"To do no evil is good, to intend none, the better." - Claudius


The trench was relatively clean. Mud was the primary deterrent from its nomination as being the most-livable location outside of a building, but otherwise it was the exact same as when they had finished digging it. The dugout still had its sheet-metal roof, and the large Blackwell Rock still sat in its spot between the two trenches. First and Second Squads settled into their respective trenches; Max and her squad situated on the left flank, Victoria and her squad on the right.

The dugout was subsequently filled with the Angels' stretchers and extra gear. The stretchers were effective at becoming improvised beds, where an Angel could unravel it and lay it out on the ground to avoid the dirt and the creepy-crawlies. Spare blankets were few and far-between, but they made it work.

River took a spot beside one of these stretchers, her back resting against the dirt wall. After lugging around the stretchers with a couple others, her back was starting to ache and exhaustion weighed down upon her shoulders. She sighed, and closed her eyes.

She thinks of the teary-eyed faces of her mother and father, when they departed from the docks several days ago. And while neither parent had spoken any words to her—they had already said all they could—they did speak with their eyes, full of sorrow and strife. They did not understand why she wanted to stay with her sisters-in-arms, but she promised them she'd come back once it was all over. Her parents knew she was capable of keeping herself alive, and they departed with this thought in mind.

River then thought of Jacob, and his bright smile. How she wished to have him here, to talk about anything and everything that's happened. She shivers, the touch of ice-cold water on her body blooms at the remembrance; his face was already turning blue when she was escorted back by the traitors.

Footsteps shuffle towards where River sat. She doesn't open her eyes, too tired to interact with whoever it might be. She hopes that they'll lie down on the stretchers, and not pass the time by striking conversation—

"Rivy."

Schwartz opened her eyes and glanced up to Emilia.

"Oh, hey."

"Hey," Greenock smiled. The short-haired girl sat down beside the pony-tailed blonde, "you tired?"

"Like you wouldn't fuckin' believe," came the woeful reply; Emilia was giggling at the exasperated blonde, "I can feel the muscles on my back crying out in agony over what I've just hauled. To be regulated into Chase's pack mule, hauling around stretchers and ammo—it ain't right."

"I don't envy you," Greenock was all smiles on the surface, but quick was River to notice the sharpness of the girl's tone, breaking quickly through the merriment. Already, Emilia stopped chuckling and settled into an awkward silence. The girl looked back the way she had come from.

"…what?" River asked her.

"…I've got something on my mind," the girl started, "and I know you've got the answer. Just, please…don't lie to me."

"I promise."

Again, Emilia looked around to make sure no one overheard them, "…you said that Sara was the reason Jacob went missing. Does that mean she knows where he is?"

There was a naïve optimism in Emilia's voice, obnoxious to River's ears. She couldn't help but grimace.

"No. Emilia, I'm sorry, but there's no easy way to put this—"

Schwartz looked up and to Greenock. Where once there was hope, there now was a dreadful premonition. Green eyes glared at her in disbelief.

"He's dead," Schwartz confessed, "Sara killed him."

Emilia pried for any detail, any sign that River was lying. When she found none, she looked away.

"…how did he…?"

"A tree stump. We were underneath a waterfall, and Sara was above us. She aimed to kill me with it, but Jacob took the hit instead. It pulled him into the water, and he drowned."

Emilia said nothing. She stared off into somewhere River couldn't see.

"I…I'm sorry," the blonde cried, tears stinging her eyes, "I tried to save him. I'm sorry, I tried to save him, but I—"

She tried to reach out to Jacob's sister, at least show that her words were sincere—but Greenock stood up before she could do so.

"Thank you, River," came the reply. The words were cold and distant; Emilia was not there, and seemed to walk away in a daze. Helpless, River watched her go.

River's honey-hued eyes flicker around, darting from one spot in the dugout to another. Her hands shook, her jaw was clenched.

What have I done?

The blonde ducked her head down, and pulled her knees up. She was no longer tired, for despair held her captive now. There was no escaping the regret for mistakes made.

Cowardice had kept her from speaking out too many times already. It was true that Max and Victoria had not pried for the exact details, but neither had River been forthcoming to give them. The time had to be now, now god-damnit—!

"What did you do."

River jerked, raising her head up to her squad-leader. Emerald eyes gleamed with fury down upon her, and she shuddered.

"I—I don't know what you're on about!"

"Emilia," though it was not a question, the Queen demanded an answer.

River became pale with guilt, "I-I can explain, please—!"

A hand was raised, and River shut her mouth.

"We do not have the time to get this settled. I expect you to make it up to Emilia at some point, but we got bigger things to worry about," Chase's anger simmered down, enough to where she wasn't hissing at the other blonde, "Since you're my second-in-command, you need to be updated about what's coming."

"…what's coming?"

"Get up," Victoria ordered, and Schwartz obeyed, "Follow me. You'll find out soon enough."

The two girls went out of the dugout, and down the trench line. Neither noticed the figure crouched above the dugout entrance, who slinked away in the opposite direction.


"…there's no way."

"I figured it was gonna happen sooner or later," Victoria sighed, "I just didn't expect it to happen now."

River looked away, bewildered. She could not believe it.

"It's…definitely not what I was expecting," Max concurred, "but with what's been going on, I'm not really shocked to hear it."

"I knew that fucker couldn't keep his promise," Chloe growled, "I had a feeling, and sure enough—!"

River glanced back to the slip of paper in Victoria's hands. The words were written in pen, and hard to distinguish from where Schwartz stood—but it made no difference.

Madsen was ordering them to return to the new headquarters set up by the office buildings. They would hand in their stretchers, and be given extra bandoliers of ammunition. They were being ordered to take up arms and fight.

"The—there's gotta be another way."

"I thought you wanted to fight the Reds, River?" Chase remarked, "Isn't this what you've been hoping for?"

"I don't have what it takes to lead, and you know that!" came the retort, "The second you get wounded or shot, is the second it all goes to shit. Nobody's gonna listen to me," River ran a nervous hand through her bangs, "It'll be a complete and utter shitshow."

"With that kind of mindset, it definitely will be," Victoria countered, "That's why we're here. We're going to work this out together, and not get lost to our doubts. We'll start by informing the others, and see what they think about it."

"…do we even have a choice?" River asked.

"No," Max softly replied, "But nobody else is going to do it. Nobody else can do it. It has to be us."

"...Isn't there other militia units—?"

"Madsen's not asking us to engage the Reds," Victoria clarified, pointing to the note, "It says right here—that you will be asked to defend the line against any assault made by the Reds for the foreseeable future; I'd have to speak with Dr. Neumann about the details, but we're not going to be attacking the Reds like the militia. We'll be on the defensive, holding the line to buy time for the people still trapped in the town."

But River did not heed these words. She did not see the images of the Reds being thwarted by their defenses, but rather the sneering grins of Sara and her minions, glaring down at her with vicious jubilation. She imagined them surrounding a frightened and cowering Emilia, each with a sinister look in their eyes. She imagined the terrible possibility: seeing the lifeless corpses of Max, Victoria, and the other Angels, dead because she dared to raise a hand against Sara. Schwartz shuddered at the thought of it.

"We'll start with your squad, Max," Victoria continued, "I might need your guys' help convincing the others in my squad, but it shouldn't be too much of a hassle—"

"W-we should leave."

Heads turned, eyes narrowed.

"River, what—?"

"We can leave, right? Madsen would be forgiving of all of us if we wanted to join those escaping, right?" desperation clutched at her words, "then nothing bad can happen to us, we can just leave, and go far away from the danger—"

"No."

Max leveled her cobalt blue eyes at River, who shrunk under the intense glare, "We are not leaving. We are not going to abandon everyone else just to save ourselves. We're going to defend our town and our people from the Reds, and we will fight until every single one of them are sent packing out of Arkadia."

"A-fucking-men to that!" Price snickered in agreement, "Fuck those pieces of shit, they're the ones who started all this, now we're gonna fucking finish it!"

Chloe was primed to rant some more, but a hand was raised to gather their attention. Victoria kept her eyes on River as she finally spoke, "We have no reason to leave, River. All that we've ever had, is right here," Chase pointed to the ground, to the soil and all the memories buried therein, "If you try to run, then not only will you be abandoning those who are relying upon you, but the shame of leaving will follow you until the day you die. Tell me, River—how are we supposed to keep Emilia safe if you're not here to help us?"

Already, the shame of bringing up something as selfish as desertion stung the pony-tailed blonde in the heart. Schwartz ducked her head, "I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, forgive me, I'm just…I'm scared of what's gonna happen next."

"Do you think I'm not scared?" the pixie-blonde asserted, "You think any of us are ready? All this time, there's never been a good plan to prevent what's happened. It's all a matter of doing the right thing, and most importantly, having faith in one-another. That is how we get through this."

"I need your help, River," Chase continued, "I know I haven't been the most trusting of you, but now we have to make this count. I don't expect you to do this for me, but do it for someone, anyone at all."

It was a serious departure from the Chase she was accustomed to. Even when the pixie-blonde had scolded her for what she had told Emilia, it seemed to be temporarily forgotten, set aside for more immediate concerns. Not that Schwartz could blame her—everyone's lives were at stake. Everyone had to do what was right, no matter what.

River pulled herself from her fear, and looked sincerely to them, "For the Angels."

The others nodded in praise of her conviction, "Fair enough. C'mon, let's go inform the others."


It was late evening. Darkness loomed over them. Shadows covered the ground, and the sky was dimmed.

Samantha shivered in the bitter cold air. Stood at her post, there on the parapet, she could see the way the slope of the mountain climbed up across the horizon. From west to east, the canopies of the tall trees curved up from the dim magenta of the bay into the dark blue colors of the night.

Not that such a pretty sight gave her any comfort. She was too busy fighting the numbing of her fingers to care.

With chattering teeth, she muttered, "I-is it done yet?"

"Not yet," Steph replied, "Just a little bit longer."

Myers huffed her frustrations, and looked down anxiously. Steph was a few steps away, handling the couple of cups atop a small camping stove. This stove was a small contraption made of stainless steel, and had a tray underneath the cooking surface for one to set fuel in. In this case, a bundle of twigs and little branches burned underneath, wisps of milky-white smoke trailed up into the air and swirled with the gusts.

"It looks done," Sam pouted.

"Not yet," Steph was dialed into her work, maintaining the flame underneath the stove, "You never settle for lukewarm when you can help it."

"I'm freezing over here," Myers whined, "I'll actually turn into a popsicle by the time you're done."

Gingrich chuckled at the exaggeration, "If you're making coffee by yourself, you gotta do it right. There's no cutting corners when it comes to things like this."

Water boiled, the smell of ground coffee beans reached Sam's nose. It was warm and inviting, and she became desperate for it. The desire to have it overwhelmed her, and she turned away from her post and shuffled over to where Steph was.

"Alright, here's a cup," Gingrich offered her, passing up a cup of coffee. Tendrils of steam danced over the brew, and Sam eagerly took a sip—

Only to spit it out immediately afterwards, coughing, "Fuck, fuck! That's hot!"

Steph chuckled, "Are you trying to burn your tongue or something?"

"I didn't expect it to be that hot, shit."

"I knew it, my coffee brewing skills aren't up to your standards," but Steph grinned mischievously, "…you secretly like the pain, don't you?

"Oh, fuck off, I'm not a fuckin' mayo-cist, or whatever you call it—"

The auburn-haired girl laughed at the comeback, which earned her a half-hearted glare from Samantha. Myers turned back to resume her post, the cup in her hands warming up her frost-bitten fingers.

"I'm not a mayo-cist, alright," Gingrich prepared her own cup, "I knew you were picky with what you put on your food, but mayonnaise? What did mayonnaise ever do to you?"

"It's disgusting, that's what," Sam didn't even question the change in topic, "It's slimy and gross and doesn't even taste good. People can enjoy what they want, but I'm not having any of it!"

"Fair enough, I feel the same way—where…?"

Sam looked back as Steph twisted this way and that, searching for something. She asks, "What?"

"Where's my helmet—have you seen my helmet?"

"No, I haven't."

A moment of realization came, and Steph stood up quickly, "Shit, I left it back at the dugout—I'll be right back. Stay safe, don't go anywhere unless you tell someone."

Gingrich shuffled down the trench and out of sight. Sam shrugged away the fact she was now alone, and turned to face the last traces of light peeking over the horizon. Another sip of the coffee. It tasted alright, despite the aching of her tastebuds. Another few hours, then they will be relieved by another pair of poor souls who must stay out on night-watch—

"Hey."

Sam's heart jumped as she spun, the coffee nearing spilling in her grip. A long-haired brunette was glancing into the firing position, raising a hand in placation.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," the newcomer assuaged, "I'm your relief."

"…where's your battle-buddy?" Sam asked her.

It was common knowledge for every Angel: never go wandering without your battle-buddy, especially if you don't tell them where you're going. Granted, they weren't wandering into the night to go hunting for Reds, but the principle remained the same.

"She's coming," came the assured reply, "where's yours?"

"She's forgotten something, she'll be back soon."

"Fair enough," the stranger smiled, "All the more reason to keep each other company, then."

But still, Sam remained on edge, "…y'know, our relief's not until a few hours from now."

"To be truthful with you, I couldn't sleep," the long-haired brunette feigned embarrassment, "I figured it'd be better to join you now than later. I wouldn't want to be out here all by myself, don't you agree?"

Sam questioned her no more. It was sound logic, and there wasn't any visible threat to be found from this girl. Myers nursed her coffee cup again.

"…have you heard?"

Sam turned again, "Of what?"

"Victoria's received orders from the top," the girl explained, "we're to give up our stretchers and be sent out to fight with the militia."

Sam's heart stopped.

"…no way."

"I overheard them, in the dugout earlier today," dread morphed these words to become the absolute truth, "They're eager for the fight. They'll sooner have this town burned to the ground before the Reds eventually take it."

Myers shivered, but not from the cold. The words of this friendly brunette were molded into the warning that had been blaring in her head ever since she arrived in Arkadia. A terrible fate awaited them all if they didn't do something about it.

"I don't know about you," this brunette had walked close enough to Sam so she could whisper, "but I'm starting to think those Arkadian girls have gone mad. If they have their way, then everyone will be dead, butchered in cold blood. None of us will be left to go back home. You want to go back home, right?"

Samantha nodded. She became spurred on by the encouragement, and spoke her mind, "I've had a hard time trusting them—Victoria and the others she keeps company with. I've heard that a lot of them have killed people, before we formed up into the Angels. I had a friend here in this town, but he…he was killed by one of them."

A hand clutched Sam's shoulder, and offered its silent support. Sam sipped her coffee and continued, "It was that one blonde girl that Max is best friends with. The one with the cross around her neck. I heard that she was the one who killed my friend, but I don't know for sure."

"It seems like there's more in common between us than we thought," the brunette concurred, "My friends and I have been treated like secondaries to them. I have a nagging feeling that they'll send us into the meat grinder if given the chance, whilst they sit back and get drunk on their canteens."

Sam stopped from taking another sip, "…are you…?"

"Am I what?" the brunette asked. A smile on her lips told a different story.

"…are you suggesting that we…?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," the girl smirked, as if assured by something unspoken, "I'm just saying, it might be better to say something—to do something, before they act. Otherwise, our chance to be free from this mess will be forever lost."

Sam was overcome with urgency, "How are you not scared? Don't you see what they have all the power, all the control—if we do anything, they'd label us as traitors and have us shot. How could we even save ourselves, let alone everyone else?"

The long-haired brunette pondered this. She looked to the small steel stove, its fuel having lost its flame, now nothing more than some ash and smoke. Nighttime had set in, and darkness hung over them, and surrounded them completely. Neither knew each other's names, and yet they were bound by a common goal. The veil kept them safe from the ambitions of bloodthirsty fanatics.

"We try our best to convince the others, those who are being led astray. No one wants to fight, and we're not obligated to. With this sentiment, we'll show those Arkadians that they do not get to determine who lives and who dies."

The brunette turned away, and realized, "My friend's not here. I'll be back."

She turned into the trench and was out of sight. So quick was her departure that Sam questioned if their conversation was even real, if there was actually someone there to speak these thoughts in her head. It wasn't that Sam believed in treachery, and it was right to say that she wished not to hurt anyone whilst being here—but there was no other option, and that girl had made it crystal clear. At some point, she was going to muster up the courage, and follow through with her promise to Nathan.

I will avenge you, and save as many people as I can.

"Hey, Sam," Steph shuffled back into view, her steel helmet atop her head and a cheeky grin on her face, "I'm back. What'd I miss?"

Sam didn't respond. She held her coffee, and stared off into the darkness.

Steph shook her head, "Alrighty then. At least nothing bad happened—aw shit."

Gingrich noticed the fire had gone out under the stove, and the cold cup of coffee still on top of it.