17 - One Last Time
- Packing up
There is optimism in the air. Jubilation. Relief. All because of those redeeming words spoken by the Corporal and now de-facto leader of the recently dissolved Metro Society. The tide has turned; the Aparoids are running. The battle has been won and it is only a matter of time before the war will follow as well. And in less than two hours it will be over. The fear. The dread. The nightmares. The hiding. Lives can return to how they were soon enough and enough are longing for exactly that.
Peter is embracing Sarah in pure joy and of course not forgetting his little girl. The girl that both in name and presence kept him standing upright when he was knocked down. Right now, he feels like the proudest father in the world. No matter any contrary statements or claims. Even his wife would not dare to disagree.
Quinn and Patches are busy packing their things and talking about the battle. Patches tries to remain humble but in the face of such enthusiasm she can barely hold on. The rat is asking all the ins and outs before she finally succumbs and tells him all he wants to know. A mixture of shock and amazement can be heard with every answer given. There is laughter, excitement and even some gossip, which Quinn is particularly interested in.
Even the spiteful duo and the deposed leader of the former Metro Society are looking very pleased about this news. Despite having to hear that from him. Not that he cares much about their opinion. They are only happy that they are not food for the bugs. If that was not a threat, they would have been happy to have their own little cult to cull and keep. Maybe even expand it, should it be convenient.
When Trevor inquires about Darwin, the universal answer is that he went to the bathroom. Seemingly something was not sitting well. Maybe the recently acquired military-style rations were not very cooperative with a civilian stomach.
"I could actually use some chow to be honest." Trevor laments, taking the word of the masses for granted.
He walks away from the group towards the kitchen and then over to the "shower" portion of the room. That bowl of water looks honestly more fit for one's pet. On closer inspection, it might as well have been at some point. At least the water looks clean enough as visible bits of dissolved iodine tablets are still visible.
He takes what he can get. He takes off his heavy vest, keeping his blue camo undershirt on. Just in case anyone is thinking about catching a cheeky glimpse at his bare body. That is strictly reserved for one individual in this world. And the shirt is a fairly effective deterrent given its questionable design and a color mix ranging from baby blue turquoise to a white that once used to be white when it was not smudged, sweated in and dragged across filth.
He cups his hands in the water, feeling its temperature. It is not that cold, more faintly lukewarm. The type that needed a few more minutes in the fridge before it would be pleasant to drink. But then again, he cannot afford to be picky.
With some water accumulated in his hands, he leans in and splashes the water in this face. He does this with his neck and ears as well before giving one last splash to his face. As the water drips down from his face onto the floor, he finds himself having a moment. A feeling of comfort he had not felt for what felt like forever is slowly overtaking him. Like slipping on a warm sweater.
He made it. The war might not be over but they have the advantage now. And he has a feeling that he is going to pull through his affair alive. With all his limbs attached and his friends alive. So that all can get back to their families and he can be with her again.
Oh does he ever want to see her again. Knowing that she is alive and waiting for him. That she is well too and not wounded. Not that he necessarily fears this might happen, but he has a knack for imagining the worst outcomes. One image of doom he sees is similar to how he found Patches in the control room. But more battered. Bleeding more.
He spits the water away that has been collecting itself on and around his lips. He should not think like that. It will be fine. He has to trust that she can hold her own. So far she has not disappointed in that department so why would she start now?
Trevor then feels a tap on his shoulder and he snaps out of us his trance and train of thought. He turns around and sees Quinn standing there, holding his notebook close to his chest. Clearly he was already a little nervous but now that he has the attention he wanted, it is overwhelming. However Trevor does not see this obvious clue.
"Oh, hey buddy. What can I do for you?"
Quinn swallows a big chunk of shame down and focuses on what he wanted to ask him. Hopefully that will make his cheeks less red over time.
"S-sorry to bother you Corporal. But I already got a statement from the Private and I was wondering if you could give one too? Perhaps? Maybe?"
"A statement? Sure, on what?"
Quinn freezes up when he realizes that he did not mean to ask for just a statement, but more importantly for an autograph. The war reporter attitude had cropped up when it should not have.
"N-no no. I meant an autograph first, maybe a little statement after... I wanted to collect those from the warriors that defended us. As a sort of reminder you know."
Trevor definitely sees potential in that idea.
"Hand me your book and a pen and I'll make it happen."
Giddy as all hell, Quinn hands it over. He makes sure that it lands on the right page. Already some scribbles and attempts at writing a comprehensive report of the battle that had raged on before are visible on the page. Underneath it, where there is only leftover space and no lines to write on, is Patches' autograph already. So he puts his next to hers. Far enough not to intertwine but close enough as not to take up too much room. And then he hands it back and Quinn is just as giddy to receive it.
"Oh, that reminds me." he then brings up.
"In terms of a statement, what are you going to do when this is all over?"
"Hmmm..."
Trevor has to take a moment to think this over.
"I would say either retire and live with my girlfriend until she can be bullied into becoming my wife or I somehow get her into the military. Both options are unlikely but there's always hoping."
Quinn stares at him like he just spoke in an ancient forgotten language.
"Could you shorten that a bit?"
"Retirement or get my girlfriend in the military. Somehow."
"That'll do! Thank you Trevor! I mean... Corporal! Sorry, excitement."
Trevor brushes it off.
"Nah don't be. My friends call me Trevor. And you, I consider a friend."
The rat freezes in place. Then the notebook drops on the floor, no grip left in his hands any more. Before Trevor has any chance to react to what has just happened, he finds himself with Quinn wrapped around him tightly. Like he has just said some magic words that activated some sleeper agent conditioning.
Not that he minds though. He cannot remember the last time he was hugged this many times during a mission but it is all positive. Most engagements he had were not very civilian related. The most physical contact he got was a firm, grateful handshake. This is different. The good kind of different.
Quinn lets go, picks up his book and makes his excuses, barely able to resist skipping like a deer in a field of flowers during spring time. Still clueless about what that really was about, he picks his vest back up and puts it on before strolling over to the kitchen to have some of that food that came with the drop.
As he is opening a can filled with some mystery paste and setting up a small cooker, he is reminded of the situation with Darwin. That he could not handle it and had to vacate to the bathroom. It would explain his missing presence here. And yes, that the food is hard to stomach and takes some getting used to is valid, but considering how long they have had the food and how long the battle took to complete... Trevor has had some bad dinners before that required him to perform a heinous act upon his toilet bowl. Which only the strongest of air freshener and the thickest of the bleach could exorcize. But even that most vile one did not take this long.
"Must be a record somewhere..." he mutters to himself as he takes a spoonful of the warmed nutritional paste and puts it behind his lips.
In terms of taste, it is nothing to be jealous about. It is functional, does the trick. If a tad on the salty side. Although it also has the added feeling of nostalgia. Those times in boot camp. When things were still jolly and not so damn serious. He guesses that everyone grows up eventually.
After that admittedly depressing thought, he finishes his last bite. Which, given the saltiness, leaves his belly all filled up but his mouth drier than the deserts on Titania. He leaves the kitchen for his stretcher where his bottle is standing. His trusty Metro Society water bottle. Ex-Metro Society bottle now.
Holding it in his hand, he realizes how stupid Silva's system was. Restricting the water supply to two liters per day? While there is literally working plumbing and running fresh water in the bathroom? How did no one think to cheat the system? As he observes the bottle, out of the bottom corner of his eye he spots his revolver in its holster.
"Oh yeah. That is why. Whoever has the gun... in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed man is god. Or something like that."
Before him, only the bad apples had guns. Three against none. Then he came. 3 against 1. Then he managed to "convert" Ashley. Into "Eyes" first and then into the admittedly better "Patches". 2 against 2. Then Felix died and Silva had an emotional breakdown. 1 against 2, but more realistically it would not even be 0.5 against 2. All it took was one rebellious element. An outsider to break open the on the surface perfect society only to reveal he had been a rotting, decaying mess held together by strings. Held up like a marionette puppet show with weapons drawn and aimed at the audience to force laughter and enjoyment.
The more he attempts to get somewhere with his train of deep philosophy, the more he can feel the train derailing. And his thirst increasing. So he pulls on the emergency brake and begins drinking. He might as well drink the entire thing and bring it with him as a souvenir. As proof of the madness that was this place.
Although the common room was not that bad. He may just miss it. When compared to some of the buildings/contraptions he had slept in before, this place was a 5-star experience. He therefore gives this place a sentimental toast before gulping down the last of the liquid in the bottle. The cap is screwed back on.
His ear then perks up when he hears a noise behind him. Nothing to be scared off however, it is only Patches getting her final affairs in order. Everything goes smoothly until she comes to Felix' sidearm. Her own is in her holster. She is holding it in both hands and does not look sure of what to do with it.
Given how she has been so supportive of him, Trevor decides it is only fair to weigh in on her quandary. He spins around and stands up.
"Patch? Can I help in any way?" he offers kindly.
"Hm? Oh, hi Corporal. I guess you know what this is." she says with a hint of sadness and regret.
It is still gnawing on her. Despite the fact that she made the most and best use out of it. But effectiveness has little effect on the feeling of guilt.
"It was from Felix. And you still feel bad about it."
"Bad?" she scoffs.
"That is one way to describe how I feel."
"Is it because you think he could have survived if he had it?"
Patches turns around, visibly emotional.
"You saw the position he was in. He was going to pull it out."
For some reason, in his dumb brain, the sarcastic comment "he could have just been wanting to scratch his ass" passes by. Despite how that might clear the tension in some situations, this is not one of those. So he tosses the thought right into the garbage.
"I saw that too. But do you think he could have done anything to that beast? Even when he was facing its softest spots?" Trevor tries to be reasonable.
"He could have tried!" she counters.
"And I took that chance away from him."
"But he gave it to you. Sure, he was forced to. But something tells me, he wanted you to take it. If he couldn't have it, then his former partner would."
Her pupils start to widen and some tension is visibly lifted.
"I honestly believe that he cared for you to some degree. Even if he was just an automaton for Silva's dirty work. And whereas that old geezer thought that saddling you up with two pistols would be the only way you would ever survive, he inadvertently created one badass bunny Private. With some from yourself..."
He begins to slowly fold her fingers back so that they cup the pistol.
"... a little encouragement and a gift from someone who could not be there for you when I believe he really wanted to."
Patches starts to sniff.
"Damn... you really know how to gift wrap some encouraging words."
"Ah, you know me. Descriptive and yet shallow. But, no longer callous." he winks at her.
"That is evident." she admits before wiping away a tear.
"Alright then. I think I can find some use for this."
"I definitely think you can."
"Then I will." she nods before packing that weapon up along with the rest of her stuff.
Of course she unloads it first. There is no need for an accidental discharge. Or else a patch will not be enough to fix that boo boo. Once all is packed up, she sits down on her back and turns back to Trevor who is struggling getting something unstuck from in between his canines. Covering it up as best he can with a raised hand.
It is oddly normal and reminds her that he too is just a normal person. She finds it endearing. Then he notices her and gradually stops doing that. Reacting like a kid that just got caught having their hand in the cookie jar with skittering eyes.
"Sorry. Some chow was stuck."
"Ah, no worries. Try having a piece stuck in between incisors like mine, then we're talking. Then again, you are a predator by nature so you are more used to getting meat stuck in there."
Trevor's eyebrow raises.
"Are you seriously referencing something ancient like that? What do they teach youngsters these days?" he complains but cannot keep up the appearance of an old man saying how everything was better when he was young.
And for Patches it is the same.
"Sorry sir, just poking fun. I could also use some breakfast. Is there still some of that chow'?"
Trevor gestures to the kitchen with his head before he finally manages to dislodge the stubborn piece.
"No apology needed. I got the hint. Appearance isn't everything. It's what's behind that which counts. Anywho, there's either duck or beef flavor left. Any vegan or fish options have already been consumed or were not in there."
"Damn. I was looking forward to something fishy. Ah well, I guess duck doesn't sound that bad." she laments.
"It's pretty good honestly. Give it a go."
She sighs, pads her knees and stands up.
"Watch my stuff please."
"Sure thing. Bon appetit!"
"It better be bon..." she responds all tough before walking away to the kitchen.
He watches her walk away. Her back has been straightened out and her head now held up high. A massive positive change from the beaten girl, ever afraid of only just the voice of her bully. Hellbent on snuffing out the flame of potential and the fire of personality. He is glad that he could help her get back on her feet. Even if her choice of footwear is still something odd, he himself has no right to speak given his own old-fashioned black market gear.
In turn, by helping her, he managed to deal with the lingering feeling of loneliness and guilt. Whether directly or indirectly, Ashley... or just Patches, has had a favorable effect on him too. For every person, leader or follower, requires a rock to lean on.
In order not to look creepy, he averts his gaze away and focuses on cleaning up his own business. For extraction will be here soon. He turns on his radio, grabs the transmitter module and presses the button to broadcast. No longer in the blind, he managed to isolate the correct one now. And he uses this time to send out one last message to his partner. One last time.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Jane is approaching Sarah. She is sniffing the air and making a face like she has just smelled the bowels of hell itself. It must be Hope, for only babies can reek that much, even if they cannot help it themselves. She carefully addresses this to Sarah, who is surprised by Jane's question.
"I don't smell anything, I'm sorry." she apologizes before turning to Peter.
"Do you smell Hope's diaper too?"
Peter sniffs the air but smells nothing out of the ordinary. Then again, he has been wrong before. The RDJ he is taking has not always been kind to his senses. Whether that be sight, hearing or in some cases smell. So keeps his hands off this.
"I don't smell anything. But then again, I have been before. Better be safe than sorry." he reasons.
"Give her a checkup."
"Then I will. I'll be right back." Sarah smiles at Peter warmly before giving him a smooch on the forehead.
Then she stands up and whilst coddling the baby with babbling she enters the ladies' room and the door closes behind her. Peter is left sitting on the bed but with a smile on his face. He feels content. Things are going so much better. The RDJ is helping a whole lot but he might not have been here without a certain someone.
He feels the pocket on the inside of his jacket. The King of Clubs card is still in there. He never took it out and it will stick with him. And if there is one thing that sticks with him about that card, it will be the phrase that comes with it. "Actus primus".
He probably pronounces wrong but the message it calls for... he will do it for himself. He rubs his hands in glee and looks forward to seeing his two favorite women again.
For one last time in his place. It has kept them safe but it also imprisoned them in a way. Artificial lights and a subdued atmosphere. And now it is a matter of waiting. When the extraction team comes.
All this is noticed by Jane, still standing where she stood. No words had to be said to see the good mood Peter is in. She mouths "sorry" to him for what she is about to do. Then she turns to Silva and gestures to him to accompany her. It is time for the final curtain call and the old Sheriff is very pleased. He has one chance. It is a gamble but he fixed the deck beforehand. He is sure this will go off without a hitch.
- Boiling point
"Hey partner. Finally got you on the right line. Dunno if you heard it but we're out of here in about two-ish hours. I cannot wait to see you again. And moreover, to introduce you to some amazing people I met here. Depending on whether or not they'll be on the same transport as me. Regardless, I'll pull some strings with the Captain in the worst case scenario. And just to make sure that you know; I'm glad you are alright. I've been busting my own balls for a long time over getting cut off from you. So… I'm glad I no longer have to do that. See you soon partner. See you soon." Trevor ends the transmission as he feels any leftover melancholy seeping away.
He puts the transmitter module back onto his radio and turns off the broadcasting. Then he hangs his head and sighs deep. His lips form a wide smile. More and more, does it start to sink in that he is getting out. On some level he still cannot believe it. But that feeling will only go away the moment he is safe and sound on the transport itself.
So he creates a moment of peace for himself. Turning down any brain activity to 0. That fabled nothing-box that male brains seem to have. All is still operational but unresponsive until some outside influence snaps him out of it. Like a sound, a smell or movement. In his case however, it is the unflattering view of a pair of leather boots appearing in his vision.
He blinks rapidly, now being so rudely awoken from his trance. Slowly and dramatically his eyes look up and see that Silva is standing before him. Unprovoked and uninvited. With a grin on his face that reminds him of Felix. Uncomfortably so.
"Yes?" Trevor utters so dripping with disdain one could paint a wall with it.
"Corporal Trevor. Please stand up."
Trevor does not respond. Instead he stares at Silva. Conveying the message of "who are you to order me?" very effectively. Silva however has the same confidence in his gaze. His thumbs are put behind his belt.
"Listen, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."
That sounded like a warning. At least an attempt at manipulation. Trevor's eyebrow is once more raised. This time at the nerve of this old Sheriff. He does not trust this at all and luckily his hand is close to his holster should that wrinkly old cook decide to be funky. But no word is said by the Corporal. Getting impatient now, Silva looks around him and back at Trevor. Giving him one final chance to do this quietly.
There is no change in Trevor's behavior however. He sighs somewhat genuinely exasperated but also quite theatrical. Then he clears his throat a little too obvious before he announces to everyone that Trevor needs to stand up. A trick straight out of the unofficial police handbook of adding insult to injury when it comes to uncooperative culprits.
"Corporal Trevor. I've given you a chance to comply and come with without too much hubbub but you left me no choice. Stand up and hold up your hands so I can cuff them; you are under arrest."
Any sound that was previously made is silenced with that bombshell. Silva's words were very clear and unambiguous. He means to arrest Trevor, just before extraction comes. Feeling that all the attention of the room is now focused on him, Silva continues.
"While we all appreciate the sacrifices you have made in the defense of our lives, for which I myself am particularly thankful for as a servant of the law and the people, that does not mean you are above said law."
Trevor is silent. Dumbfounded more like it. He has no comeback prepared for this. But considering the seriousness of this situation, it might be better to leave that aside for now. Silva's dribble is not phasing him however. And though he does stand up, he does so with his hands behind his back in protest.
"Arrest me? On what charge? On whose authority?" Trevor wonders as loud as Silva made it.
Contempt is growing on Silva's face. Unwanted and unexpected resistance. But he is not out. He clears his throat again, less conspicuous this time.
"On my authority. As Sheriff and effectively the only form of law enforcement currently present and active within Corneria City. And the charge... that you dare ask that! The charge is sexual assault."
In the back a spoon can be heard falling on the ground in the kitchen. As it sounds as loud as an atom bomb going off at 3 AM when trying to sneak away with having a midnight snack. It is however nothing compared to the noise of the silence that has emerged in the confrontation between the two powers.
More than dumbfounded he is now. What in the name of all that is holy, unholy and everything in between is he talking about? Assaulting who? Sexually on top of that? Does he mean Darwin? Or Felix? Sure those were violent incidents but nothing sexual in nature. It was an expression of hate, not vile gratification.
"Who then?" asks Trevor.
"Who did I, according to you, assault?"
Silva shakes and then bows his head in disappointment. Then he takes off his hat and looks over at Peter.
"I'm sorry. But since the Corporal is so unwilling to cooperate, I have to divulge. It was Sarah. Again, I'm sorry Peter."
The doberman's eyes are jutted wide open. Skipping between Silva and Trevor in disbelief. His mouth opens to say something but he is lost for words. Some noises are coming out while inside of his head it is a complete mess. Then his eyes fixate on Trevor. And as much as he feels conflicted about it, a serious accusation like this is not made up.
"W-why...?" he mutters just loud enough to hear before pure emotion catches up with him and overwhelms him.
"Sarah? Sarah!?" Trevor responds bewildered and aggravated before turning to Peter.
"I swear I did not do anything to hurt her, I swear!"
But his words seem to fall on deaf ears.
"We have a witness too." adds Silva.
"Jane, you saw what happened. Please, do elaborate."
"Oh sure, like she's going to be anything but agreeing with your bullshit accusation!" rages Trevor on.
An attempt to silence him so that Jane can do her say works somewhat, as the Corporal sits back down. Overwhelmed by the stupidity of this act.
"I saw what happened. When Trevor walked away from Quinn, I stood with Ashley observing the both of them. I walked away and I believe she did too..."
Before Jane can continue, Patches interrupts.
"Why don't you ask her yourself? If I am to be included in your fantasy story, I would love to tell my own tale." she proclaims as cheeky as much she is serious about this while twiddling with the spoon she previously dropped on the floor in shock.
And Patches has a real urge to fling it like a dart at the Sheriff's overinflated head. She believes none of this. No words that have come from Silva's lips have the truth regarding abuse or assault. As she herself knows all too well. So why should he start now?
"I watched Corporal Trevor walk away after his conversation with Quinn indeed. I then dismissed Jane from my presence because her tobacco smell was rubbing me the wrong way. I cannot tell what happened after I left but I believe whole-heartedly that the Corporal did nothing as terrible as sexually assault someone like Sarah. Not even regular assault."
Silva folds his arms, rolls his eyes and sighs.
"Are you done "Private"? Then I thank you for your worthless emotional contribution of he couldn't possibly have done it cuz he so nice but now let us return to the facts, shall we? Jane, please continue."
With Patches now mockingly put on the sidelines, Jane continues her story.
"After I walked away, I was drawn back because he ended up in an altercation between him and Darwin. After which I kept my eye on him. Then he came to Sarah and most likely told her what he had discussed with Peter."
"Could I...?" a soft-spoken interruption sounds from the middle of the room, but which is swiftly and loudly put down by Silva before he returns the word back to Jane.
"What he said, did not go down well with Sarah. He then put his hand on her shoulder without her permission and tried to get her to understand. When that didn't work, he got... handsy. First struggling with her and then getting into and under her shirt. She couldn't resist very well, because she was holding Hope in her arms. Only when she clearly wouldn't give an inch, did Trevor stop and leave her alone."
Trevor is hearing all of this. Fables, fairy tales, complete lies. He is getting a splitting headache from this. And then to hammer another nail into his coffin, then the Sheriff starts to speak and approve of her testimony.
"Now that we all know how this heinous crime came to be, I ask you again to stand up. Hold out your hands and allow me to cuff you so you can stand trial."
"Please Sheriff. Wipe that stupid grin off your face." Trevor carelessly bites at him.
He stands up and gets all up in Silva's face. With his hands still behind his back, although his right hand is closer to his side. There where his gun is. Then his face snaps to Jane, who is slightly startled by this.
"Some gall you got there. A face like stone while telling such nonsense. Impressive. How much botox was required for that I wonder?"
Before Jane can respond insulted, he snaps his gaze back to Silva.
"And how can anyone believe that rubbish? Oh wait, I know. You two are lovers so why wouldn't you? So let's pretend you two were complete strangers. How is this for logic? Why wouldn't she scream? Why wouldn't Hope cry? If I was that rough with her, how come no one else saw or heard that? How come that Jane, coincidentally, was the only witness?"
Trevor's attempts fall flat on the natural stone face of Silva.
"I don't know but I'm sure we will settle that in court. Your hands please."
The Corporal has other plans though. He verbally and audibly resists again. More contempt and agitation are beginning to show in Silva's face. Once more, he does not cooperate in the way that he had envisioned it.
"And where is Sarah in all this? Why aren't we hearing this from her? Or why didn't Peter hear this from her? That's her husband for crying out loud!" he continues.
Silva's eye begins to twitch and this is seen by Jane, who jumps in for him so he can cool off for a moment.
"She came to me. She couldn't tell Peter. Because he's her husband. She felt so much shame. I found out and I reported it to the Sheriff. This happened during your battle, Corporal."
Again, a soft-spoken voice asks for attention. And although a little louder than before, it is fiercely put down by the Sheriff once again.
"I don't trust it. I want to hear from Sarah herself that I touched her. Assaulted her. Did... those things to her." Trevor demands.
"So you deny touching her at all?" Silva inquires slyly.
And this time Trevor has to swallow his words. He did touch her. The hand on the shoulder. Nothing more than that but now he realizes that this one small seeming thing, was the entire basis for their claim. And with Sarah currently not in the room to provide any counter argument, he has to save his own reputation. But now he has to concede on this one point.
"Well. No... I-I did touch her shoulder..."
Peter's head falls back down in response.
"But nothing else!"
"There we are then!" concludes Silva.
"Your hands please."
"I said nothing else!" repeats Trevor louder, once again in defiance of the Sheriff's so called authority.
Now Silva has had it. Between gritted teeth, he demands Trevor surrenders himself over and have this discussion in court. There is a motive, a statement from the victim and a witness. Enough to cuff him and bring him in.
"Make me, tinpot dick-tator!" dares Trevor as his hand is getting dangerously close grabbing his revolver.
But so is Silva's hand to his own piece.
- Overcooked
"Enough!" is proclaimed loud and clear.
The surprise of it nearly causes Trevor to draw as a reflex but he refrains from doing so at the last second.
The attention is drawn to the middle of the room. Where twice before a voice gently requested the limelight, now demanding it after being denied twice. All eyes are now on him. And Quinn is going to use this moment to say what he wants to say. Despite the nerves almost being too much.
"Sorry for shouting but I asked nicely and that didn't work. So now you have to listen to me. Jane is lying. She did not see what happened; I did!" he states pointing at her first and then at himself.
Silva is quick to scoff at the very notion that the rat has anything useful to add but Peter, in a stroke of rational thought or sheer desperation, insists that Quinn should have his say if he claims to know. And Patches supports this by standing by him.
"Jane, what did you see when Trevor had that altercation with Darwin like you described?"
She is slightly taken aback by that question. Almost as if she did not know the details of that incident.
"Well... I think he stepped on Darwin's leg." she claims but more in the way of seeking confirmation than actually knowing it for sure.
"That is not an answer to my question. Do you think or do you know?" Quinn reiterates.
"I-I know. For sure." Jane states, with no credible certainty whatsoever.
Quinn smiles and adjusts his glasses.
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Because he did not step on his leg. He almost did! After that, he did go over to Sarah and he did put his hand on her shoulder but nothing else after that. He returned back to his bed. After which Private Ashley switched beds closer to him. Only then did I let him out of my sight." Quinn concludes decisively.
Only to quickly mellow out and turn to Patches.
"But not because of you, Ashley. I don't hate you or anything." he quickly corrects.
Patches was not expecting an apology for something she did not take as disrespectful. But she is thankful nonetheless.
Then the attention turns back to Silva and Jane. Whose story and claim are now on shaky foundations. While Silva is still holding his head up high, persistent in his belief that this good-for-nothing nerd was full of it, Jane is gradually starting to shiver in her boots now that the truth is out.
Silva offers no support to her and even pushes her aside. Not keen on reading the room, he demands once more that Trevor offers himself up to be in handcuffs.
"Are you mental?" responds Trevor.
"That's a real question, from me to you. Are you actually mental? Your biggest trump card has just been ripped apart by someone you always said was useless. I wasn't going to come along anyway and especially not now."
"We have Sarah's statement..."
"Which is written nowhere. Signed by no one." interrupts Trevor, throwing that one away too.
"And who is "we"? You and your whore? Currently shaking like a leaf?"
"I would suggest we got Sarah involved in this." Patches calls out, then turning to Peter.
"I'm sorry, but I do believe this is the only way we can put this down once and for all, Peter."
He nods in agreement, even if every fiber of his body is against putting her through all this again.
"Yes. I think we should do so." he mumbles, teetering on the verge of breaking down.
"I already agreed with this. Sheriff?" wonders Trevor strongly implying that the best thing he can do right now is agree as well.
Forced into a corner, Silva relents. Through gritting and grinding teeth, he goes along with it and leaves Trevor's presence. Without him in handcuffs. He then latches onto Jane's arm and pulls her along.
The feeling of defeat and failure is getting more pronounced with every step he takes away from his target. Now no longer obligated to hide his facial expressions and true emotion, he lets loose a silent rant. As he does, he squeezes her arm so hard that it actually starts to hurt her. But he ignores her restrained utterances of pain. While those around them cannot ignore them.
A few minutes pass but the atmosphere is barely any less tense. A little steam was let out but the metaphorical boiler could still explode. Trevor is spiritually beat up. In part due to the fact that he was almost arrested for something he did not do, in part because the second most important man in the room regarding this fake crime was actually believing the lie.
He cannot bear to look at him right now. Some part of him knows that this was an emotional reaction but on the other hand, Peter of all people should know that he would never do that to him. Help him on the one hand and then stabbing him in the back right after? Ridiculous.
Patches is sitting next to him. As support and as a speed bump between him and Peter. So direct line of sight is impossible. She is more neutral. about this situation. While she condemns Peter's premature assumption, she does not blame him much. But if she had to pick a side, it would be Trevor's.
On the other side of the room, Silva is seething. So many times he has been thwarted and cast aside. Even deposed! And yet, he can only blame himself. He was the one that kept the Corporal within Metro Society borders. And look where that led to.
Much like with Patches, Jane is sitting next to him. Not so much for support or an inner moral middle ground, but more because Silva has not let her arm go. It hurts but she dares not to oppose or complain. She has picked her side and this would not be the first time he went too far. It is what it is.
Then the door to the hallway opens and Sarah walks through holding Hope in her arms.
"There she is. Clean and pretty again. Then again, she was always pretty to begin with." she says, presenting the baby to everyone but unaware of what she stepped into.
Anyone who was sitting down, within a snap is now standing on both feet. And Peter is all up in her face with the wish to hug her tight but with Hope in between them he holds that back. He wants to say so much, ask so much that all the words are actually creating a blockade.
"Peter? Sweety? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost. Is the medicine no longer working?" Sarah asks worried as she observes him shivering, shaking and pale like corpse paint.
Peter then swallows hard so he can at least get the most important question out.
"Sarah. Sweetheart. D-did Trevor hurt you?" he asks with a stammering undertone.
It is as if he is standing outside in the cold while on the inside he is burning up. The moment between him asking and her answering seems to last for eternity. Agonizingly so.
"He touched me in a way I didn't like." Sarah answers, as was instructed of her.
In his head, Silva celebrates that little victory. But Peter is not convinced, despite it still feeling like a knife to the gut.
"I get that. But did he hurt you? Did he hurt Hope?"
Sarah's facial expression changes to confusion. As if she was just presented with a very difficult math question.
"Why are you asking? He didn't hurt me. Or Hope. Why would you think that?"
Peter exhales relieved after a few seconds of loading the realization. The moment it hits him, the amount of relief and dopamine released is almost comical.
"I am so glad to hear that. I heard such awful things. That had been done to you. But I'm glad it was all lies."
"Well... I'm glad too then." Sarah agrees, still in the dark about what has happened since she left.
Then something reminds her of an odd occurrence in the men's room. She went in there because the tap in the ladies' room was not working well. But she heard someone struggling in one of the cubicles. She was assuming someone had eaten some bad food before.
Hearing that, Peter and Trevor lock eyes. Putting 1 and 2 together; Darwin is in there. And not long after this, everyone else gets it as well. With the possible exception of Sarah.
Peter's happiness and relief changes to feelings of spite, resentment and vengeance. He turns his head to the liars. The manipulators. Who tried to shove a heinous act onto someone who did not do it. Someone he had considered a friend. Someone who helped him back onto his feet during his lowest point. And those bastards made him believe that this same man had sexually assaulted his wife.
If glares could kill, both Silva and Jane would be dead ten times over. To be cast into the deepest pits of hell. Primitive instincts, those of the killing kind, are being called forth as he stalks towards. It translates over well in the visual department, as the two are tense and at least one of the two is getting quite scared.
"Private. Would you kindly lend me one of your pistols?" Peter asks as kindly as possible in his current emotional state.
Patches no longer has to pick a side; they are back on the same now. Without saying anything, she tosses her own to Peter and grabbing Felix' old weapon from her bag for her own use. Peter catches it effortlessly. Now there are two weapons held by two people who would like nothing more than to see the troublemakers gone.
It does not take Silva long to realize this. His eyes jitter. He tries to find someone to focus on. A goal, a target. One more important than those two currently armed. And that person is Trevor. Letting all of the pent up rage feed him, he bares his teeth and goes for it.
A gunshot rings out and a cry of pain is heard. A high pitched yelp that only a canine could make. But Trevor is alright. And so is Peter. Given how Patches is not a canine, so is she. But Silva is and currently he is no longer holding his revolver. Courtesy of the a hole in his hand
"Don't you dare!" Patches calls out loud and clear while looking through the sights of her smoking gun.
Her shot was inaccurate, courtesy of having to pull the gun on him in the blink of an eye. Then again, it is a good thing she still had that controversial ammunition loaded. A projectile managed to pierce through the middle carpal bone on Silva's hand, severing muscles, nerves and much more in the process.
The Sheriff wails as he tries to cover the wound with his other hand but it does not alleviate the pain. Any resolve and rage that fueled his attempt to go out guns blazing has been tarnished. Now he is but a crying, cursing deposed tinpot dictator unable to accept defeat.
"Jane, hands up now!" Peter demands the moment he notices her move even an inch.
And she complies instantly, now knowing that even if a shot misses, it might still get her. Although she wants to assist Silva, she is not going to risk it.
"Wow. That was fast." Trevor remarks impressed as he puts his drawn revolver back into its holster.
"Thanks Patch. Peter, you too."
"Don't mention it, Corporal. What do we do with them?"
Trevor sniffs and then spits on the floor.
"As much as I want you to pull the trigger, I'm not going down to his level. Patch. You still remember how cuffs work?"
Without skipping a beat and still keeping her pistol trained squarely at Silva's head, she grabs the handcuffs located behind her from her belt and lets them dangle from her finger. And she has the biggest gloating smile plastered on her face.
"Yes Sir." she reports.
"Then the honor is yours. If they give a kick, you are allowed to kick back."
"You got it, Sir. Silva, your hands up too! I don't care if they hurt, up in the air!" she demands of him as she approaches them.
"Peter."
Trevor turns to him.
"Take Quinn with you and get poor Darwin out of the shitter. We're good here"
The doberman nods and puts the gun down. He gestures to Quinn and the rat obliges to follow him. Both of them leave the common room, but not before Peter gives Sarah a kiss on the forehead and promises that he will explain what is going on afterwards.
Meanwhile, Patches has Silva and Jane standing upright with their hands behind their heads to check them for anything. After a pad-down, she makes them face away from her. While blood is drenching the back of his hair and neck.
The pain is something he has to ignore in order to appear tough. Internally, he is still screaming and crying.
"On your knees!" Patches orders him but he does not comply.
Instead he gives her a nasty glare as he looks behind himself. She scoffs at his resistance and knowing what her commanding officer said, she is going to act on it. She lifts up her knee and then unleashes one hell of a pushkick into Silva's calf. Consider her choice of footwear, the blow does not land softly.
Silva shrieks and falls down to his knees, frantically cursing and damning Patches as his hands are cuffed behind his back. In order to make him stop babbling, she gives a not so subtle flick of her finger to the back of his scalp.
"You have the right to remain silent." she underhandedly suggests before she turns her attention to Jane.
"Do you require a kickstart as well?" Patches offers graciously as she taps her foot on the floor.
"I'm all warmed up now."
Jane shakes her head and gets down on her knees on her own. She does not resist as she is cuffed and says nothing to aggravate the Private any further. Normally she does not mind getting cuffed. Usually it is part of the fun. But there is nothing gratifying about this.
With the criminals now in cuffs, Patches returns to Trevor's side. The pair is observing the other. Exchanging scoffing remarks and insults between them, whispering and sniggering. It might be a little childish to add insult to injury like this. Gloating over and ridiculing their defeated enemy. But it feels so good and well deserved.
Meanwhile, Peter and Quinn managed to find and free Darwin from his toilet cubicle prison. He was tied up, blinded and had his mouth stuffed with wet toilet paper. At least it used to be wet. Once all his constraints had been removed and after some calming down, did he leave the bathroom with his rescuers.
Halfway through however, something comes to mind. He calls out that Silva and Jane are planning to arrest Trevor for a crime he did not commit. And then kill him!
However, Quinn manages to calm him down and tells him that they already know. They are already arrested and are no longer going to hurt him. Peter confirms this when Darwin double-checks it with him. He sighs relieved and continues on.
The door of the common room opens and only that stops the verbal bullying of the two soldiers. Once they notice that Darwin has to be pretty much dragged in, they make preparations for him to be laid down. Trevor volunteers his own bed given how he already cleaned it up. As the panther is carefully laid down, he starts examining him. The spectacles are not necessary for this one; he can see a clear big bruise near his left temple. Enough to knock anyone out in one blow.
He looks over at the culprits. Any humor he managed to extract from their situation is gone now that they have this on their conscience as well.
"Jane!" Trevor calls out, startling her.
"Where do you keep your medical supplies?"
"Cupboard on the left. Bottom shelf." she answers, seeing no reason to delay or lie.
Trevor gestures to Patches to go and fetch it, so she does. After retrieving the necessary supplies, Trevor starts treating him and also asks Darwin what happened. Just to confirm. And Darwin confirms everything and more that Trevor did not know yet. He also apologizes for failing to report it.
"No Darwin. I'm the one who needs to apologize. I put you in this position. I should've never done that. I'm sorry."
Darwin nods, accepting his apology.
"Now, you have had a pretty bad blow to your temple. The bruising is significant. You might also have a concussion. A mild one but still. You stay here in this bed until medical transport teams come to pick you up. They will take good care of you." Trevor promises as he gets to his radio.
"Nelson, come in Nelson. This is Nova 7-1, requesting additional medical personnel and some MP's to our extraction." he calls in.
"Nova 7-1, this is Nelson. Copy that. I'll have it arranged. On the cusp of being intrusive, may I ask why?"
"We got one civilian injured and two others in cuffs. One civilian and one law enforcement officer."
"Law enforcement?"
"Yup. On the crime of harming the previously mentioned civilian, treason, rebellion, intended separation from Corneria City as well Corneria as a whole, therefore creating a new state on his own with himself at the helm, hindering a soldier of the Cornerian Army in his duty and attempting to kill or otherwise incapacitate said soldier."
Nelson is quiet for a moment.
"That... is quite the list. Wow. Sounds like a psycho."
"You don't know the half of it. The list isn't even complete yet. I'll leave that up to court." he says while looking at Silva, who lets his eyes and head down in defeat.
"Copy that. MP's will be there to escort them. As soon as the convoy is in the air, they'll contact you. Callsign Cherokee 3-0."
"Understood. Thank you Nelson. Looking forward to seeing you in person."
"You too Corporal. Nelson out."
The transmitter is turned off and the module is put back where it belongs. For the last time in this room.