Overtime

Justin watched them all push over the side of the rampart and fall to the ground one by one. Loud thuds followed, resounding treacherously into the farthest reaches of the deep-shadowed courtyard. Surprisingly, none of them accrued any injuries. They all got back up and ran to their objective. There was no turning back for them. But there, up high in perfect safety, Justin remained a little longer. He might've considered his precaution cowardly were he still a Marine on active duty, treating his fellow survivors as pawns. But here, all that mattered was survival, especially now. Justin looked around and saw nothing but them scurrying away. There were no hordes of zombies or parasites or shadows rushing closer.

It was as if the alien collective had cleaned the area of life and moved on, maybe further into the factories, or maybe completely out of City 17 for that matter. Maybe they had moved on to bigger and better things—City 18, 19, and beyond. There was no way for Justin to be sure of anything anymore.

Only one thing could be certain now: they were undetected and everyone had safe passage to Admin, where Gibson supposedly holed himself up in.

Justin bent down and swung both his legs over the ledge. He surveyed the flat ground beneath him, rehearsing the fall in his mind over and over. He counted to three.

He jumped.

The fall took longer than he imagined, and this wasn't exactly a good thing as heights always brought out the worst in him.

His feet struck the unforgiving clay first. Instantly, he let his legs give out like an abused rag doll, tucking his whole body in and rolling into the fall like a pro athlete's practiced form. But he timed it just a tad bit off, too much momentum or too obtuse of an angle.

At the end of his tumble, his head smacked the clay hard.

He was dazed from the impact. No enemy in sight, he rested a bit and let the pain overwhelm him, let it throb deep into his skull hoping it would subside in good time. As the last morsel of aching faded away a moment later, he slowly returned to his feet. Ahead, the Admin building loomed in the middle of a clay panorama, the entrance to the mineshaft residing just beyond perception, a shadowed menace in the distance. He took one step forward and then something dreadful happened.

The voice came back.

Normally, Justin would dismiss it. Tune it out. Not this time…

It was louder than a freight train, blocking out everything around him—even the sounds of Ken and Bill doubling back and asking if he was okay.

Justin was disoriented in a voice so loud, that his vision swam in darkness. He reached out for something to grab on to, but he only clutched at heavy air. Realizing there was no attaining balance, he carefully bent down to the ground in the void to avoid falling over. The voice grew louder and louder, crescendoing above all else. But it was nowhere near as violent as the first time. Presently, the deep and timeless rumble was coherent, smooth and calm. Falling to the ground—deafened and blinded by its effortless power—Justin willingly listened in.

Why do the ignorant run?
What is it you truly fear?
If you wish to seek the truth,
Then I will show it to you.

I'll take you through a dark place—
Darker than your wildest fears.
You'll face them, and erase them.
Then, together we will stand.

Give up your life to be free.
It will hurt you only once.
Just imagine the pure bliss...
No more war, no more sadness,
With vic'try everlasting.

The voice altogether vanished as Justin's vision cleared. The last hanging words seemed to subside into the gentle rumble that always lingered in his mind. Justin remained on the ground.

"C'mon!" Ken shouted. "He's not gonna move. You have to help me carry him inside."

"Is the area safe?" Justin heard Chris say.

"Yes!" Bill cried from somewhere far off. "Hurry!"

Too weak to stand, Justin felt his arms being hoisted up over Chris and Ken's shoulders. Justin wasn't sure how long they dragged him, but eventually a pale white light flooded him and glowed right through his closed eyelids. He heard a door slam, and then a series of clicks. Soon after, his body twisted to one side and was lowered onto something very soft and smooth. The many voices of the room faded into one, dull buzz. Feeling no pain, Justin felt his breathing deepen. He went to sleep.

Justin woke up.

Painful white light pierced his retina. He snapped his eyes shut.

Again, he opened them—this time very slowly. He sat up and looked around: he had been placed on a very comfortable couch. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. The overwhelming luminosity subsided along with minute traces of his headache. He confirmed that he was in the lobby of the Admin building and looked to the entrance, seeing it was bolted shut—good. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. Standing up, the very next thing he caught sight of was a tray of snacks on a coffee table at the other end of the lobby. He darted towards them, picking the plate clean as he grabbed as many as he could. He wolfed them down like a crazed animal, now searching for something to wash it down with—preferably something cold. He was about to run to a nearby vending machine and bust it open, but he stopped when he saw a blank television. He bent down and turned it on: nothing. Just snowy static.

Justin made his way to the wall adjoining the entrance. He pushed aside a curtain. Past the barred window was the outer courtyard soaked in black night, compressed by a layer of thick fog overhead. The mercury-vapor lamps high above provided little illumination other than a ghostly-white glow behind the mist. The courtyard was totally barren of activity. And the sound of the room was so quiet that it was deafening. He sat back down and tried to force away the mounting panic.

Was everything he just went through a dream? A terrible dream?

No way in hell, he thought. It was too real.

He looked at the screen one last time, hoping something would come on.

Something stole Justin's attention away. He heard a voice—yelling. Then another, and another. The voices of those he knew.

Justin bolted to the staircase. The voices got louder for each step he ascended.

Once on the second floor, he saw Layla, Bill, Ken, Chris, Joe, and everyone else were milling about the doorway to Gibson's office. Justin proceeded closer. As he got within a few footsteps he could see Kaiser Sergei standing near the door. Joe and Bill parted the way for Justin.

"What the hell are you all doing?" Justin asked. "What are you waiting for? Open the door."

The Kaiser looked back at Justin with an almost imperceptable grin.

"Gibson won't open the door." Ken barked.

"Why?"

"Because Sergei's here."

The Kaiser stood back as Justin asserted his place by the door.

"Gibson! It's Reid. We got your signal. It's safe to come out. They won't hurt you, you have my word!"

A single, well-oiled deadbolt slid out of place from the reinforced door jamb, and the doorway slid open. There was Gibson. He looked wired and weary, sweat dripping off his wrinkled brow with a wily-eyed look aimed directly at Kaiser Sergei. "Keep a leash on him, Reid."

"Don't worry about him," Justin said, looking back at Sergei, "he's not as dumb as he looks."

Everyone, fifteen people in total, stayed within voice range of the second floor. Kaiser posted most of his men downstairs to cover the entrance while he remained upstairs, his most trusted men in close company. For the time being, he lingered in a corner of Gibson's office twirling a thick gold coin up and over his fingers. His men stood post just outside the office. He listened in on what sort of plan Justin was formulating with Gibson.

Justin and Gibson were both standing behind his wide desk. Gibson turned on his desk-mounted monitor and woke up the CCTV surveillance program. They watched the various sectors of the city for undead activity. Nothing much was happening. No new developments. He pressed the channel select upwards, reaching the limit. Tired of waiting for the camera network to auto-cycle, he progressed around the smaller parts of the city via the sub-channel select. Now, instead of broad courtyards and factory floors, the view was of bathrooms, sleeping quarters, mess halls, and the underground facilities. The view was getting stranger the longer Justin watched: the city was barren. Every room. Every hallway. Even the courtyard.

Nothing.

No bodies, no hordes of zombies chasing down crazed workers. No parasites assimilating new hosts. And rarely any evidence of a city-wide massacre, except for spent brass casings and the occasional smear of blood on a wall.

Nothing.

This was because most of the carnage had been displaced.

He continued to cycle through the CCTV network feverishly, the range of channels nearly reaching the end before they would start over again at camera one. He would find something. He tapped the button like the antediluvian technician at an old telegraph repeater station. His must've gone through four dozen channels by now, his index finger fatigued and heavy. And then, he finally saw it.

Gibson nearly gasped.

A dozen zombies were in one of the factory's sub complexes, carrying mangled bodies and chunks of flesh, piling them into a corner of the room. He simply watched in horror and amazement as they went to work—which was probably the most frightening aspect of what he was witnessing—their work: they leisurely stacked the decaying bits of flesh as if it was their most enjoyable pastime, slowly and gracefully carrying on. It was their new home.

"What do you make of all this?" Gibson said, gesturing toward monitor.

"Stockpiling food, maybe." Justin responded.

"Could be…" Gibson trialed off. "Building up strength for the next assault?"

"I don't think they're going anywhere."

"You think they'll stay in City Seventeen?" Gibson asked warily.

"More than likely. There seems to be a great deal of zombies concentrated right here, and the absence of zombies everywhere else says that they've reached some sort of equilibrium. It's like they just suddenly settled in as if they're gonna stay."

"What makes you so certain?"

"If they were hungry for more, they would've moved out by now. They don't tire at all from what I've seen. They could easily move upon other cities, but they haven't as far as I can tell."

"That's not good news for us."

"No shit."

"So then we're stuck riding this one out, eh? Well, this structure is the most capable." Gibson finished with the kind of desperate laugh that most people would find reason to ridicule.

"Have you called for help?"

"Help? You mean from THI?"

"Yeah. The big wigs in orbit."

"No."

"No?"

"I mean...no...I didn't contact them...because the long-haul communications circuits are out. That's why."

Justin cut directly to the point. "How much food is in here?"

"For as many people as we have? I'd say about five days, give or take."

"Then let's hope we don't get greedy."

"God help us all."

Justin scoffed and walked away.

That left Gibson alone with Kaiser Sergei.

Gibson's adrenaline spiked. He thought about calling Justin back. He longed for his protective, reassuring presence, but he supressed that instinct. Instead, the admin remained in testament to his own hearty confidence. He pursed his lips as the Kaiser met his eyes. He kept rolling that coin in between his knuckles the whole time. "…Mind if I have one of your cigars?" he asked with a strange arc of his brow.

Gibson kept a steady eye on Sergei, watched him glance about the room and inspect his possessions. There was no way Sergei couldn't have felt his uneasy eyes darting all over the place as he followed the gaze, everywhere it roamed. "…I don't mind."

The Kaiser shot up, smiling as he neared the desk and reached into a box made of Spanish cedar. An apparatus below it injected vapor upwards, perfectly calibrated to give off just the right amount of humidity for the rare leaves inside. The Kaiser reached in, grabbed a cigar and brought it to bear in front of his nostrils for a deep, savory whiff. His eyes squinted in delight. "Tell me this isn't from Draco III."

"It is."

Sergei produced his lighter, started on the incredibly rare cigar and then instantly began pacing around the room as if a feline bereft of an attention span. He finally came to rest in front of a Cherrywood curio. The entirety of inside paneling was mirrored, reflecting lavish crystal adornments that attested to the glittering pride this admin must've felt for his city and all its accomplishments.

"My, my, you people know how to live well. I always appreciated the finer things. You know, the little comforts."

Sergei looked down at the matching, glass-topped Cherrywood coffee table in the middle of the room with a Sterling silver serving platter resting atop. It gleamed softly in the light. Varieties of imported danish and pastries glistened a rivaling amount. "You won't mind if a famished man steals a few bites." Sergei stated flatly. Without waiting for response, he bent down and set his slow-burning cigar on the table, ashes and all, instantly grabbing a fistful of food from the tray. He stuffed his mouth with two or three, eyes closed and savoring the flavor. "I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat if not for my distaste of THI and their administrators. I believe happiness comes in small doses. Don't you agree?"

Gibson reluctantly met Kaiser Sergei's animalistic stare. "I've always believed in the motto 'Work hard, play hard.'"

The Kaiser scooped up his cigar from the Cherrywood and took a slow drag, smiling contently. He then stepped closer to Gibson, uncomfortably close. "Have you worked hard?"

"I can't see anything with all this fog." Hendricksson grimaced.

"We'll have to wait until daybreak to see anything." Ken said. "That's just the way it is around here."

'So is that the fault of the factories here? Or is it because this planet is so damned cold?"

"…Both."

Joe took a seat on the tarred and shingled roof. "I never got to thank you guys for looking after me. I'd probably be dead right now. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Bill said, his deep voice carrying on into the foggy cold.

"I wonder how the others are getting along." Joe said.

Gibson backed away. "I don't want any trouble with you. There's enough of it out there."

"Really? You know, normally I would believe that but something seems kind of off to me...Call it instinct."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What were you and Reid talking about? Tell me, what cards are up your sleeve?"

"We were just trying to find out where the zombies are gathering up strength. We're trying to either mount an offensive or choke them off. I'm just trying to make it through this like you."

The Kaiser chuckled. "Survival." His laugh made Gibson shudder inside. "Have you been surviving well in here?" Sergei glanced rearward to Gibson's private stock of aged alcohol. "Have the years been as harsh to you as they have to me?"

"I've been holding up."

Sergei raised his brow. "Clearly. So do you think you will survive better than any particular person in here tonight?"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Surely you have some opinion of this new, uncouth alliance Justin's built. I wonder how long and how well it will serve him, and you."

Gibson's eye contact with Sergei momentarily faltered as he searched for a level-headed response. He ran a hand over his buzzed head of hair, the scalp now glistening in the light of his well-adorned office space.

"It will be interesting to see how well we all aid one another in our days together."

"Now there you go!" Sergei grinned and clapped once. "Beautiful, choosing your words carefully. Spoken like a true politician." Sergei's smile evaporated, just the striking, black eyes now his defining feature. "But the playing field is level now, isn't it? These creatures are the debacle of some, and yet a Godsend to others. If I weren't so scared I'd have the mind to go outside and thank them myself. They catalyzed my efforts, oh mighty Mayor of City Seventeen. And surely you knew a day like this would come. You'd look into the eye of common folk and finally see what you've done to the world. Turns out that person is me. Man, of all the people." the Kaiser gave a hearty grin again. "You know it's strange...I never thought I'd ever be here face to face with the administrator of City Seventeen, and sadly I cannot do justice upon this moment as I would've wished."

Gibson shuffled one of his feet back a mere pace in an attempt to mask his true intent: inching closer to the weapon stowed in the desk just aft of him. "Now, don't do anything you'll regret, Sergei. We're all in the same boat from here on out. Taking action against me because I'm the administrator won't do anyone a bit of good."

Sergei narrowed his eyes and nodded at the frightened man, contemplating. He stopped his advance and afforded the wide-eyed admin a little more breathing room. Eyeing the various command & control switches that took up the majority of real estate on Gibson's wide desk, he slowly rounded a plush chair, gently sinking. "Yes, because there's no telling who'll prove the most useful, right?"

Gibson took a deep breath and collected himself. He rounded the corner of the wide, Cherrywood slab, taking the seat on the other side of Kaiser Sergei. "That's exactly right, Kaiser."

"Good. I'm glad we were able to come to an understanding." Sergei took one more drag of the cigar and slowly exhaled, his gaze trained on Gibson like a predator studying escaped prey. He stood back up a moment later. On the way out, he mashed the lit embers of his cigar on the office's Black Walnut paneling. "We'll be in touch."

Kaiser Sergei casually strode across the office and left the room, wisps of smoke following him in his wake.

Gibson tracked Sergei's disappearance until he was completely out of sight. The admin then sighed deeply. He reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out a bottle of single malt Scotch and a sipping glass, calmly pouring two fingers. Taking a nip, he glanced to the monitor anchored on the desk, gingerly setting the beverage down in front of it. Along the right edge of the screen lied various status indicators of a Pelican dropship in center view. Recent operations performed on the bird were completed. It was fueled and ready for flight. While everyone else was in the business of running and hiding, playing Hide & Seek inside the city and across the endless plains, Gibson was gearing up for a different sort of escape. With another satisfactory glance at the vessel, he silently thanked himself for shelling out the credit on the upgrades by finishing off his drink.

Justin descended the stairs and found himself in the lobby floor again. He observed the room. And there, seated on one of the couches was Layla. Justin stood at ease. He could spend an hour just looking at her, the contours of her face resonating deep within his sense of longing for peace and serenity. Her presence on Traxus IX should not have been possible. She shouldn't be here, much like Chris.

She was fair, beautiful. What force could've possibly brought her? A sick and twisted God, Justin surmised.

But that same God so deemed it that she be in Justin's life as well—a little slice of heaven for him. He was both thankful and ashamed at that.

She met his eyes and smiled. "How are you?"

"Fine." Justin said, rubbing the side of his head. "Hurts a little."

"I heard you took a good tumble. Glad you're okay."

"Yeah."

"I never got to thank you for saving me back there."

"You don't have to." Justin replied. "But it looked like you were doing just fine. You hosed them down pretty good with all that fire, you know."

"Yeah." she laughed. "Good old brute force. It never hurts to use it."

Justin smiled, "And a good roast is always nice."

They locked eyes in silence for a moment. And eternal moment, it seemed.

But something broke that blissful silence.

"Reid." Gibson said from the staircase.

The voice inside Justin's mind tickled his conscience. A low rumble. Justin wheeled around to see the administrator. The man was nervous. Beads of sweat clung to the skin of his widow's peaks, glistening bright in the threshold of the lobby.

"What is it?" Justin answered.

"I need to talk to you. Alone."

Justin looked back to her. ."This will only take a minute. I'll be back. Yell if you need me."

Justin spun on a heel and followed the administrator back to the staircase.

Sergei strolled down the hall of the second floor. A cigar in the corner of his mouth and a bottle of brandy in hand—taken from Gibson's private stock—he was happy as a clam for the time being. Though he'd much rather be outside among his men, commanding his legion of criminal-soldiers, helping them take back the empire that was stolen from him so long ago. But there was no possibility of leaving the only shelter available. Far worse killers were on the loose.

Satisfied that all of his most trusted men on the inside of this building would be safe, he decided to take a gander at the governing body of THI's cash crop. This was where the fabled admins and their staff resided. He'd never imagined stepping foot inside the great cities of the world until it was time to officially claim victory over the planet, THI included. He was here strictly on survival needs. Long ago, he chose a different line of work.

Down the hall, a closet door was open—not the way it was earlier. He walked closer for inspection, stepped around and found a young boy standing there with his back to him.

"What are you doing?"

The startled young boy wheeled around. It was Chris.

"Just looking." he said.

"It's dangerous to be all alone."

Chris looked away and shrugged. "We're safe here."

"Not entirely." Sergei stepped closer.

Chris' eyes shot wide as the towering man's silhouette engulfed him. All the boy could do was cringe in horror.

But Sergei merely grabbed a hold of the door knob at Chris' side and gently nudged the boy away. "Better to leave things untouched around here." He closed the door and watched the boy return to normalcy upon his withdrawal. Sergei backpedaled two paces and looked Chris over. "I've been meaning to catch up with you alone."

Chris sighed and eased his stance. "You have?" He glimpsed beyond Sergei and down the hall where Justin and the administrator had emerged from the stairwell, just out of earshot. He saw Justin stopping mid-stride, looking dead at Sergei as Gibson gestured wildly into the air and carried on about something inaudible.

"Yes." he said while leaning his back up against the styrocrete, gazing at the ceiling. "Don't be frightened, child. I am the least of your fears." He took a generous swig of the Brandy, staring off into space.

Chris watched air bubbles race upwards inside the glass. After a hard swallow, Sergei's arm dropped back down to his side, the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

"You know what you should be most afraid of, Chris?"

"The zombies."

"Your own decisions."

Confused, Chris tilted his head.

"You aren't tough enough to go it alone, so you must choose wisely who you'll place your trust in." Sergei corrected. "Your life depends on it. Whose lead will you follow? The preacher? The crooked administrator?"

"I trust Justin. That is who I follow."

"I see. A fine choice for the short term, but will you follow him into Hell? Because I believe that is where he's headed."

"You mean to kill all the zombies?"

"Yes, Hell."

"I think it's better than running and hiding while they get stronger for every minute we sit around."

The man took a drag of the cigar held in his other hand, the eyes losing focus for an instant behind an exhalation of lazy, curling smoke wafting upwards. Chris could tell this man already had a response in store, but for some reason chose to act it out with some present showing of contemplation.

"Normally, I'd agree with such a plan of attack, but we know nothing about these creatures."

"We know that bullets kill them."

"Granted, but we've only just begun to see what they're capable of. You're right about one thing. The longer we wait, the more numbers they will possess. And we've already wasted enough time. It's too far gone now, in my belief. They will move on, you know. To other cities...until they've encompassed the entire planet. Do you really want to stay around for that?"

Chris considered it for a moment, but what alternatives were there? City 17 was their home, was home to everyone here as were other cities around the globe to all others. It wasn't as if anyone could pack up their belongings, board a commercial transport and bail out to another colony. They were stuck. Beached on this far off island in the black ocean of deep-space. They couldn't leave even if the New Model Army allowed them to.

"No other option." Chris said firmly. "Fight to the death."

"If it comes to that."

Chris shrugged.

Sergei's eyes glimmered. "But what if it doesn't have to come to that?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if I told you there's a way off this rock?"

"I'd say you're lying."

"Oh?"

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Then why haven't you left yet?"

"Because I haven't acquired the golden ticket."

"What's the golden ticket?"

"The administrator's Pelican."

"No, that's not possible. You can't leave Traxus Nine in a Pelican."

"And why should it be impossible?" Sergei downed another swift gulp of liquor, keeping a sidelong vigil on Chris.

"Well, how in the hell..." Chris stopped himself mid-thought.

Was he actually debating with the craziest man he'd heard about? Trading words with the worst of the worst? Most people believed he was the root cause of all the world's problems and Chris would certainly take Justin's word at face value, however cruel he seemed at times.

But the man in front was waiting for the rest of Chris' counter-argument, his brow raised, listening intently to what the young boy had to say. And even though the man appeared a shark at first glance, this was the most attention any grown-up had ever paid him. He glanced down the hall, beyond the broad shoulders of this man, searching for Justin. He was nowhere to be seen. After another close look at Sergei, Chris ultimately felt this encounter was of no real consequence to anyone whether this man was the most dangerous warlord or not.

It was just two survivors holed up in a box passing the time. Idle chat.

Chris relented and continued the conversation.

"Too many other variables."

"Such as?"

"First, how would you steal it?"

"Okay, second." Sergei smiled, appearing to have answers ready-made specifically for this occasion.

Chris resumed hesitantly, "...How would you get past the orbital patrols? They'll shoot anything down trying to escape."

"Third."

"Fine, where would you go? There's no colony for light-years in every direction."

"Anything else?"

"No, I guess not. But these are all very serious concerns."

"To answer your first question," Sergei began, "the administrator would willingly give that bird to us because he wants to survive as well, and he'd accommodate certain unsavory characters of the world to make sure of it, yours truly included. To answer your second question, we could easily avoid the orbital patrols because Gibson would be with us. Admin gets a little cabin fever and decides to go topside for a change in scenery. Sure, it'd be a little fishy, but who's gonna question an Admin? Lastly, we can surely make it a few light-years no problem. A little modification to the vessel is needed, that's all."

Again, he raised the bottle of Brandy with utter content outshining from his eyes, swallowing down another gulp, pressing his stare into Chris as if to welcome a rebuke.

"Okay, all good answers and they seem plausible, but you still have a very critical hole in your argument."

"What?"

"Pelican's can't go faster than light."

"What if for us, they can?"

"How in the hell is a Pelican gonna go FTL?!" Chris nearly yelled, his mounting frustration now overt.

"Simple, my lad." Kaiser said, placing a hand on Chris' shoulder. "We have Gibson order a slipspace drive to retrofit into the Pelican."

Chris chuckled smartly and leaned back. "Assuming he could even get a slipspace drive, it would take weeks to arrive here by standard shipping lanes."

"And we could certainly last that long. City Seventeen has all the provisions we need until that shipment arrives. Hell, we could even loosen our belts a notch or two."

"We'd have to secure the entire city first, and that's after we kill everything in it."

"Easily done when we work in cooperation."

Chris then crossed his arms. "We'd have to somehow modify the Pelican to house a slipspace drive."

"That's where Justin comes in."

"Justin?"

"Yeah, Justin."

"Sergei, I don't know how well you know him, or how well you think you know him, but I'm pretty sure he could give a fuck less about what you're thinking of."

"C'mon, kid, surely he can see potential in this. And we all know he's handy with things."

"You're right about one thing. He's pretty resourceful. I'll give you that, but we're talking about an install normally done by a team of people that get paid to do these sorts of things for a living." Chris threw his arms up, trying to gesture futility of hope. "What makes you think we could do it?"

"You ever read Stream Traveler, kid?"

"No."

"Well, I've read a few issues. Slipstream drives aren't that hard to install these days, you just gotta have the money and basic knowledge of electronics. Money's the hard part, but assuming we're a team by now, Gibson could front it and make the transaction via his priority slipspace probe that I know all admins have. And slipspace drives are all modular now. Connect power to a good source, hook up a stable ground, and route a LASER-optimized fiber feed from the NAV computer to the drive and you're golden. Damn things do everything themselves. All you gotta do is have basic hand tools to fasten the damned thing down and you're ready to fly among the stars."

"Do you have any idea how long it would take to build a slipstream-capable Pelican with only one person? Justin wouldn't even know the answer to that!"

"As long as it takes. And besides, is Justin not capable of delegating work to others? We've got all the steel and fabrication equipment one could ask for. Look, it's our only way out, kid. You can throw as many roadblocks at me as you want, I'll just keep responding with work-arounds. I'm an optimist at heart, but even I can see Traxus Nine is done for. There's no more band aids that are going to patch this up. This is huge. This will change everything. Hell, already has. These monsters have taken over and they've announced it quite overtly. Very soon, you will not recognize this world. It's finally time we all left this place and I'm not in the least emotionally tied down to this giant ball of shit. I don't know about you, but I have a pretty good feeling you're just like me."

For the sake of pure conjecture, stemming from the fact that he'd been bored out of his mind prior to this talk, Chris humored Sergei's plan. He thought about it heavily. It was ambitious, risky, crazy, but there was the chance it could actually work. If it was realized, the payout was big. One thing Chris knew for sure: it was an all-or-nothing endeavor. The one question lingering in his mind was...

Would everyone be able to work together?

Justin followed Gibson's lead up a short flight of steps to the second floor. He wished Gibson would have left him just a little more time there in the lobby. Once Layla was on his mind, he needed more of her. The abrupt change was a nuissance that Justin couldn't find a culprit for. Maybe it was his own plight; he needed relief and surely Layla was his only cure. Maybe it was the plight of Gibson's helplessness, the shared plight of everyone here, everyone weighing him down like baggage. The plight of the whole, helpless world.

The two stepped across the hall and made their way towards Gibson's office for another sort of impromptu meeting. Before they entered, Justin caught sight of Sergei further down the hall conversing with Chris, just barely out of voice range. His cohorts weren't too far away either, eyeing Justin cunningly, the goons keen to ensure the Kaiser had no uninvited guests. Justin began to move towards them, but he was halted by a firm hand from Gibson. He looked back at the admin and glared.

"Please, Justin. This is more important than the boy." The admin very briefly made eye contact down the hall with Sergei before stepping into his office. Justin played nice, took his attention off of the Kaiser and followed Gibson inside.

"Please close the door behind you."

The Ex-Marine sat down in a chair directly in front of Gibson's desk while the owner of the office and city chose to perch himself atop its wide surface.

The fat tissue of Gibson's thighs overhung the edge of the hard wood a slight amount as he brought his hands to his lap with interlocked fingers. "I feel like we're clutching at straws here. What sort of plan have you got?"

"Isn't it obvious? When our food and water runs out, we're gonna need to look for more."

"It's gonna be a lot more dangerous out there now with those things running around unchecked, especially with none of you having any ammunition."

"That's a risk we'll be forced to take.'

"And more still…"

"Like what, no cigars and brandy anymore?"

"Like Kaiser Sergei tagging along with us. The man wants to kill me, Reid. I'm afraid for my life." Gibson ran both hands over his glistening scalp.

"I'll keep him off your back."

"That's not very much reassurance. I'm arguably the most hated man on the planet. His minions will probably take a stab at me before he does."

"True, but it's in his interest not to kill you unless he's positive you're of no more use to him. And he's got a tight hold over his men, too. Trust me on that."

Gibson sighed. Excess tissue over his sternum began to droop as if to accessorize the frown on his face. "All the same, we can't just pack up and take our show on the road with him in company."

"He wouldn't be stupid enough to try something. The more survivors, the better. He knows that. We just need more supplies and more mobility to keep hopes up. We need to be able to move around the city freely, especially to the dining facility. We need to secure that area or else we won't even be able to sustain our own bodies. And most importantly," Justin finished with uncharacteristic urgency in his voice, "we need ammo."

"You're preaching to the choir. Look, I can help us do all that. I have the blueprints that no one else knows about. I know shortcuts and I know where items of interest are. We can make this happen. But I need your word that you'll keep an eye on me."

"Fine. But now I want something from you."

"Name it."

"Your Pelican."

"You're crazy. That's company property, not mine."

"Does that really matter now? We've been invaded by an alien force that doesn't care about death. It just wants to turn every person into one of them. To be able to move around by air is about the best thing we could leverage in our favor."

"You're right."

"Good. As soon as we get our act together, get food and water and more firepower, we're gonna make a break for your Pelican so we can get the fuck out of City Seventeen."

Justin sat back in the chair and marveled at the simplicity of his plan. Simple was good. Simple invited very little complications. He was confident they would once again have the upper hand against the growing alien threat. Once that was settled, he would then begin to deal with the prospect of handling Kaiser Sergei. All in all, it was solid.

…But Gibson didn't seem to think so. His face was wracked with worry as Justin sank deeper in the plush leather.

"What's wrong with the plan?" Justin asked.

Gibson was somewhere else in his mind, unresponsive.

A moment later: "Nothing's wrong." he said. "Your argument is sound. We'll leave in four days. This way, we can take our last rations with us in case we encounter delays."

"Are you sure? You had a strange look just then. We're gonna need one-hundred percent cooperation from each other. If you have a concern, you need to tell me."

"No, n-no concerns. It's the best option I've heard so far."

"Gibson, where's your staff at? I haven't seen anyone else."

"Sent them all on errands right before those things showed up."

"Got any tabs on them?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"I see."

"All I can do is hope they're surviving."

"Okay, that's that. I'm going back downstairs."

Justin got up and walked out the door with not even the slightest notion in his mind that Gibson was holding something back. Perhaps he trusted the admin too much.

"Why are you telling me about all this?" Chris asked.

"Because you're still innocent." Sergei said. "Justin and the others, I have to watch out for. Gibson especially. It's all politics with people like him. He'll discredit others just to credit himself, like status and reputation actually still means anything in this forsaken world. Gibson is so ate up about being an administrator it's disgusting. He's a pure company man. He's in bed with the Traxus Heavy Industries and cares for nothing more than quarterly profits, certainly hates me. I can't tell him about my plan, no, he'd shoot it down simply because of who I am. I can't tell Justin either because he obviously wants to suicide-charge these creatures head-on. And the others are worthless."

"You mean Ken, Bill and Hendricksson?"

"Yes. Everyone here is so set in their own ways that they couldn't possibly hear me out. They're blinded by convictions that have miraculously gotten them through life. You've got the preacher living with his eyes closed, who only sees the good in things even if it means his life. Then you've got some down-on-his-luck soldier who is loyal to some code of honor that no one but him abides by. And then there is Ken, who is too afraid to even know what he believes…

"Whereas you…you will listen to reason just like you are listening to me right now. You're still young and unbiased, and can actually look at this situation objectively."

Chris felt his blood temperature rise a degree. Sergei had everyone figured out.

"How can you possibly know all this? You haven't even known us for two hours."

"Because I know people, boy."

"Or you know how to manipulate."

"Sometimes manipulation is the very definition of survival."

Chris glared up at him.

"…Is it really so hard to believe? Governments have been doing it for centuries. People do it everyday. If you can honestly look back on your life from this moment and tell me you've never socially engineered your way to betterment, then I will speak no more of this matter ever again. That's what I thought. Being human means struggling for one's own power. It is taken from you and you take it back again and again. You have not experienced much yet, so it is hard to take in. Your surroundings are not black and white." Sergei chuckled. "And surely you know by now that THI is an evil corporation. Need I express my beliefs any further? I genuinely dislike talking down to kids."

Chris' mouth dropped. Every preconception he had of this villain was starting to lose substance. Everything Justin and the others had engrained into Chris' understanding of Sergei was eroding away. He was at a pure loss for words, Sergei clearly having the intellectual upper hand. Chris suddenly realized he was way out of his league. Justin would say something to the tune of Just turn away and don't look back, if he were here. But Justin wasn't here, and Chris was transfixed on Sergei's ability to reason with him rationally. He was making more sense than anyone Chris had encountered so far. It wasn't hard to see what he was driving at. In fact, it was easy.

"Look Chris," he resumed, "you seem like a smart guy. You've survived this long. You know a thing or two about your surroundings and how to keep a cool head. Don't lose those qualities now, it's your meal ticket. Think about this carefully. If you want to go risking your life killing those creatures, you go right ahead and follow Justin to that end. I'm sure you'll be fine in his capable hands. But you'd have to be the fool of the cosmos not to seize the unique opportunity in front of us! We can actually use these parasites as an excuse to leave this place. With the right words, this loathsome administrator can be convinced that there is no victory to be had on this planet anymore. There'll be no more money because we'll all be dead. He'll understand it better if you put it in his terms. What has transpired here in the last few hours alone should be reason enough for him to at least consider. But like I said, people like him are set in their own ways. We have to break them all of their indoctrinated logic. But Justin is the key; start with Justin. If we turn him, we turn Gibson. If you can help me accomplish this, not only will we survive this infestation, we'll be off Traxus Nine too. Consider me your long-term investment. Just give me a chance, and I promise you we'll be laughing about this whole thing on some tropical island with bikini-clad women feeding us grapes and massaging our tallywhacks. But it is all up to you. You are the lynchpin of this plan, the only sane plan put on the table so far."

"So you want me to be the delivery boy."

"Yes. They will listen to you."

"You think I'm young and gullible."

"No, no, no. You've got to undo what everyone else has told you about me. I'm not the bad guy in this situation. Has anything I've said to you seemed deceitful? Malicious? Or does it seem worthwhile? I am not trying to swindle you, Chris. If that were my intent, I'd be turning you against everyone. And a guy like you would be smart enough to see through that right away. I'm simply putting forth ideas on how to not only survive, but on how to get the hell off this ghost planet. No one is putting a gun to your head. That's not the way people should work together. Seriously, take your time and think about this idea. When you're ready, start putting it out there. Just don't let any of them associate my name with it or it'll just wind up being a lost cause."

"I know about your past, you know. I know what you've done."

"You think you know about me? You have a fraction of an idea. You've got their side of the story and that's fine, but let me tell you, boy...no one is innocent. We're all just rats in the same cage both here and out there. We prosper any which way we can, yes? That, Chris, is where our innocence lies. You see, like you I was dealt a lousy hand from the beginning."

Chris felt his jaw go slack again, but he kept his cool and kept a straight face.

This man, this Kaiser, was far more adept at reading people than he was. Chris couldn't come up with words to say, simply for the fact that he was in total agreement with nearly everything spoken thus far. The rationale of this plan was compelling, but now there was something more. Something Chris could never have seen or felt prior to this conversation. He had a piece of Sergei's past now. A similarity, a common trait.

He was now, to at least some small degree, sympathetic to both the man and the plan. Chris didn't want to readily agree with him, though—fearing it would appear as though he'd concede defeat in such an argument (and it was an argument), but listening to Sergei was beginning to feel more right than wrong. The only thing strange to the boy at this point was the fact that Sergei had turned his opinions so quickly.

Chris stared at him momentarily. Sergei's face was level and true.

The boy nodded and slowly turned away.

At the threshold to the stairwell, he looked back and regarded Kaiser Sergei one last time before descending. He still wasn't entirely sure if it was wise to pay mind to him, however genuine he appeared. Foregoing the fact that he just traded wits with the most dangerous man he'd ever heard of, he knew the idea could work if only everyone else could see the logic in it. But even if there was consensus, this meant everyone had to be in cooperation with one another as they put together the nuts and bolts of such an operation. That was asking a lot. Bad blood had accumulated over the years.

After another moment's thought, Chris went downstairs to the lobby to get some food.

He had a lot to think about now.