Amos was more than a little angry at Jesse. First that message about staying in Grayling, then he hadn't returned at all. He was officially MIA. Amos could have used him back in Gladstone to gather information and run down leads. Because he was the responsible one, he had to throw money in the fire to go after the boy.
It was unlikely Jesse had died. The area around Grayling was, in all ways, safer than even Ma Royce's farm. Relatively few creatures roamed there. Paramount didn't even come up very often. The price one pays for safety, Amos thought, is knowing that they keep you safe, and all you have to do is not put up a fight when they round you up.
The first thing he did was go to the farm and tell Ma he would find Jesse. She didn't know the half of what actually happened at ARC headquarters. He liked it that way, less trouble for him and more sanity for Ma. As long as she didn't know, she wouldn't pitch a fit about morality.
He also went home and said goodbye to Linda and his boy. "Your Uncle Jesse is in a lot of trouble," he told him.
Amos rode the barge and traveled to Grayling. The local doctor put him to rights about Jesse, said she'd asked him to escort Lionel down south on 75. Neither one had come back, yet. Amos ruminated on the information and visited Stockton. He had a long think about everything in general.
The girl was the root cause of it all. He had tried to help her, and he oughtn't have. You can't pick them all winners, he thought. And Jesse, even if she'd kicked him in tender parts, he knew Jesse was apt to go soft on girls. Especially ones that fought as hard as Celia did.
Amos wished the girl hadn't shown up with that ghoul. He wouldn't mind Jesse running off after her if she didn't travel with such dangerous company. Lionel was rough around the edges, like getting shot with buckshot. The wad shot far and wide, but was concentrated in the middle.
It had been a mistake to keep the ghoul on at ARC. Should have just told him to go home. Should have had Avery watching the girl, too; he would have treated her decent, and not lost his head over her. But Jesse had been so much closer to his age―Amos laughed to himself. Clearly, the girl hadn't cared about age.
Amos read the metal sheet on the mess hall window. "Stockton - Dedicated to the memory of Simon Stockton, who died while establishing safety. Thy remembrance will endure into all generations. March 2, 2153."
Underneath were hastily scratched names in the crumbling mortar. There were so many, he couldn't see them all. "Simon, Darla, ...Mike, ...Joel, Sally, Ida, ...Jack." Almost thirty names, and below them a bloody hand print was dried onto the wall. "Celia," written in blood. "ALL GONE."
Amos sighed. The girl really had doomed them all, and come back to make amends with the memory. If Jesse had gone with the ghoul, or the girl, or both... he should have asked the doctor more about it. Would Jesse have been stupid enough to try to get the people free of Detroit?
Yes, Amos thought. Yes, he would.
Adam danced in his chair, anxiously. The construction going on around him was necessary, but he did not want to leave his throne where it might be destroyed. Burgess didn't understand why he was so twitchy and refused to leave the bower. Adam had ordered the girl to beat him mercilessly, and watched as the tiny man was hit by the skinny girl repeatedly.
It was quite fun until Burgess started fighting back, and Adam was forced to activate the ISD. Burgess' eyes went loose, his head lolled on his shoulders. He collapsed to the floor.
How interesting. A different outcome. Perhaps he needed to test it a bit more―or maybe the problem lay in that Burgess was already been conditioned. If that was the case, activating the ISD array that was being built into the Concourse roof would be a moot point.
Perhaps he oughtn't have destroyed the second piece, either.
Well, thank God he was immune, and that Echo wasn't within range. Burgess twitched on the floor for a moment, and went still, but eventually opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"Stand," Adam said. Burgess stood.
Interesting. Adam did quick math in his head, calculated the range of the array above him. Speakers broadcast the music that he'd chosen, interlaid with the EXILE-8 conditioning program, everywhere in Detroit and through the radio towers. It was barely audible, but a constant friction against the people of the wasteland; even someone without the infrasonic dampener to facilitate control would eventually succumb to the effects. He thumbed the metal again, looking at his Eve.
She smiled pleasantly. She'd stood when he ordered Burgess. It was a problem with individual orders, specific orders. He'd have to work the program to include more exact objectives, rather than a broad set of goals. He growled in frustration. "Go away, Burgess," he said. "Go away and do not come back."
Burgess began walking. Adam stood and scratched the skin on his chest through his robes, feeling the crawling sensation that came when he was uncertain. He disliked the feeling.
"Come along, Eve," he said, "Echo, come. We are not needed here."
Sigma heard the reports, the explosions in Flat Rock and Tower 21 was down. Bradley approached the place with caution, looking out over the area and seeing very little high ground from which they could snipe the terrorists. His duty was still to take down Phaeton, but he could interpret it how he wished.
He'd gone off his conditioning. It was a terrible feeling, knowing he had done so many things that caused anguish. Bradley pushed the memories away, focusing on a more pressing and much more simple solution: Make the present better.
Unfortunately, he still saw a need to get rid of the terrorist. He'd killed quite a few people, seriously maimed others, and spread so much fear that it was virtually impossible to not confront him and remove him from the picture. But Bradley saw use in the future for such a feared person, understood his own desires to rectify what he'd done. To make his amends with his wretched past.
To fix Detroit, there would be more blood. He knew this. He planned for this. "For all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."
Lionel, he thought to himself, was trouble. Bradley had let him go twice. He hadn't expected a campaign of vengeance against an entire city―he'd expected the ghoul to run away again, as he had before. The only thing that had changed was the girl. He chuckled to himself, and knew that whatever had gone on between those two, it was powerful.
"Sir?" Mayer asked.
"Yes, Mayer?"
"I'm... having doubts, about the mission." Mayer shifted his weight and adjusted his grip on his gatling laser.
Bradley nodded, slowly. "I understand, Mayer." He tapped his own head, in fellowship.
Angus scoffed, looking out at the distance through his scope. "First Wade, and now you, Mayer? The hell is going with Sigma?"
Mayer did not respond, not even a jab at the short man. Angus' head snapped around and he studied Mayer. "There is no shame in weakness, Angus," Bradley said. "Sometimes, it's weakness that is our strength. This Phaeton, he does it all for love."
Angus lowered the rifle barrel to his feet and he stared at them both. "What the hell," he demanded, "is this shit?"
"Angus," Bradley warned.
"You've both englished your conditioning!" he exclaimed.
Mayer shook his head. "Angus," he said, sadly, "you've been Sigma for years. Haven't you ever felt that what we've done was jawed?"
Angus stomped over and put himself right into Mayer's face. "Our shots have always been pocketed, no matter what!"
Bradley stepped behind Angus, flanking him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "Angus," he said, quietly.
Mayer sighed in defeat. "Sir?" he asked, looking up at Bradley.
"Regardless of how you, or I, or Angus, feels, we still have a madman out here taking down towers and killing innocent people. That must stop." Bradley released Angus' shoulder. "So, we're going down there, and we will seek out Phaeton."
"Will we be rounding up the others?" Mayer asked.
"We will try to take them alive," Bradley answered.
"This is―absolute bullshit!" Angus said. "Those terrorists have taken down five towers now, killed eighteen of our own people, and are not going to stop!" He shoved a finger in Bradley's face. "Even if we take out the leader, the others will continue their campaign!"
"Angus," Bradley warned, again.
"And you want to take them in, peacefully?" Angus put his arm up and opened his prompt. "With all respect, sir, no fucking way!"
"Dead ball, Mayer!"
Mayer swung the gatling laser up and brought the butt of it down onto Mayer's arm with such force that it knocked him forward, and Bradley pushed him into the ground with a well-placed shove. He landed on his face in the dirt, and Mayer pulled his helmet off. He looked with pain down onto his friend, hating to see the situation.
Bradley put a firm boot against Angus' head. "I do not condone this killing spree," he said, calmly. But I have seen the future of Detroit. It is nothing like the Detroit that we have now, nor the one we should desire."
"Phaeton walks," Mayer said, trembling.
"And the High Ferrule has gone mad," Bradley added. "The very foundation of the world that came before this apocalyptic land was based on freedom. We, at this time, have none."
Angus grunted. "The price we pay," he mumbled, under Bradley's foot.
"Can you?" Mayer asked. "Can you pay with blind obedience? Even I cannot!"
Bradley looked to Mayer. "If you've lost your conviction, you've lost everything," he said.
"Phaeton walks," Mayer said, with more courage behind his words. "The End has come upon us. The High Ferrule took someone from the Sepulchre, willingly allowing her into the Temple."
"She rests at his side," Bradley said. "And he is in possession of an artifact that can force absolute―and I mean absolute―obedience. We have a choice, Angus, because we broke free. We can submit to the desires of a despotic ruler, or we can take back our city and fight against the flow of the current. Is it worth death, to not fight?"
"You're giving up the entirety of Sigma's pride!" Angus said. "Fifty years of peace, fifty years of strength in arms!"
"Fifty years..." Bradley laughed angrily. "Do you know how old I was when the High Ferrule came to power?"
Mayer looked to Bradley, shaking his head.
"I was six years old!" Bradley said, pressing down on his foot and grinding Angus into the ground. "I watched the demons tearing apart the city! The people who were killed―my own family―everyone who was willing to fight―they were the lucky ones!" Emotion filled his voice with rage, a frustration that he'd never been able to feel, or fully understand, before. "And the High Ferrule was the one who led them into the city, who let them destroy the nonbelievers!"
And Bradley lifted his foot from Angus' head. With a well-practiced action, he smashed the man's head into the ground.