Alive
Book 2
Pt21
1
The first attack destroyed a Cybertronics outlet in the heart of leisurely commerce and distraction. It was also the quasi-legal playground of the areas underworld elite, of which Drevin Olmier was the unofficial head. But David had no idea yet how, or even if, he was involved. The explosion was being blamed on some kind of faulty equipment failure, the news alert had claimed. But David knew better. It had killed two people and wounded a dozen others, as well as taking a good chunk of a small Rouge City cul de sac with it.
But that was only the first attack. The second would come quickly afterward, but it would go unnoticed by anyone who didn't know what they were looking for.
David did.
He could have stayed in the safety of his Stratocruiser and followed the news feeds. He could have sought refuge back home, as was his original plan. But something made him come. Perhaps it was the certainty that the news would not tell the whole story; that he had to find a witness for himself. But more likely it was that nagging Orga intuition again, telling him that he must see it for himself. So he raced for the city, skirting the waterline to make himself invisible. He hid his craft in the shadows of the dock and made his way up the winding subsurface staircases and into the plaza.
Large holographs floated above the walkways, displaying the smiling face of a generic blond Sheila. She was speaking warmly, telling the patrons of Rouge that their patronage was appreciated, and that all was under control; to please continue their shopping and festivities and let the police continue their investigation undisturbed.
"Let me assure you," the Shiela-graph said "There is no danger. Police have all under control. And don't forget tonight at the Nexus One, 'The Tupac Experience' revives the golden days of hip-hop! Tickets now on sale at Nexus Online"
Most people seemed to be taking her advice, going about their business as if nothing had happened. A few girls nearby chattered excitedly as they purchased tickets, the small holo of a long dead rap star floating above their pods. But David noticed a large crowd at the far end of the walkway, pressed against a glowing police barricade. He made his way in that direction to find them gazing quietly, almost somberly, at the destruction beyond. He hunched his shoulders to obscure his face as he rushed into the throng to get a better look. He took a place among the gathering, perplexed by their odd silence.
He had expected to find scenes of horror and confusion, people rushing to and fro as harried troopers took excited testimonies, and searched the premises for witnesses and suspects. But there was none of that. It was as if the people were watching a busker, or some silent procession of mourners.
Beyond the humming holographic barricade bearing the words, "DO NOT CROSS" , State Troopers were gathered around a grim looking group of investigators in the cul de sac where the explosion took place. David remembered that area. He'd taken refuge in a store there many years ago, in order to hide from the prying eyes of some drunken gawkers who'd noticed his similarity to the little robot in the display window. The window was gone now. All that remained was a blackened hole leading to a charred display. Shattered glass glittered on the walkway before the ruin. Pieces of his digital brethren were strewn around the pavilion, their splintered metallic skeletons protruded from torn flesh, shimmering in the morning sun. And beyond them, in the doorway to Ye Olde Sim Shoppe, crimson stains were already blackening on the asphalt. The ambulances must have already taken the Orga bodies away.
Who were they? Were they customers? Or had they worked at the store? More importantly, who was behind this?
"What happened?" David said to anyone. No one answered. They were all consumed in the spectacle. Or perhaps they had not heard him over the sound of police copters and the Shiela holograph's repeated mantra that nothing was wrong.
"Did anyone see what happened?" he said louder, searching the faces for any response.
Someone turned finally, a dark skinned girl, in a stylish black overcoat and reflective sunglasses. Her hair was pressed tightly under a form fitting cap. She looked young, maybe his age, but David couldn't really tell. The girl looked at David wordlessly for a moment before turning away again.
"Was it a bomb?" David said to her. But she continued to ignore him.
"Sure, it was a bomb," said an older man who was standing in front of David. The man turned with a snide expression on his face and the odor of some sweet liqueur on his lips. David quickly understood he was being sarcastic. "C'mon," the man said, with a chuckle. "If it was a bomb the cops would have cleared the whole damned place, stupid kid. Just some kind'a accident… I mean, probably."
The girl in the sunglasses glanced at the man with a snide expression of her own. And that's when David realized he'd seen her before. Something about that sarcastic smile. He knew it…. but from where?
"Everybody's an expert," she mumbled, crossing her arms. The drunken man flashed a glare in her direction. But her comment had been so cryptic he didn't seem to know what to say.
"What?" the man said defensively, teetering a bit in his intoxication. "What's that mean? That's what they do when there's a bomb, right? Clear everybody out?"
"Why you asking me?" the girl replied quickly. "You the damn Dr. Know, right? Why don't you set us all straight on the subject."
The man glared at her a minute before waving his hand at her like he was swatting away a fly.
"What the hell do you know, anyway?" he said, a drunken waver in his voice.
"I know you can't handle your booze," the girl responded without looking at him. Some of the people nearby couldn't help but laugh at this interaction. The man bristled.
"Hey, little girl" he started, "I don't know what's your damned prob…" but he was interrupted when David was suddenly certain her knew her.
"I know you!" he said, pushing his way past the drunk. The man barked a complaint but said nothing more, apparently happy to find a way out of the confrontation with the weird girl in the glasses.
"You work there, don't you?" David said with a smile of recognition, as he took a place next to the girl. "The Sim Shop, I mean. Didn't you work…"
But he stopped himself. No that wasn't it, he realized, as he searched his memory of that night so long ago. This girl looked different, had a dark complexion. But that smile. And that voice. "I'm sorry," he said, when she didn't reply. "It's just that you look… familiar."
She was staring back a David, scrutinizing him with a cautious frown. Did she recognize him from somewhere too? He couldn't be sure, couldn't read her expression behind her mirrored glasses. But he clearly saw when something flashed across her features, a quick flinch of surprise, as she scanned him. Then she started backing into the crowd, away from him.
"Wait, wait," David said stepping quickly after her. "I know you!"
The girl turned suddenly, and rushed off, hunching her shoulders as if she was trying to hide her face. David rushed after her, apologizing as he shoved his way through the crowd. He was catching up to her, but just as the girl was passing behind a group of chattering women a few yards ahead of him, David saw something he did not at first understand. Her coat seemed to be … changing color? The glossy black fabric seemed to be shifting into another shade as she changed direction and moved around the group of woman.
'What?' David said to himself. He slowed and watched as a figure came out on the other side of the group. But this person was wearing a red coat and walking in a slow gait, as if they'd just come out of a cafe. Was it the same girl?
David knew what he'd seen was real. His first thought was she had to be Mecha. But something came to him just as quickly; a memory. There had been a color-fluid clothing line called Chameleon Thread, that had a short popularity many years ago. But the trend had quickly died when the chemical agents used to affect the change, chemicals that had no effect on Mecha, had been linked to odd skin rashes in people. The company had denied any linkage, but the ailment disappeared as soon as the trend died down. And in the end it had been considered a little corny anyway; seen as something that was worn by people who were trying too hard to stand out; too hard to be special. Even Frill, in all his extravagance had thought it was a bit too much. So David knew what he'd seen was real. Just unexpected. He was sure it was the same girl, and somehow sure she was Orga.
He started stepping after the lady in red, hoping she wouldn't change colors again, trying to look nonchalant as he followed, to let her think she'd fooled him.
But that's when he noticed the second attack, the one that everyone else was missing. The one he should have assumed was coming and that must have been planned all along.
2
A boy was walking among the crowd; he looked about 14, an obvious crash jam kid, clad in black jeans, a plaid wool work shirt, and flat black boots; hair shaved in jigsaw patterns. Small metallic protuberances jutted from his forehead like the budding horns of a baby devil. Baby devil. Yeah, that's what he looked like. Cute and dangerous.
The boy seemed to be intoxicated, or was feigning intoxication more likely, bumping into every person he passed.
"Ooooops," the play-drunk boy exclaimed in an exaggerated apology, as he made his way past the spectators, bumping into each one. "Sorry, man, sorry," he said laughing as he was pushed away by one person only to stumble his way into another.
David knew what the kid was doing. He'd played the same game numerous times. He glanced to and fro, trying to decide if he should pursue the strange girl that he was sure he knew, or the baby devil, who he was certain was placing snoopers. The boy was right in front of David ; oblivious to the fact he'd been spotted by someone who knew what he was up to, while the girl was already losing herself in the crowd, hurrying quickly away into another group of people. And by the time he caught up, there'd be no telling what color her coat would be. And maybe it could change shape too.
David blew a frustrated hiss between his teeth. He was certain he'd known her from somewhere. But the boy was planting dangerous spyware, and David was sure he wasn't alone. There had to be a crew.
Circumstance had already made the decision for him. He turned and followed the crash jammer, whispering to each person he passed that they should drop by the snoop scanner before they left the city. It was a service Rouge City started offering after the attack on the Nexus and the riot that had followed. Not that it would do them much good; not if the boy was planting the same things he'd found in Manhattan. They were impervious to standard scanners. But he didn't have time to explain all that. He just gave them fair warning. Most of them would probably think him some smart-ass kid and ignore the advice, anyway.
He tagged along at a fair distance, but always had the boy in sight. Imagine the nerve it took to pull a job like this in broad daylight, he thought. Back when he ran with Sy they had never even considered working Rouge City. Not without permission. If the boy hadn't been caught yet, that would mean that Olmier had given this job his grace. Was he behind the blast too? The thought gave David some dark comfort. If it was just a distraction, a ploy gone wrong perhaps, that might mean 101 had nothing to do with it. But even as David's troubled thoughts embraced this dubiously comforting possibility, his rational mind scoffed it off. There was no way this wasn't connected to 101.
Baby devil slowly worked his way to the edge of the crowd, pulling his routine of bumping into people and pulling away with mocking laughter. David noticed that he was being more select than it seemed at first. He was sizing people up, it seemed, checking out their age, what kind of clothing they wore, how expensive their shoes were. He must have been looking for people who were likely to own their own service Mecha. That had to be it. That's what the spiders in Manhattan had been after. He had to be stopped.
The boy moved into an area where people weren't watching the troopers work. They were walking past, on their way to clubs and stores, unaware or unconcerned that a blast had killed two people just around the corner. And now the kid suddenly stopped his drunken act and broke into a purposeful strut, towards an exit to the parking structure. Large yellow tape bearing the words "CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION", had been plastered to the exit. But the boy didn't even pause as he opened one of the big doors and made his way inside without looking back.
David let the kid get through the doorway, before he broke through the crowd and followed quickly. He caught the door just before it closed, fearing that it might lock him out. He glanced around before he opened it again; to make sure he wasn't being followed. Then he slipped into the dark hallway.
3
The lights from the plaza died as the door clicked shut behind him. Only the muffled sounds of the crowd outside made its way through the heavy door; the faint chitter-chatter of passersby and the rhythmic drone of the music which had taken the place of the Sheila's monotonous advertisements.
When David eyes finally adjusted, he saw that the hallway lamps had been turned off, leaving him in black shadows. This confirmed his suspicion that this was an inside job. If this was truly a closed exit route, the boy could not have been able to get inside so easily. There would be security lamps and alarms going off. Olmier had to be involved. Or somebody who was equally connected to the management of the city.
With a start he realized he'd left the neutralizer in the Strocruiser. He swore to himself under his breath. He'd been afraid he might trigger an alarm in the plaza. It was a logical assumption. After an event like this, such security procedures would not be out of the question. For a brief moment he considered going back; going to retrieve his weapon. He had no idea what might lie ahead. But the baby devil was getting away, and the boy might be his only chance to find out what was going on. By the time he got back from retrieving his neutralizer, the crew could be gone. He'd have to chance it.
David stepped into the darkness, making his way by the dim glow from slivers of light that broke though imperfect seams in the door and reflected off the slick concrete. He paused, listening for the sound of retreating footsteps. But there was nothing. So he moved further into the abandoned structure, to the point where a stairway descended down to the level where cruisers would usually be parked. This was the only way the kid could have gone.
David peeked over the handrail. He saw light down there. Daylight. Must be coming through air vents. And did he hear whispers coming up the empty stairwell? Or was that just traces of the voices in the plaza? He couldn't be sure. He took another step.
Then it happened.
David's reactions were fast, but not fast enough to avoid the attack from behind. He heard the slam of boots rushing from the corner near the doorway, the place he'd just been standing while his eyes adjusted to the dark. He turned just in time to catch a blow to the face. Down he went, tumbling down the stairwell to land with a grunt on the first level. Fortunately for him, city management had been sued years ago, when a small girl had slipped and hit her head against a cement step; so they'd covered all the stairs in a protective layer of synthetic rubber. If not, David's fight would have already been over.
He rose to his feet instantly, and into an automatic stance, ready to plant a roundhouse in the face of the shape that was racing down the stairs toward him. But as he twisted into the kick, his ankle flared with a sudden sharp pain. He'd moved too fast! Put too much weight on his leg!
David was forced to fall back into a defensive position, and could only block against the assault as the CJ he'd named baby devil, pelted him with fast punches.
"Why you followin' me? Huh?" the baby devil yelled, spittle flying, punching madly as David tried to step away, his sprained ankle seething. "What you want, huh?"
A blow caught David's chin, hard enough to hurt but not enough to daze him. The punch allowed him to get hold of the kid's wrist and trap it in a judo lock. He then dropped heavily to his knees, bringing the kid down hard on top of him. David snapped his head back, and felt his skull connect firmly with the kids chin. The boy let out a surprised cry of pain, a warbling "naaghh!" as he jumped away. David tried to push himself off the floor, but his ankle flared and he fell back against the wall.
That's when he saw the others. He'd been surrounded.
4
They must have been on the lower level waiting for the last of their tagging crew. They must have heard the scuffle; heard their CJ brother yelling at whoever had followed him. Now they were standing silently on the steps, looking at David with suspicion and malevolence.
These were no ordinary CJs, David realized. They were grim and resolute. They wore augments on their skin, knuckle shields, and metal shields on the temples. These were true believers, David realized. Johnson's Army. Flesh For Flesh.
A couple of them must have rush past the fight, when David wasn't looking, and were now standing between he and his only escape route. The baby devil was crumpled in the stairs, cradling his now bleeding mouth, moaning and breathing heavily as he glared at David with unbridled hatred.
"Don jush stan dere!" the boy yelled, his words slurred by his swelling jaw and lips. "Kill de muva shucker! Kill hin!"
"Quit your whimpering!" commanded another voice; a low, calm voice. David turned to see a tall CJ ascending the stairs slowly. The others moved aside to let him pass. He carried himself an air of self-assurance, and walked in a slow confident gait. Step by step; in no hurry it seemed. The place was crawling with cops, but that didn't seem to faze him a bit. As the tall boy reached the top and leaned against the wall, David noticed the metallic implants on his knuckles and the scars of old battles on his face. He knew this one! He'd seen him just the night before, standing guard at Animal's place. With all that had happened since then, it seemed like ages ago already; like another chapter from his life.
"Flesh for flesh," David said, gritting his teeth against the pain in his throbbing ankle. The others seemed surprised by this. They turned to the tall CJ, who must have been in charge of this crew. But he didn't seem impressed by David's knowledge of the words. He looked David over for a moment, his face unreadable, and then turned his attention to the baby devil, who was now sitting on the stairs, mewling like a kitten and nursing his swollen jaw.
"That sound is startin' to annoy me," the tall CJ said. The boy with the baby horns and jigsaw hair, silenced his whimpering. But his hateful eyes never left David.
"What're you doin' here?" the tall CJ said to David.
"I could ask you the same thing," David replied. "What the hell are you doing running scams after a disaster? That's pretty low hanging fruit, ya think? Who put you up to this one?"
The tall boy sucked his teeth and looked away. He sighed long, like a bad impersonation of a mob boss in some 20th century noir. But when he turned his gaze back on David, he was all business.
"What we're doing is no longer your damned business," he said. "You're out of the loop now. Put yourself out of the loop." He adjusted his weight to the other hip and gave David a menacing smile. "I'll admit you had us all gong with that 'boy from between' bullshit. Even had Animal convinced. But word came down that you ain't who you said. And that means we get to play this out however we please."
"Word came down from who?" David said. "Do you even know what you're getting yourself into? This isn't just another scam, kid."
"I ain't no kid, punk. I been in the game since I was in diapers!"
I never wore diapers, David thought.
"This is terrorism!" is what he yelled though. "What you're involved in is terrorism. People died out there!"
The tall boy widened his eyes and glanced around at his crew.
"Oh my," he said in mock shock and concern. The CJs all laughed, and that sound sent a shiver up David's spine. These were true believers, alright. This was the core of the cult. The warriors. They cared as little for Orga life as they cared for the Mecha they routinely pummeling into rubble.
And Animal, he thought…. Animal was one of them.
"All is fair in love and war," the CJ leader said. And the look in his eyes let David know he really believed that.
5
It began long before the Nanofighter ruse; this conflict between Flesh and Fiber. Long before Lord Johnson Johnson's Flesh Faires, or the duplicitous Trinary Directive conspiracy and its rogue mastermind, 101. Long before even David's creator Alan Hobby had been born, the world was already too small for two masters.
This war had an inauspicious beginning, one that none would remember except perhaps those who, like David, spent their idle time perusing the annals of Orga history, searching for some thread that might give meaning to the turbulence that had ever rocked the currents of society, spawning waves of strife and warring empires.
Her name was Eva, according to the article David had found buried in the pages of an old 21st century tech journal one boring night; years before his current troubles. She had been giving a lecture. It was the dawn of a new age, she'd explained to a rapt audience of engineers and enthusiasts. This was to be an age of promise and dreams fulfilled; an age when mankind could relax after millennia of striving and pain. The yoke of daily labor would be lifted from humanity's back as their mind children grew to maturity. In this new age, mankind would enjoy lives of leisure and escape, while the ever complex machinery of civilization toiled at their behest.
Artificial Intelligence had arrived, Eva had claimed. They would be driving the vehicles. Flying the aircraft. Growing the food and fighting the seemingly ceaseless wars that humanity could never seem to avoid. Eva had concluded her presentation to a rousing applause.
But not everyone in the room was so enthusiastic. One of them was not happy at all, as a matter of fact.
His name was Robert Manning. He was just 19 at the time of the article; the only child of a Mr. Devin Manning of Lancaster, California. The senior Manning had made his living as a Long Haul trucker; one of the few occupations that corporate America had not found a way to export to a cheaper labor market.
One night, about two months before the encounter between Eva and Robert that was detailed in the article, Devin Manning told his wife he was stepping out for a drink. Instead he'd wound up sitting in his car for an hour or so before putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. This happened about a week after being informed that he was no longer needed. He'd been replaced by a driverless vehicle. As had most of the people in his line of work.
The article recounted how, after Eva had finished her presentation, she'd left the stage to greet members of the audience. That's when young Robert Manning had stepped up, smiling, and promptly shot her in the face.
It was a homemade weapon, a 3D printed pistol that was plastic and so unnoticed by the metal detectors, and small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. The projectile itself was made of high impact polystyrene that he had shaped into a bullet and then carefully scribed his father's name on the tip. The gun used a plastic blast cap that exploded with enough force to shatter the weapon in Robert's hand, but also propelled the bullet right through the Eva's cranium.
It didn't really kill her, of course. Because Eva was never really alive. But the damage was extensive and she would have to be quickly replaced. Her handlers had two more presentations planned for the following day. Fortunately they had a couple of backups.
Robert was arrested and later sentenced to 2 years in a minimum security facility. He was also forced to undergo psychological examination. David had never found anything more about the fate of Robert Manning, whose misplaced act of vengeance was to be the first blow struck in a war that was only now coming to a head.
Laws would eventually be passed to protect the Orga workforce from automatization. And a social rebellion would assure that civil positions like Police and public servants were reserved for Orga only. Until the day money was no longer necessary to survive, jobs were to be protected.
But even that would not be enough to stave off the confrontation.
They were made too many, too smart and too quick.
6
"Do you know what he is?" David said. "101? Do you know anything about him… about IT?"
The tall CJ smirked and shook his head.
"Oh, not this again," he said with a laugh. "Yeah, I heard it before. 101 is really a rogue spy bot that escaped from Cybertronics. Tell me another one." He laughed and the rest of the crew joined it. Then he leaned down close to David, so close that his breath was in David face when he whispered.
"But you know, the truth is," he said "I really don't care either way. If he be flesh or fiber, don't matter in the end. What matters is he is on the right side of the war. And you is on the wrong."
David's face suddenly stung. The slap had been so quick that he hadn't noticed it coming. He lashed out with his good foot but the tall boy was already stepping away, and his kick landed on nothing.
"He's all yours," the leader said to the baby devil. "Make it quick so we can get the hell out of here."
Baby devil stood, still cupping his jaw, and starting moving toward David. One of the other boys reached out and passed something to the kid. He looked at whatever it was for a moment, and then took it with a malicious smile. David heard a metallic snick, saw the faint glint of a blade in the gloom.
A knife!
David shifted his position. All he had was his good foot to fight with. He pressed back against the wall, knowing this wasn't going to work. He was outnumbered, and trapped. He steadied his breathing and prepared for the fight of his life as the baby devil closed in on him.
"A real man would use his hands," said the tall CJ, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Or his feet, if need be. I mean, look at him. He's nothing but a shiny, anyway."
Baby devil hesitated, muttering something indiscernible from his bloody mess of a mouth. Then he tossed the knife back to its owner, and began showering kicks on David.
David managed to hold the kid at bay, using his good foot like a shield. He actually managed to get in a few good return blows. But the boy was just getting angrier, gradually working his way past David's weak defenses.
"This is getting real boring!" the leader yelled. He nodded to the others. "Help him out, ok? Let's get this over with."
Wordlessly the crew descended on David. The blows rained down like vicious hail, smacking him on the head and side and face. David could only curl into a ball, and lash out with his good leg when he had the chance. But it was doing no good. Someone stomped in his sprained ankle and David let out a feral scream of anger and frustration. Another took that opportunity to plant a kick to the side his head. Stars erupted in his vision. The world was going blurry; fading away under a storm of kicks and punches.
They were going to kill him, he realized. They were actually going to beat him to death!
A loud bang interrupted the assault. The door had been shoved open; shoved so hard that the sound reverberated through the stairwell like an explosion.
The blows suddenly stopped. David opened his eyes to see a blessed sight. Someone was standing at the top of the stairs, at the now opened doorway. David couldn't make out who it was, for his eyes had not adjusted to the daylight that poured in behind the figure, silhouetting him against a blinding glow of daylight from the plaza. The stranger was wearing some sort of cloak which fell around him like the cape of a superhero.
No, David realized. That was not a cape, it was an overcoat! And it was not a him, but a her! It was the strange girl from the plaza!
David cried out a choked plea for "Help!", feeling embarrassed at the pathetic sound that came from him, but too desperate to care. Then, for an ugly flash of a moment, the thought came to him that she might be one of them! If that was true, then he was over and done.
But his fear lasted only a moment.
With amazing speed and grace the girl swooped down onto David's attackers. Blinded by the sunlight that his eyes had not yet adjusted to, David could only see a blur of action; hear the wet smack of flesh on flesh and surprised grunts from whoever caught those punches. Something whooshed by his face and David heard a low "oof" as someone, probably the tall CJ leader, caught a blow to the gut. It had to be a kick, because David had felt the air rush close by his face; and had to be the gut because David could hear the boy gasping for breath as he crumbled to the steps nearby.
Then someone was grabbing David's arms, pulling him up. Pain exploded in his shoulders, legs and midriff; and for a moment he thought he was being attacked again, thought that his hero had failed. But then he realized these pains were all in the areas where he'd been kicked and pummeled. He felt his arm being lifted and wrapped around strong shoulders.
"Move!" his hero said into his ear. She was supporting him now, helping him move on his bad ankle.
"Wrong way!" David said as he realized they were headed down the steps, down into the parking structure where other CJs might be waiting.
But the girl suddenly stopped. Someone was behind them. David felt her grip relax, felt her pressing him against a wall and leaving him leaning there as something metallic snicked behind them. Then he heard her voice again, low and menacing.
"You gonna use that thing, boy? Or just stand there like a punk?" he heard her say to someone. It must have been the boy with the knife. David could hear his ragged breathing.
"Bitch!" the CJ bellowed. "You were warned about interfering. You were warned about taking sides in this–"
But he never got to finish those words. His sentence was cut short by the unmistakable smack of a boot against his jaw. That was followed a moment later by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Then silence.
David felt himself grasped again, felt his arm braced over the strong shoulder. Then they were moving, again…. in the wrong direction, again!
"There could be more of them down there!' he cried to his unknown hero.
"Then they'll get the same treatment," the strange girl said. She wasn't even out of breath.
"Who- Who are you?" David said, as he limped along on his damaged ankle.
"Look, I don't have time for all these damned questions!" she said, quickly. "Just keep your head straight. No time for dallying!"
It hit him. Of course! Of course!
"Wizzy?" David screamed. "It's you!"
"You wanna shut the hell up, Pork Chop!" Wizzy hissed. "At least till we get the hell outta here? Alright? Some rough shit's about to go down and I want to get off this island before it does!"
(cont…)