Ferryman Trading Co., Sydney
9 May, 2011
20:01—Officer Simmons' Perspective
:-:
It's been hours now, and the lockdown at Ferryman hasn't seen much action. Fortunately, Major Lewis' task force seems to be in one accord now.
Officer Simmons' fear has died down. He's now able to operate accordingly, and not endanger himself or his loved ones. For what it's worth, his confidence has skyrocketed, and his *true* nature as come forth: He's a "no-nonsense" soldier.
It's gotten late… Are those radicals even coming?
—No, wait. It's probably one of "those;" a sneak attack… Better yet, they might have information on us, and are probably waiting for…
…Yeah. That's it. Nightfall… Zombies are weak when the moon is out, so they'll attack when everyone's gone sleepy-bye.
Those smart ass rebels think they can get the slip on us, huh.
"Simmons, how are you holding up?" One of his peers, Officer Donald E. Jones, approaches; a friend and fellow official.
"Doing well, Jones. I'm alright now."
"The major has that effect on people."
"—Yeah, she does.
So, what about you? How's the watch?"
"Boring like all others. But the gang is keeping things lively." Moments like this are normal with these two. They're young, so Simmons and Jones are attracted to activity, which is the norm for most men in their age group.
It's good to have friends on the watch, especially when it drags out like this.
I'm not as social as Jones, so I don't bother with the other watchmen. I'm more concerned about whether or not we'll survive the night. I'll lend them a hand, but I'm not going to stand around and gossip about simple shit.
Jones can get along with anybody. Me, I'm low-key. But I wouldn't knock 'em if they if invited me; I'm nobody's asshole.
"So, I was thinking…about your birthday…"
Simmons is surprised: Jones remembered he'll be turning 24 in a week. And it's very rare that Jones approaches him with something like this.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"—I'm thinking about…doing something for you. I'm not going to lie; I'm no good at this, but that's apparent, right?" Jones' poor party-planning shines, making the two laugh. It's a nice moment in time… It may be their last, so making the best of what little time they have left is a good thing.
"Don't worry, Jones. I'm not looking for much.
Maybe…a sports night with the fam. How does that sound?"
"—like I'm going to school again."
"Really, Jones?"
"What am I supposed to say? You suck at the pins. Strike, strike, strike—I can't keep up with you. You're 'the worst." Simmons wants to sock him one for saying that, but it's all in fun; Jones is just teasing him.
Jones always knows how to make someone laugh. But…this laughter…
—why does it feel like…this'll be our last time?
Their moment is ruined by the activation of Ferryman's intercom. "Attention, attention, faithful watchmen:
Babyface here. I wanted to thank you for your efforts."
The cowardly zombie finally speaks to his protectors.
Major Lewis, Officer Simmons and Jones, and their other task force members, pay close attention to Babyface's announcement.
"You're the best I hear, so I had you employed. You'll earn some serious bank for this, so do your worst out there.
Infinity is sure to send one of their Methuselah units; not an executive official. Those precious little black hoods are *chickenshit*. Powerful they are, but not as much as our lord… So, you stand a chance."
The task force members don't know what to make of this: Babyface is calling Infinity "chickenshit," yet he needed a troop of eight soldiers to protect him from the unexpected. That's a contradiction; one that makes him look stupid. Then again, perhaps this is a means to boost their confidence.
"I'm going to retire to my coffin. I have an 'early-to-bed, early-to-rise' schedule; for obvious reasons, of course.
Whatever you do, *don't* let those radicals enter this building.
See you in the morning, everyone. May God be with you." The zombie deactivates the intercom system, leaving the task force to their duties.
May God be with *us*? Humph. *We're* not the ones hiding in coffins.
"Early-to-bed, early-to rise" my ass. And he has the nerve to call *them* chickenshit? Seriously… Dinner's fucking served with this guy.
"Is this fucker *serious,* Simmons?"
"—He's not making jokes. And if he is, he's bad at it." After hearing Babyface's monologue, it's safe to say that Major Lewis' men have taken on a dull job: Nothing's happening, and their charge is pulling ludicrous stunts, not to mention the strengthening stench of old flesh.
Still, this is a job; one they can't afford to fail.
"I'll return to my post. Keep your head up, Simmons."
"You too, Jones. 'May God be with you'."
A crack from Simmons: A rare occasion, but, when it *does* happen, he always delivers a punch that's sure to make you laugh.
Jones leaves for his post as he said, and it's a good thing he does. In less than two hours, the Highwaymen will dispatch for Sydney.
There's no telling *what* will happen while this moron is asleep. He gets to take a nap, while we're stuck babysitting his sorry ass.
I can't believe I was afraid of this guy… What a joke. I should shoot *myself*.
Ferryman Trading Co., Sydney
9 May, 2011
20:07—Major Lewis' Perspective
:-:
I can't believe what I just heard. What does Babyface think this is?
I'm beginning to think he's not taking this seriously.
The major's patience is wearing thin.
They've been stationed here for hours, and the only thing Babyface has done was give them a desultory pep talk. It was a nice gesture, but the way he spoke…
He made it seem like we're not strong enough to take on a few radicals. I've dealt with Methuselahs before; they're nothing special.
Humans that died and were reanimated as cyborgs… Humph. I'm not impressed.
The major leaves her post, firearm in hand. Her aura is stony, a strong foundation. But such strength crumbles under pressure.
She is a mortal woman, one that can take only so much.
Major Lewis may have survived encounters with Methuselahs, but against an actual nightwalker: This is something she's never done before. Sub-artificial lifeforms are one thing, but the *real deal*... That's a different story.
I talk a lot of shit with these guys, but it's 0 to 100 should we cross someone like Babyface. We'd be the 0; we wouldn't stand a chance.
Machines are machines, but natural-born killers… I *dread* thinking what would happen if the zombie turned on us: Eight bodies added to the obituary section. And after I said those things to Simmons, something like that…
"—It's all a matter of time, but still…" Major Lewis wrestles with thoughts of the unexpected. The possibilities…
—She fears what may come from them.
The major approaches the nearest window to the east, and observes the moon; a sphere of the eeriest blood red.
"…something *terrible* is going to happen tonight."
Something *will* happen indeed, especially when the Blood Moon is concerned.
The universal symbol of the hunt… When a blood moon is high, anything can and will happen. With a setting like this…
—I smell death in the air.
…Huh. Looks like I better warn the others... Seeing this, go time is almost here.