed the girl widened her eyes and took the opportunity to free herself from his grasp.
"Excuse me?" The man cocked his head.
Tom struggled to arrange the proper words in a timely manner, but he managed to spit out, "she doesn't want to fuck you, dude. Are you fucking dumb or something?"
Around them, some pairs of eyes had caught wind of what was going on, and Tom scrunched under the weight of their stares. Before saying anything in response, the man slid off of his seat and stood tall against it. It was then Tom realized just how much beefier he was in comparison. At this point in his life, Tom rarely felt emasculated by his height, but at times like these he felt like a much weaker opponent. "You want to say that shit to me again?" Unafraid, Tom got up too. His body wavered on its feet and he had to hold onto the counter with one arm to keep his proper balance. There was no longer any sign of the girl, and he was grateful for that. Regardless of why he spoke up, he thought that maybe this was the beginning of a mistake. Okay, guy wants to fight you. Big strong man that could easily beat you up. What are you gonna do now? The question proved to be rhetorical, as he stood there unresponsive to his enemy, who broke out in laughter. "Yeah, that's what I fucking thought."
Tom growled through gritted teeth and sprang without thinking. He heard a gasp from someone near him and before he knew it, his fist met the man's jaw. Before he could process his impulsive decision, he felt the aching pain of something hitting his back and the cold of the floor on his palms. Blood rushing now, his awareness started to return. Catching up, Tom realized that the man had grabbed him from his shirt and threw him into a barstool, where he collapsed to the floor. Right, determined to finish what he started, Tom rose to his feet. Everyone else had fled from the scene, making a big circle around them so that they wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.
"That's enough! Both of you out of my bar right now!" Tom saw the bartender out of the corner of his eye run around the counter to pursue them. Tom held his head with one arm as the crash totaled its numbers on him. His whole body ached but his fight response kept him upright and as alert as possible.
The man huffed and pointed to Tom, outraged, "he's the one who swung first! Get this fucker away from me!"
Tom only had the chance to scowl at him before the bartender thrusted himself between them. "I said both of you, or I'm calling the police." Tom thought hard about his options. There was continuing to fight, but there was no purpose to that. There was insisting to stay- but the last thing he wanted was the police to get involved. The girl was long gone by now, therefore he had got what he wanted. He decided to take the high ground and leave before anything else could happen. The bar was completely silent until Tom collected himself and brushed past his opponent. Harsh and shocked whispers filled the air like crickets but Tom wanted to hear none of it. Letting the door chime ring behind him, his hair whipped around as a chill gust of wind blew into him. He suppressed a shiver as he started his way back to the order base. It was the only place to go now.
Luckily, no one had followed him out, and he never saw that man again. With chilly hands in his jacket pockets, Tom tried to shield himself from the wind, but the open empty streets made it hard to avoid. The city's curfew was more relaxed than many parts of the country, allowing places like bars and nightclubs to stay open into the early hours. Still, roaming the streets was discouraged, and he felt more alone than ever following the grey and misty channels of road. The clouds blocked out all the stars, and the usual neon glowing city was dark and dreary. Tom thought that if it was just a little more run down, it would be like an apocalypse.
He passed by a few stores he recognized, allies of the order. He considered visiting within the next week, to update those on the current happenings of the order and how there were many dangers to come. As if his thoughts were broadcasted aloud, he heard a clamouring inside a shop he passed. The same shop that he has visited with Matt once, the owners have been radio silent to the order since that day. He peered into the window questionably, and saw a body stirring on the other side. Only a small dim light could be seen under a door frame behind the counter.
Moments later, the door cracked open to reveal the daughter of the owner, skinny and sheepish as always. She pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and looked at him with weary eyes, "it's you, right Tom?"
"Andrea! Yes it's me." Tom was curious why she was even up at this hour, let alone watching the streets to notice his presence. He hasn't seen her or her mother since getting into a scuffle with enforcers, he hoped she wasn't still afraid to be around him after that.
"I have something for you, let me go get it," she said quickly as she scurried back into the store. Tom couldn't help but feel anxious, what could they possibly have for him? Was it order related? No, couldn't be, he thought. It couldn't have been money, as their last meeting concluded that it wasn't possible at that time to provide. Before he could think too deeply about it, Andrea reappeared with an envelope in her hand. She held it out to him.
He took it cautiously and examined it closely. It was a business sized letter, hand sealed. There was no writing on it, and he could feel a tiny rectangular piece inside. "What is this?"
"I assumed you would know…" she looked away awkwardly. "A man with a black hood came in one day and said it was for the BO. I have no idea how he knew we were involved with you, so I assumed it was all a known thing."
Alarm bells flared in his mind and he suddenly felt uncomfortable holding the letter. "No, I don't know anything about this. Did he say anything to you about what it is? Where he was going? Who he was or anything like that?"
"No...he just asked where my mom was and then gave it to me requesting that it ends up in your hands."
"Hm," Tom thought aloud, "how long ago was this?"
"A couple of weeks ago by now. Maybe three?"
"Alright. Well, thank you regardless. It's out of your hands now so don't worry about it."
Andrea nodded and Tom turned away. He began walking and inspecting the letter closer before Andrea called back to him quietly, "my mom's dead by the way, Tom." Utterly shocked, Tom snapped his head back to her. He opened his mouth to question but she cut him off, "they killed her. A few days after you left." She looked like she had more to say but instead she opened the door and disappeared without another word.
Tom stood there speechless. No wonder they've had no contact, it was just her now, and she barely had any involvement in the order. It's just her now, he repeated to himself, she's living by herself in there. There was nothing to do now but keep going, so he turned away and let the news sink in. Why? He thought, what did they do? Is the army really that hot on our trail? Why would they keep Andrea alive? How is the shop still open? Grief and guilt flooded his mind. He felt horrible for her, he had known Andrea since she was still a girl. He considered himself a family friend, or at least someone around often enough to be on a first name basis. He knew her mother Lacey well, and they had a fruitful business relationship. When the laws started hitting harder on small businesses, he was there to support her despite her financial troubles. Then he thought of the last time he spoke with her, how he accused her of betrayal and questioned her loyalty to him. She was being more distant, and their tie was strained, so he felt the need to correct if something was wrong. Only to find out too late that she would pay the price for it in the end. Perhaps she never should have connected with the Blue Order, maybe then she'd still be alive. Why are people suffering all around me? He fought the urge to blame himself, but he couldn't help it.
By the time he arrived back in the order building, he forced his mind to shift his attention back to the letter. He refrained from opening it until he crept into one of the meeting rooms, as his office was too stressful to return to. His experiences that night sobered him enough, so he allowed himself to open it.
Inside were two things; a slip of paper and a thumb drive. Fiddling with the drive between his fingers, he read the simple note, which was printed out text instead of hand written. To the Blue Order, I hope this finds you well. Tom raised an eyebrow at it, well, seems polite enough I guess. He scoped out the overall presentation of the letter, no obvious signs of it being from the army. He had the thought that it could be from Red Leader himself, but Tom knew him better than that. If he wanted to fuck with him, he would make it much more obvious.
Tom pondered this. It most likely was a bad idea to plug this drive into any computer in the base, as it could have some virus or other malware inside. The letter is too plain to see where it came from, it could be someone trying to sabotage them. But then again, this was from a few weeks ago, before the shoot out. As far as he knew, the army didn't know about the order at that time. Therefore, could it be someone trying to help? How did they know about the order in the first place, let alone which businesses they were allied with? Andrea said the person delivering it was asking for Lacey, so they didn't know she got caught. So what level of knowledge are they at?
Tom yawned, and he noticed peeking behind the curtains was the warm red light of the sun rising. Before making any choices, there was someone he knew that was advanced enough to know how to handle this. Quickly, he picked up his phone that was just barely charged enough and made a call.
