9 - Neighborhood

It is almost like a children's show. Get yourself introduced to all the friendly people of the village. Maybe help them with something dead simple but it is entertaining enough for the toddlers to sit still for 30 minutes or so and maybe even learn a thing or two. Like a catchy song about words or a color. Making friends is important after all. You need friends. Must be a terrible fate not to have friends at all. Either at the top or the bottom on the ladder to success.

No matter the age, having someone or more people around you that you can fall back on is important. When you are a kid, it is so you can play with a ton of them. When you are an adult, it is still to play with them but probably not something like tag. But the difference between it, to have something/someone reliable in the turmoil that his life for the normal chap. Working paycheck to paycheck or maybe slightly more comfortable. Someone to rely on is worth its weight in gold.

No matter the environment either. In a work environment, like an office space for example, having at least a workable relation with your fellow colleagues is paramount. And given the work environment of a soldier, particularly during a war against a cybernetic assimilating insect race, a steady group of comrades is beyond important. In particular, when the command structure is on the verge of crumbling. Again.

Hence the effort in this one. But before Trevor goes on the charm offensive, he needs some rest. Lying stretched out on his camp bed staring at the ceiling while lightly bobbing his head to the music seeping into his ears from his non-wireless earphones. Those wireless things are more likely to get lost anyway.

His mind goes blank on occasion. Relaxing every muscle in his body and sometimes even having a sneaky power nap. And that despite the massive flood lamp he has the misfortune of being the closest to.

To his dismay, his thoughts do eventually return. Coincidentally after his music playlist had finished. He forgot to put it on infinite repeat. Moaning and complaining, he gets up and sits drowsy on the edge. Rubbing the sleep and laziness out of his eyes, he takes out the earplugs and puts them back in the compartment in his radio.

Speaking of that thing, after that core reset, he started hearing some unexpected white noise coming from the speaker. Looking back at the history of frequencies received, he notices that at least a few signals came from Cornerian Military encoded channels. They were very short but it was at least something. But whatever was transmitted, it was so garbled that it might as well have been white noise.

Somewhere in his mind, Trevor is hoping that might have been her. That she finally got his messages. But then why would the messages be so sporadic? Or could it be that the shockwave just messed with the internals? It must be the latter. In the feign hope that it might be her, he prepares to send another one of those messages.

However, any chance is cut short when the happy pair with their young daughter come verbally barging into the room. Almost as he expected, it is Sarah screaming her head off at Peter, who takes the beating with a hanging head. He is already KO but there is no saving from the bell nor a towel thrown in the ring. It is not clear what the argument is about but eventually it dies down when the little one starts crying. In the blink of an eye, Sarah's behavior goes to the polar opposite as she focuses all her attention on Hope. Giving Peter a change to saunter away to the northern wall. Somewhere it is darker and no one is around him.

- North

Looks like he has found his first target. Duty before fun. He turns the transmitter off, grabs a few things from the medical compartment, covers the radio with his bedsheet and moves in. When he is about close enough to smell her weak yet dire parfum, she notices him.

"Oh Corporal!" she shrieks with the usual high volume that he is still surprised by.

"I am so glad you fixed the electricity around here! I didn't know you could fix things like that. You are very talented!"

It is like a child talking, with the body of an adult. He has heard of never losing your childish spirit but this is more like a young girl planning with her doll. At least that is the impression he is getting. For all he knows she could be a good mom. With an attitude and no volume slider but still.

"I try." he says, feigning humbleness.

"So what was the fight about between you and Peter?"

"Oh." she says surprisingly cold.

"He had one of those panic attacks again, scaring Hope. The doctor, who is a complete quack by the way, did say they would come back eventually. But Peter thought he would never get them back."

"He stopped taking medication then?"

"No no. He still took what was prescribed."

"So the medicine isn't working?"

"We ran out. That stuff was expensive so we decided not to get a new batch."

"You two decided? I thought it was going so well?" Trevor asks suspiciously.

"That money could be better spent on other things. Besides, that medicine turned out to be quack too. He was fine without them. Well until..."

"Until war broke out."

She sighs heavily.

"Yes. And now he's back to his old self. Reclusive, distant. In his own little world. I actually suggested he would try and socialize with that Quinn guy because that guy is also living in his own little world. He thought that was an insult but it was an honest suggestion so I pressed him on it and that got to him again. And now here he is again."

Trevor looks over at Peter. He has his head in his folded arms and when it is lifted, it looks around skittishly before going back under.

"Do you know why he has those attacks to begin with?"

"I think so. He used to be in the military. Like you. Oh!"

She suddenly perks up, along with the volume.

"Maybe you could help him. You are military too, right? Perhaps you can get him back into line or something. Drill sergeant style!"

With the thought that she has watched too many movies in mind, Trevor agrees to do so. He half-heartedly thanks Sarah for the information and goes to Peter. As he gets closer, the nervous man takes notice of him and attempts to ignore him. However, he keeps meeting Trevor's gaze. Seeming more and more like a cornered animal, he tries to move further away. Practically trying to merge with the wall.

Seeing him cower away like that, Trevor stops and sits down on the edge of a nearby camp bed close to Peter. The distance kept between the two works calming for Peter.

"Peter, right?"

Trevor receives a mumble as an answer while the lone man keeps looking around him.

"I heard you were in the military. Was wondering where you served."

Peter's meerkat behavior stops. Then he looks up at Trevor with a rather intense look.

"Who told you that?"

His tone is not a friendly one. So Trevor decides to keep it between himself and Peter.

"A little birdie told me."

"That little birdie should have told you to leave me alone."

Peter's tone changed from stern and forceful, to a more annoyed and stuck-up. But he could just be going back and forth on that. Given the nature of his panic attacks and how he is in one right now, emotions can swing wildly.

"That little birdie also told me about what you went through. Must not have been easy."

Peter's eyebrows are raised.

"What do you know?"

"That panic attacks suck. And that I've had them too. That constant feeling of... of feeling unsafe."

The last part he almost whispers.

"Someone or something being behind you."

Trevor can see this strikes a cord with Peter. His body language becomes more open and his body itself more relaxed. His eyes still move left and right but not as often anymore.

"I-it's nothing. You get used to it." Peter says dismissively.

Trevor laughs wryly.

"I wish. I once hid in a bus shelter like it was a bunker. One of those very simple ones near a provincial road you know."

He then shakes his head at how awkward it must have looked.

"It was a helicopter. Flying overhead. Commercial thing. And yet all I heard were those rotors. That banging, piercing noise. I still get chills when I hear one."

It is silent between the two after that. Then Peter reaches for a pocket inside of the left side of his coat and takes a card out of it. A playing card with the Queen of Hearts on it. He tosses it in between him and Trevor.

"Lady Fortuna."

Trevor responds upbeat at it before he too reaches for something inside one of the magazine pouches on his upper chest. The one closest to his heart he opens and instead of a magazine, he too takes out a playing card. Holding it between two fingers, he tosses it on top of the Queen of Hearts. It is the King of Clubs.

"Lord Macbeth." Trevor retorts.

"Actus primus. A factory boy huh?"

Trevor nods and laughs.

"Fortuna caeca est. A real jungle rat in front of me."

"How long did you serve on Macbeth, that nasty mining planet?"

"Pffft. Two years? Did a bit of corporate warfare with the 35th SPRF. Was supposed to be my second-to-last mission before I got out. Was to be transferred over to Katina and then... this happened."

Peter nods acknowledging.

"I was on Fortuna for about nine months. You know that battle before those bugs invaded?"

"How could I not? That was why I was going to Katina to begin with." Trevor answers with an awkward chuckle.

"Five years before that, we were sent out there because of Oikonny too. Command got intel that the bastard was rebuilding the Venomian Army with whatever was left of it. I was with the 33rd Re-organized Foot, 4th squad. Thrown together for skirmish actions. Our job was to scout ahead and if at all possible sabotage some things."

"Judging from your tone it did not go very well?"

Peter looks down.

"Over ambitious planning. Kinda necessary in that jungle mess but to this was too much. And still, you cannot plan for everything. We walked straight into a machine gun near an outpost. Lady Fortuna spared my life that day. Not my being."

"Sorry to hear that. When uhm... I arrived here on Corneria, I was still with the 35th but all of my previous mates were already placed in different units. I got fresh recruits. I tried not to be ambitious. Maybe I was, I couldn't tell. At the end of the first day… I was alone."

Peter nods understanding again and offers his condolences. It is somewhat soothing to see and hear such compassion coming from a veteran. Despite not being much older and out of the military for a long time. It gives Trevor an overwhelming warm feeling inside and he tries his best not to have tears well up.

"I can cope. I had help. But what happened to you? You seem far out." wonders Trevor.

Good thing that military slang sticks, because Peter knows precisely what the Corporal means.

"I did look for help. Mainly because I actually found love, just before being sent out. After I was honorably discharged a few months after the Fortuna debacle, I married her, the love of my life. I had other help too. Medicine, therapy sessions. The lot. And I was happy. Until I ended up in a divorce situation. The woman I loved… did not want children. And I did."

"That clashes, yeah. Was it at least a smooth process?"

"Rocky. Very rocky. I relapsed. I knew that love and the wish for children was the thing holding the stress back. So I went looking for it."

He points towards Sarah.

"And I found it. She wanted children too. But I was so focused on getting those two things, that I forgot myself. My pink glasses were the size of Quinn's."

There is a moment of quiet from Peter. He is sunken deep in thought. Almost like he doubts sharing what is on his mind.

"She probably told you that the resolve to my situation is all quack? That is one of the negatives about her I didn't notice. Hence why she decided that my treatment wasn't worth it. I was better anyway and I had no more panic attacks around her so in her book, it was cured."

"But it wasn't." assumes Trevor correctly.

"I am ashamed of the things I did to get medicine. To get money for it. I couldn't get a repeat receipt from the doctor; she would see that. So I turned to the... back alleys. The gray areas of the city. You know what I mean."

"I don't know what you are talking about." answers Trevor definitely 100% truthfully.

But Peter knows better. With the first grin visible since Trevor has seen him, Peter carefully explains why he knows that Trevor got a very good idea of the underground.

"And finally, that rifle you have. That is beyond obsolete. You do know that the army even during my time had the SA-115 right?"

Trevor scoffs, pretending to be insulted.

"If the Army had those in stock, I wouldn't have to resort to a bolt-action relic. But you know, budget priorities."

Peter understands what he means.

"Even back in my time we had to scavenge for some things. It did not get better then."

Trevor laughs out the other side of his face and the veteran joins in. After a good verbal crackdown of the logistics, budgeting of the army and sometimes feeling like those apes from Sargasso, Trevor reverts the conversation back to the medicine situation.

"You know, the black market was also a way for me to stockpile various medical supplies. That included the stuff you need. I trained to be a medic actually before my marksman skills were appreciated. Was going to be an advanced training course but I really wanted to be a sniper."

At that moment Ashley walks by behind Trevor. Not directly behind him but close enough to be spotted by Peter. It is very obvious she had some medical treatment and he did hear something about Trevor's mission which she was essentially forced to go along with.

"That your handiwork then?"

Trevor does not know what he is on about, until Peter gestures to somewhere behind him. Trevor turns around and sees Ashley indeed pass by about two bed rows away. She checks in on Quinn before going to her own bed and relax.

"Yeah. That it is." he says with a smile on his face, seeing her up and about.

"Good job. Heard that she got that black eye fighting those bugs."

Trevor exhales thoroughly.

"Don't believe that. She told me what really happened. It was no Aparoid. No, I addressed the perpetrator myself."

He then rubs the knuckles of the fist that smashed the cartilage before. It hurts slightly still but it was a worthy sacrifice. And Peter seems to know precisely what he means.

"Got it. Strong answer. A bit destructive though. Then again, what did I expect from a factory boy?" Peter jests with a half-smile.

"A jungle rat would have sucker punched him. I prefer it to be more direct." Trevor scoffs gently in response.

"Now, for my next patient."

Out of his uniform pocket, he takes a square, thin cardboard box with a dimmed orange and purple hue. In a big black impact font a knock-off brand is written on it, with the text of "RDJ, 1%" underneath it. He holds it in his hand and wiggles it from side to side to draw Peter's attention to it. The pre-packaged tablets rattle inside.

Seeing what Trevor is holding, Peter's expression grows very hopeful. Like he has just seen the light at the end of a tunnel. A feeling very familiar to him for sure. He can clearly see the excitement and hope radiating from the veteran's face.

"Now now. I must tell you, this is not exactly the stuff you were looking for. This is the diluted version, about 1/3rd as potent. So I cannot guarantee it will work like you are used to. However, it will do the trick in a pinch."

After neutrally explaining it does not diminish the enthusiasm for Peter, Trevor gives in at trying to downplay the effects and tosses the whole box to him. With both hands he catches it and it holds in his view, staring both bewildered and relieved at this golden ticket. Now it is his turn to hold back some upcoming salty eye water.

"20 tablets of relief. Well, exactly 18. I admit, I used two before. The rest is all yours." addresses Trevor with a hint of dryness, ending his session with the patient.

His remark makes Peter laugh. When that dies down, Peter starts tapping the box against his hand and looks back up at Trevor with a thankful expression.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Corporal."

His expression then turns positively suspicious.

"But I don't think you came here just for a chat about panic attacks and doping me up."

"Woooow. Already digging for ulterior motives behind kind gestures? Tsk tsk! A jungle rat through and through." Trevor responds positively sarcastically, not even trying to pretend.

"Call it experience with corporate muscle, factory boy"

Trevor rolls his eyes and then takes it more seriously. He approaches closer, sitting down on the floor now. Peter does not retreat. Then Trevor leans in.

"What is your opinion of Silva?" Trevor asks on the cusp of whispering.

Peter's first response is a firm sneer and an expression like he is holding back a sneeze.

"Not a fan I see." deduces Trevor easily.

"That is an understatement. He acts like a primate with a gun. Reminds me a lot of Oikonny to be honest. All talk and pretense. When it is calm and all do his bidding, he is serviceable. But the moment things go wrong, he'll hightail out of there like a coward. That is what I see. Heck, he reminds me of the officer that led us into that machine gun."

"Really?"

"Hmhm. It was his ambiguous plan and we followed. The guy survived as well. But I and the rest who were left hated his guts after that. Had no respect for the dead nor for the living. Used us as tools and treated us as such. So one day he found himself with a grenade in his back pocket. With the pin removed. I fragged his ass, literally." he declares proudly.

Trevor can go along with that.

"A bad officer is better off dead. And a good soldier better know how to kill 'em. Ain't that right?"

"Right as rain, Corporal."

"Good, because I might need your help with Silva. I may have caved Felix' nose in, but he was only the trigger. The finger was the great Sheriff himself. And I suspect that me and him will clash eventually. Ashley is already on board, for obvious reasons. So, can I count you in?" Trevor asks, completely open about his intentions.

Not a lick of sarcasm or humor to be detected.

Peter is thinking about it. He glances down at the box of medicine still clutched in his hands and then back up at the Corporal. He can see it in his eyes and his general composure. This is a genuine gesture from him; he would not have held it back even if Peter had said no in the end. His intentions are pure in the end.

"Well. I cannot guarantee anything. Especially with these pills not being the real deal." he says with some negative load to it.

"However, should you need that paper tyrant out of the picture..."

He then extends his hand out to Trevor.

"Consider me motivated for another fragging."

A full smile finally graces Peter's face. And partly because of that, Trevor is just as glad to shake the veteran's hand. They give each a firm handshake and Trevor thanks him multiple times, both under his breath and audible. Peter is rather humble in receiving this praise. When the handshake is over, he picks up his card and hands it to Trevor.

"Here. This has always brought me luck. Lady Fortuna will bless you too now."

Trevor is hesitant to accept it, but when Peter insists he takes it. He puts it in the same pocket he took his card from. And in return, Trevor mirrors the veteran's action by handing him Lord Macbeth.

"Actus primus calls for a second actuality. Whatever you do after this, make sure you do it for yourself. Not for Sarah, not for just wanting to live in comfort again. But for yourself to live in comfort. There is a reason you called your daughter Hope. May Lord Macbeth guide you."

With those words, Peter accepts the card as hesitantly as Trevor did before. But with the same pride does he return in his jacket. Like old friends, they once more shake hands before Trevor departs. With his departure however, he does leave the option open for Peter to come by him or his unit's barracks after this whole mess has blown over. Peter says in return he would really like that.

- South

Now it is on to the next "target". Still sitting on the floor on the other side of the room just to the right of his camp bed, is the reserved Quinn. Trevor does not need a very keen sense of hearing to know that he is talking to himself. Probably about worlds and fantasy-themed things that Trevor has no idea nor interest in. Of course self-inserting an original character in those worlds to be the hero. And that hero would be based on an exaggerated and near-perfect version of himself. Bigger and better than he himself is and ever will be.

It is behavior that Trevor knows very well for he himself is guilty of talking to himself. With a sense of fantasy. But whereas Quinn can only imagine fighting on battlefields, most of the time Trevor needs to only open his eyes to be right in the middle of one.

Approaching a loner so focused from behind might not be the best thing to do, unless he wants to create a scene. While that might have some humorous potential, it is just bullying really. So Trevor takes a detour like he is passing by a stopped bus before squatting down right in front of the muttering Quinn. He can see that he is playing with what he can assume are plastic figures in fantastical colors. As not to interrupt him directly he keeps the same distance between the two as he did with Peter.

Patiently, he waits for Quinn to notice something in front of him has changed. And eventually, the white rat sees something different at the top of his field of view. It takes a moment to get through but when it does, the response is immediate; he is back on Corneria and Trevor is there to kindly welcome him back. As instantaneous as reality hits, so too does the embarrassment on Quinn's part.

"Oh jeez!" he cries out as subdued as he can while he hides the two models under his camp bed.

As if he was just caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar by his mother. With a face colored in shame, he looks up slowly at Trevor.

"S-sorry Corporal. I didn't see you. H-how long have you been sitting there?"

"Long enough to enjoy your little story a lot more than I thought. Compelling stuff." Trevor says with his more high-class accent and as genuine as possible, even though he barely followed nor understood anything that was said.

Some basic stuff sure, but when it came to the plentiful jargon, it might as well have been gibberish.

"Well, you weren't supposed to hear anything. So please keep it between us, yes?" Quinn almost mumbles, making sure no else hears it for sure.

Trevor agrees and gestures that his mouth is zipped shut.

"Thank you." he says relieved and with the color of a tomato slowly draining from his face, Quinn asks what he can do for Trevor.

"Well, I was not fairly well introduced before. At least not in the way I would have liked. Silva put you in a bad light."

"Yeah... I'm used to it." he sighs.

"You should not be. So I want to shine the light back on you again. I was going to respond to your uhm... enthusiasm honestly. Namely that; no I am not into that kind of game or roleplaying. It is just not my type. However, I did notice that one of the models is from Waraxe. I may not be one for the painting or the big tabletop games, but I do enjoy a few video games that depict the franchise."

Trevor can see Quinn's high spirits die down a bit when he admits not to like almost all but when he mentions the video games, it is back.

"And I was wondering if I could get your help. Given how you must know much more of it."

Quinn reacts as if he has heard his calling. He adjusts his glasses properly and leans forward.

"What seems to be your quandary, Corporal?"

Glad that his question struck a chord with the nerdy rat, Trevor presents his query.

"Well, the problem is with the newest entry in the series..."

"Pandemonium!" knows Quinn straightaway.

"Not the best in the trilogy but definitely better than the second entry. Continue, continue."

"I am currently at level 7, stuck at the final boss of that level. Every time I try to melee that bastard, he turns non-corporeal and I cannot hit him for the life of me. And then he does some kind of gas attack that instantly kills me."

While Trevor is explaining his troubles, Quinn knows precisely what he is talking about. He can barely hold back the answer to all of the problems that are and will ever be regarding that boss.

"I keep trying to get behind him. Sneak up on him but it is like he has eyes in the back of his head. It is really maddening."

Quinn then holds up his hand, signaling Trevor to stop uttering his woes for he knows.

"You are fighting Xyritz. The God of Disorder, Deception and Distrust. Or! As she, my dear Corporal, is known as… within the right circles, as triple D."

Trevor would have expected a stereotypical snorting nerd laugh but as it turns out, Quinn actually keeps his nostril passages clear so he does not have to suffer that atrocious noise.

"Now, why are you even trying to melee her? Getting close is exactly what she wants."

"That is the thing; I was all out of ammunition. I missed a resupply point just before the final boss area and then the game quicksaved. And without previous made saves..."

Quinn tuts Trevor's shockingly bad gaming etiquette. That is not the way to do it.

"I see why you have that problem. But it is not impossible to defeat her in this state. It will be difficult but not impossible. I don't know if you need to write this down or you can keep it all inside your head but it has a few steps you need to follow to the letter. Normally I would use my phone just in case I forgot something but that thing's connection to the Net doesn't work anymore. Right, so here I go."

As Quinn starts orating into the very finest of details the way to defeat a video game boss. From the moment the player would get control back over their character after the introductory cutscene, Quinn would describe where to move. No matter if Trevor would use a controller or simply the keyboard, Quinn has a perfect explanation for both of them.

Trevor goes along with it fine, because he knows the arena the boss level takes place in as well; he has finished the game already. But he knows that he did get stuck at the same level before. The solution was not to seek out the closest hardcore Waraxe roleplayer but simply to look up a guide on the Net. So every step, every minute detail of where to stand and what button to press, he knows it all already. And while he was looking up the guide, the comments suggested that more people had trouble with this level if they did ran out of ammunition. So by pretending to have the exact problem but not having looked up a guide online, he could get closer to Quinn.

A ruse indeed. But Trevor notices and relishes in that child-like enthusiasm and burning passion from when he was first introduced to the young rat. That, alongside the hope of someone to share his hobby with. Even if it is only in video games; it is by far better than nothing at all. Seemingly one other person has been paying attention to him since this whole disaster. And that would be Ashley, who Quinn is comfortable enough with that she can approach him from behind without startling him silly.

Speaking of the rabbit, she is currently standing near the kitchen block leaning against the southern wall. She is observing and listening to the two gentlemen discuss their game with glee. The advantage of having big ears and sharp eyes from eating all those carrots she supposes. Even if Quinn is talking 90% of the time, Trevor keeps engaging in the conversation to keep the energy up. It is him who has the attention from her.

"I fixed up your pal, Felix." interrupts a gravelly voice coming from her right, too feminine to be Silva.

So Ashley feels more easy to turn towards the direction the voice came from.

"He won't be able to smell well for a while but it shouldn't be too much trouble for him."

It is Jane, standing a bit too close for comfort with a lit cigarette in the right side of her mouth. The butt of the cigarette is stuck in between her teeth which are shut tight with the biting strength of a crocodile. It reminds Ashley of clay squished in a hydraulic press. Right now she is taking off a pair of latex gloves which are covered in a little bit of blood and an unknown fluid Ashley wished she would very quickly forget the color off. They are tossed away quickly enough though.

"He is not my pal." answers Ashley cold as he turns her attention back to Trevor and Quinn.

And Jane notices this.

"Hmmmm. I see what you are looking at. That is your pal, isn't it?" she correctly deduces, gesturing to Trevor.

"Yeah. I think he is cute too. But forget it, the guy wouldn't give me the time of day. He's probably gay or something."

"He already has a girlfriend." Ashely bites at Jane, feeling the need to defend the absent person being slandered.

"Who? You?" Jane starts to laugh, which soon turns into a short coughing fit.

Ashley only leers at her.

"Erhm! Jeesh, relax there girly. I meant no insult; I have dabbled plenty with the same sex before. But I know when I'm not a welcome presence. Just make sure he stays your pal in that case huh?" she suggests with a sly smile and a wink before she leaves Ashley to herself.

The only trace she was there being the stinking cloud of smoke that hangs a little too long for comfort. When she turns back to the two gentlemen discussing, she sees a slightly different sight. Seemingly the gameplay tutorial had finished and now they went on to a different subject.

From what she can make out now that they are talking more quietly, it seems Trevor was in awe of the explanation Quinn gave and was wondering why Silva would call him useless. That caused Quinn to become a little down, saying that all he knows is computers, numbers and his hobby; nothing that would really assist in a war like this.

But Trevor clearly sees this differently. After thinking over Quinn's depressing words and low self-esteem, he comes up with an idea. If Quinn likes coming up with his own stories, then why does he not write them down? Or better yet, why not write about what is actually going on? On what madness reality can create that imagination could only dream off. He could be like a journalist, keeping a diary of war from inside the warzone. With other people being either fleeing, already gone or dead, he would be one of the few heroes in the thick of it.

"Pencil pushers are just as important as the soldiers on the battlefield. What I do, is something you cannot do because you are not trained for it. But what you do, I cannot do either right now because that is not my business. We all have our purposes. And while I kill our enemies, you document with fairness and accuracy so that it is clear for those who read up on it afterwards. The pen and the sword working together."

Trevor's contribution seems to have a reinvigorating effect on the rat, who can be seen eating out of Trevor's hand. Metaphorically speaking of course.

"Good. So if Silva chews you out again, just remind yourself that he does not know what you are capable of. And when you sell your book after this mess is over, you will laugh in his face all the way to the bank."

"They might even make a movie about it." Quinn adds careful but sneakingly cheeky.

Trevor then puts his right hand on Quinn's shoulder.

"Exactly buddy. Screw Silva and what he thinks is useful. I have seen what he thinks is useful and that is being his personal bootlicker."

"I-I did never like the taste of leather." remarks Quinn in the same tone as before, but with a dash more of cheekiness.

"Glad you are on the right side of things buddy. If you need anything, give me a shout." Trevor assures him.

"And if you need more tips on how to finish your game, I'm your guy." Quinn assures back.

"That sounds like you want to come over sometime. After we kicked the Aparoids off this planet yeah?"

"Like split-screen?" asks Quinn, positively shining.

"I will order the pizza. You will see why my girlfriend calls me lazy-bones."

They shake hands on that agreement. As they do, Ashley has seen enough to call it a day when it comes to observing. She has a few other tasks to do as she returns to her camp bed.

Coincidentally, that is also Trevor's idea. He says goodbye to a much more happy Quinn and walks alongside the southern wall back to his camp bed. That is where he almost trips over the stretched out legs of Darwin, who is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. Very close to touching his right leg, Trevor stops just in time. And despite having music playing from his headphones loud enough for even Trevor to hear, Darwin does notice.

"You mind not stepping on me with your boot, mister military man?" asks Darwin with an unhealthy dose of cynicism as he takes off his headphones.

"I know it is hard for you not to but do please try."

Trevor's good mood is suddenly dampened by this peace-loving hippie. Not that he does not like peace; he wanted out of the army already and got saddled with this worthless last job instead. But when it comes from a loathsome and frankly bitter ruiner of moods and atmosphere, he would almost prefer the trenches. Almost.

"My apologies. I did not see you sitting there. I'll be careful not to step on any of your toes." responds Trevor dry and with ambiguity.

"I saw what you did with that office boy. I think it's inappropriate to use him like that for your own needs."

Trevor scoffs.

"If I wanted your opinion, I would've listened to your radio programs that I believe Silva told me you had. But then again, knowing him, he might even be wrong about that one. Now, I will pass by and not bother you again." he tells the panther before stepping over his legs with a wide arc and walking away from him.

To which Darwin replies by shrugging and putting his headphones back on.

The last stop before he is back "home" is Sarah, who is still mothering the baby. Muttering gibberish at her, much to the little girl's delight. When Trevor draws her attention, she greets him with the usual volume.

"Hi Corporal! I almost didn't see you there. Oh, did you talk to Peter? Did you give him a good drilling?"

Hoping to quickly get that suggestive image out of his head, Trevor nods.

"Yes, I did ma'am. I talked with him properly and I think you will find he is doing better soon."

"Oh wonderful! You know, when it comes to Hope, I'm almost afraid to let him be with her. Alone I mean."

Trevor squats down beside her to be at her eye-level and puts a hand on her shoulder. She does not respond pleased to that touch but he does not notice.

"I understand that. But that man needs to see his daughter as well. Give him that chance. More often than you do now. Alright?"

Sarah reacts stubbornly hesitant but relents a few moments later.

"I'll think about it. I will do that." she responds with some bitter surrender.

Trevor taps her shoulder and walks away from the pair. Sarah watches him go but soon enough turns her attention back to her baby, blurting nonsense and making funny noises soon enough.

- Homecoming

Finally he is back at his own bed, which he lies on royally. Staring at the ceiling with his hands on the back of his head, he looks back on this effort. It was a socially heavy and exhausting excursion but it was worth it. If he wants to strengthen his position against that paper tyrant of a sheriff, he needs more local support. He almost feels like a politician, which makes him feel slimy and dishonest. And sure, he did use some means of persuasion but at least he was telling the truth. He does not see those suit-wearing windbags do that.

Satisfied, he rises back up and sits on the left edge of the bed. He removes the blanket covering his radio and puts it back on the bed. Time to finish what he started with.

However before he can do that, he hears something heavy-ish being dropped on the camp bed behind him. When he looks behind him, he sees that the culprit is Ashley herself, having dropped most of her wardrobe, bedspread and a few pillows.

"Hi neighbor!" she greets cheerful when she notices Trevor looking at her.

"You mind if I move in here?"

At first Trevor is a little overwhelmed seeing her here so close to his place but when common sense returns to his gray mass, he is only glad to see that she trusts him enough to move from the other side of the room to the other. Especially given that floodlight being so close now. Furthermore, she might just be his closest friend in his place. And maybe even his new partner.

Therefore: "By all means. Welcome to the neighborhood."