4 - Metro Society
Two open arms. The interplanetary gesture for welcome. A hug with a loved one. Of revelation or presenting something. Generally very positive. It does depend on the person doing the motion. And given how it is Sheriff Silva doing it… it is not such a positive thing. Accompanied by his two less-likable sidekicks shadowing him. It is a very "special" welcoming committee. At least the civilians are gone.
"Corporal!" the Sheriff bellows.
"So glad you decided to change your mind! We'll make you feel right at home."
The tone is assuring but it does not feel like it at all. There is something lacking and feels forced. Like a bad rehearsal take that was not cut out of a movie production. It might convince some and that is more than it deserves.
Trevor reaches the bottom of the stairs and approaches the Sheriff with his lackeys. He puts his rifle butt on the ground and stands up straight in front him. Like a soldier standing at attention. Silence falls after the thud. The two sides are staring each other down. Trevor now notices that Silva is about a few centimeters smaller than he is but his bloodshot eyes are quite high-set. Bags are draping the underside of them. The perfect compliment to wrinkles visible underneath a thinning gray-black fur.
Trevor knows that Silva will see him up close now as well. He would lie if he was not a little curious what imperfection would be nitpicked at. His mustache? The tattoo on his muzzle? He might never know.
"I already feel right at home." says Trevor dry whereupon Silva chuckles.
"Glad to hear it. Felix, Ashley. Prep this soldier a bed. We have another member for our little group here. I'll show this newcomer around."
Right on cue, the two background extras walk away to go do what the Sheriff ordered. His attention shifts back to Trevor.
"There. Two of three you hate out of the picture."
"Oh I do not hate you, Sheriff." Trevor calmly reassures.
"I just dislike you. It is nothing personal. You are in my way right now."
"Then I will make sure to lead the way instead. Follow me please." Silva beckons over as he goes into the same directions the deputies went to.
Having nothing better to do, Trevor follows him over the footbridge. He is approaching the room he saw many enter and exit before but remained a mystery to him. Passing through the opened door, he ends up in a hallway. At the end it leads into another room and throughout it three doors are positioned. Two on the left side with the male toilet icon and the other with the female toilet icon. Not very progressive but it is a small metro station so the expectations were not very high to begin with. The third door on the right side says 'Maintenance' and it has a keypad. The numbers on the pad have worn in such a manner that a pattern of four numbers is clearly visible. Numbers 2, 8, 0 and 7 are worn. As the hallway ends, he can see on the wide-open door in great big white letters "No Entry!"
Now he stands in a massive room, filled with five rows of ten camp beds, the six civilians from before as well as the deputies who are carrying bedding. There is a flood lamp in the northwest corner of the room, brightly illuminating the most important parts. Against the southern wall are baskets filled with everyone's belongings. Handwritten name tags are folded around handles or taped to them.
In the distance near the eastern wall there is a boiler installed in the wall. Judging from the occasional humming noise emitted from it, it is functioning. To its right is an improvised countertop with cutlery, two sinks, a single pit portable gas stove, a microwave and a drying rack for the dishes. Next to that is a weapon rack, stacked with spears. More like sharp wooden sticks but it would do in a pinch probably.
To the boiler's left are facilities to wash yourself and your clothes. Separately of course. Not really a shower as much, just a bowl of clean water suspended on a hanger to wash your face with. Next to it, a bucket with soapy water and an antiquated washboard in it.
Looking around the room, he does now notice how some of the beds have red tape on them. In the shape of a saltire cross. Like they are unfit for duty or are marking something. When he inquires about it, a regretful Silva lets out a sigh and explains to Trevor that it's much like headstone; something to remember them by.
"They are sadly no longer with us. Gone to the great beyond. But!"
He puts his arm around Trevor's shoulders, much to his displeasure.
"We are still alive down here. And I will introduce you to those. You know my deputies already. And believe me, they are very pleased to meet you."
Still uncomfortable and now being tugged along to his next destination. Two parents sitting on their bed with their baby being cradled by the mother's arms. And whereas the mother is lovingly speaking gibberish to the little one much to its delight, the father is very absent. He looks tense, eyes staring at nothing at all and is shivering like it is freezing cold in here.
The mother looks like a poodle or cocker spaniel. Maybe a hybrid. She is about medium height and rather pudgy. Her fur is a rosy pink with white accents on the rest of her face and whatever of her body is visible. Her ears are floppy and fluffy. Her snout is rather stunted and her eyes seem unusually close to each other. Her matching pink parka-esque coat and tight fitting yoga pants makes her seem very basic in slang terms. Rather shallow in personality and potentially intelligence. In other words; more looks than brains.
The father is a straight up doberman. No question about it. No color deviations or other really big outstanding differences from the basic concept and idea of the species. If you think about any doberman, this appearance is the first thing popping up in your head. But unlike his wife, he is much taller and thinner. Giving him a lanky appearance. Dressed in a dark green trench coat with the collar turned up, it makes him look dark and mysterious. Missing only the matching hat and a lit cigarette. Yet at the same time lonely, withdrawn and scared. If his skittish behavior was any indication.
"This is the loving couple Peter and Sarah. With their daughter Hope. Peter, Sarah. Meet Corporal Trevor. He has changed his mind about leaving here and decided to stay with us."
Sarah looks up with a glowing smile on her face. It has been a while since he has seen such genuine happiness. Peter does not seem to notice him or the Sheriff.
"Oh Corporal!" she borderline screams.
"I am so glad you are here! When we saw you leave... well you didn't and that is the most important thing! Oh, and this is Hope! She's only 6 months old but already braver than both of us! Yes, you are!"
She chatters more gibberish to the little girl in record speed before giving a none too subtle jab with her elbow into Peter's back.
"Right darling?"
Peter jolts and seems to be back in reality.
"Y-yeah. She- she truly is." he mutters progressively less audibly.
The man must have gone through something terrible. His eyes slowly move over to Trevor until they meet his. Then he sniffs twice and recoils a smidgen. But that is where any other interaction ceases and he falls back into the trance.
"Don't mind my husband, he is just shy. Not so good with strangers." assures Sarah thankfully softer in volume.
Trevor knows there is more to it than that but he is already whisked away by the Sheriff who says his most earnest goodbye for now to the couple. He is moved to another individual sitting on the floor next to his bed. It is a white rat with freckles running over his muzzle and going underneath his eyes. He is wearing a burgundy stained leather button up thin jacket and jeans. Twiddling with his fingers and muttering to himself. When the person notices a presence before him, he looks up with an innocent look on his face, almost like a child in awe. Accentuated by his big green eyes looking through some jam jar spectacles.
"This young man here is Quinn. A real hard worker at the offices. He used to be some kind of IT fellah. Fixing computers, running the programs, that sort of stuff."
"H-Hello. Sheriff and C-Corporal." he stutters while giving a hasty and sloppy salute to Trevor specifically.
There was at least some effort behind it so it deserves a proper one in return.
"Yes, I used to do a lot of those things for an insurance company. But, I also like video games and strategy games. Or role playing games with your own figurines. Or board games? Do you play that as well, Sir?"
Trevor could tell the fellow was opening up much more now that he found something that made him genuinely happy. Not a big fan of those games, except those of the video kind, he wants to kindly respond to him but Silva answers for him.
"I am sure only you and a select group of eeerhm... people play that sort of stuff Quinn. When you have an actual skill that can help us now, please let us know."
All the happiness that was there before has faded away and Quinn goes back into his own little world. Trevor is now even more uncomfortable and sympathetic for the poor people living under this guy's boot.
The next person Trevor gets introduced to sits on his bed cross-legged and eyes closed, wearing a set of oversized headphones with red, green and yellow stripes on it. He does not need to guess what type of music is playing. The individual is a pale green-gray panther with long, braided ivory hair. Sporting little more than an ill-fitting shirt and wide, comfortable pants. Silva bends over before him and taps not so gently on the right headphone, popping the person back into reality. He reacts with tacit compliance, his face showing nothing but discontent for the ones standing in front of him. But particularly towards Trevor it feels hostile.
"This would be Darwin N- N something or another. I can't pronounce that name for the life of me. This man used to be a radio host to some funko-pop rap type of affair. Quite popular with the youth I believe. He does however have a problem with authority and is particularly known for his anti-war statements on the radio. So not your biggest fan right now."
Darwin nods his head then turns to Silva.
"It is Ndiaye, Sheriff. Darwin Ndiaye."
He turns back to Trevor, hostility in the eyes still burning on.
"Corporal."
"Charmed." Trevor responds coldly in kind.
With no discernible reaction to it, Darwin picks his headphones back up and puts them back on. Trevor glances over at Silva, who shrugs at him also not sure what to make of it. This time, Trevor does not mind being tugged along. Although now he is not physically dragged along, now tagging along to meet the final civilian. At the end of the room near the eastern wall standing at the makeshift kitchen is a rather appealing looking woman with her back towards them. Dressed in modest yet tight-fitting clothes. Silva takes off his hat and clears his throat to get her attention.
"Excuse me miss. Did not mean to disturb you in your activities but I wanted to introduce you to someone."
The unknown woman turns around and her face is a rather unfortunate surprise. Trevor's face tries to hide it as best as he can, but on the inside he has some choice words.
"Holy mother of... a cigarette between crooked teeth. A face like a banshee dipped in cheddar cheese dust and an amount of eyeliner that would make pandas blush. Eyes sunken deep into her skull. The amount of wrinkles and the ashiness of her skin… looks like it doesn't fit her at all! She is repulsive!"
And yet Silva seems to disagree. He has pink glasses the size of Quinn's. In the most gentlemanly fashion he introduces Trevor to her. Even pushes him towards her.
"So." she says with a voice as gravely as the Sheriff's.
He can see why he is enamored with her. She takes the cigarette out of her mouth and blows the smoke into his face. Trevor is too late to close his eyes and with an audible "ack" he stumbles back and rubs his eyes to get it out.
"You must be the Corporal. A young one indeed."
She observes him from top to toe and gives a cheeky smile.
"It's been a while since I had one like you."
"The dear Corporal is not a customer Jane." corrects Silva as if he was trying to protect his merchandise.
"He is here to protect us. Ain't that right?"
"Yes indeed." he replies with some difficulty.
Trevor's eyes are back open but are still irritated. He collects himself soon enough.
"I am ma'am. What a soldier does on the daily."
Unimpressed by what he says and more what he has to offer as her eyes oggle all of him, Jane takes a pull of her cigarette and redirects the exhaust towards Silva this time. Seeing it as justice, Trevor does not mind that only has to smell it. Again however, Silva considers it positive.
"Shame. Maybe next time." she gives him a wink, which makes Trevor feel sick come up from his stomach.
She then turns to Silva and whispers something in his ear before turning back to her business at the kitchen table. Whatever she said, it made Silva's ears perk up and light his face up with a faint red. He then gestures to Trevor to come along with him. With arms behind his back, strutting as if on the metaphorical high horse and with fictitious peacock feathers up, he walks with Trevor out of the room.
"She got you hooked like a fish, Sheriff." Trevor breaks up the silence between both of them.
"It is actually nice to see you genuine, instead of that facade you put up with the other five."
Silva shrugs.
"What can I say? A man likes what a man likes. I like a tough ol' woman who can cook me a hardy meal and could kick my ass in a heartbeat. But! Will not do it." he emphasizes.
"Yeah, that is the type of woman she is. And about those peeps in there? Sure, I got nothing much with them. And yet I keep 'em safe."
In the meantime they have returned to the platform. The stairs are still highlighted by the sunlight. He could leg it from here. It is only Silva he is to avoid. A simple punch or using the butt of his rifle? A gunshot would be too loud, even with the silencer but hitting him might not knock him out. He will call for help and before long that jumpy bunny and loose hands Felix would turn up. No, such an action would be too big of a risk.
"Which is why you need to cooperate with me." finishes Silva pointing at Trevor.
"Cooperate with you?" he reacts, taken aback slightly.
"You don't have to pretend to like me, Corporal. We both know you wanna leave here. But you agreed to stay here. This here place… is my domain. I command here, like an officer does where you come from. I keep order here. In terms of hierarchy, there's the civilians at the bottom. My deputies above them and up there at the top is me. It's sort of like a little society. People don't have to like each other, as long as they abide by the rules."
Trevor crosses his arms.
"Like an officer and his two MP's. Ruining the fun for all the boys and girls. Tell me then "Sir", where on that scale would I come in?"
His voice is dripping with sour, out of date vinegar. Silva chuckles in response.
"Somewhere along the lines of my Deputies I suppose. Hell, you can consider yourself an Honorable Deputy. On the same line. The only one you listen to is me. That is how I run my society. And given how you decided off your own accord to stay here, I suggest... No! Demand you follow my orders."
Trevor lifts his head back, raises an eyebrow and looks overall sick of this ruff behavior coming from this old geezer. He sees himself as exalted, pretending to be big. More bark than bite but with confidence. Not cowardice nor humble.
But he is right about having to keep order. Order brings quiet and quiet brings calm and trust. Rip that away and anarchy will ensue. Normalcy must be preserved and when this has been built up from the ground up by a Sheriff with more gun than kindness...
"Not like I had much of a choice. Okay, I will play along. Sir!"
No sourness in his voice now, replaced instead by sarcasm and a proper salute. In on it, Silva salutes back.
"Welcome and dismissed Corporal."