3 - Semper Infi
- Survival of the Fittest
It has been about fifteen minutes since they came in. Sneaking about in the shadows, keeping an eye on the towering, destroyed and abandoned buildings. Just in case someone or something with bad intentions wants to pop out and give them a life-ending surprise. It requires a lot of concentration and both of them can feel the adrenaline pumping through their veins. The ghost town-like state the city is in and the silence that brings with it, does not work in their advantage.
Being so used to loud noises, this is the complete opposite. Where at first an explosion was loud, now any slightly squeaky door hinge is considered as loud. Or the rustling of leaves and discarded papers when the wind blows through.
Solar has trouble lighting the area, thanks to dense concrete vegetation of this old industrial area. And the gray clouds above and rising smoke of the aftermath of the Aparoid's attack rising up are also not helping.
At a crossroad, they find a massive car pile up and traces of a massive firefight that took its toll on soldiers, Aparoids, civilians and the infrastructure alike. Lampposts bent and smashed, all nearby windows shattered, walls cracked and chipped by gunfire, laser burn marks on the pavement and asphalt and a collection of bodies in various states of decomposition. Both Cornerian and Aparoid.
Patches wants to take a look to see if anything could be done to help anyone. Someone could still be alive in there. But Trevor holds her back. As much as he understands what she wants to do, there is helping directly after such a disaster and there is wishful thinking. And sadly, this is the latter.
So the pair moves on and turns right on the crossroad. As the static gets louder the more they go in that direction. In the distance, they see that the road is curving slightly upwards but it is not a natural hill. It is leading towards what looks like a cliff. And judging by the buildings that are beyond that small bump, something had impacted there previously. Not an artillery shell, but someone more akin to a meteorite.
That is a crater. And the closer they get, the more they start to hear talking. Although it is more screaming, chanting, almost cheering. What could someone possibly be cheering for in this environment?
They keep their head down and walk closer to the edge of the crater. They spot someone armed standing there, holding up his rifle in the air and he starts firing triumphant gunshots in the air. Like a complete bonehead who has never heard of gun safety or gravity for that matter. It is not a soldier or any other kind of law enforcement, this is just some dude with a gun.
But Patches does not agree completely, she thinks they should give him a chance. Only because they have some cover to keep hidden, Trevor reluctantly agrees to give this guy a shot. First by distracting him with a rock thrown onto the street away from them to see his reaction and after that does not work… right between the eyes. Patches agrees to these terms.
Given how it was her idea, she gets to do the honors and throw the first stone. It lands precisely where she wanted it to land; close to the armed man's foot. His cheering stops but remains unnoticed by the rest of the screaming and gun shooting horde still left unseen. Confused, he looks around him to see what made that noise. Unable to distinguish the recently thrown rock from those already around him, he turns around and starts walking down the incline. With his finger firmly on the trigger and the rifle pointed forward. With a threatening tone, he warns that if anyone comes too close, he will fill them full of lead in a thick, foreign accent.
Patched sighs disappointed and Trevor has the confirmation he needed. He pokes the silenced barrel of his sniper over the hood of the car they are hiding behind and waits for the gunfire to start again. As soon as it resumes, does he pop the shot. Straight in the temple of the bastard. He drops like a sack of potatoes and the weapon clatters on the floor.
"You trust my initiation from now on?" Trevor asks, slightly annoyed as he tops off his rifle so it is fully loaded again.
"I guess. I just couldn't…"
"Lose the innocent attitude." he interrupts bluntly.
"This is different from Metro. You are in the "zone" now. We are nobodies now. Anyone armed in this place, will attack us. For we are nobodies. No one will miss us. And we have supplies. We are juicy targets. We all are. In here." he sighs, trying not to get angry at her for not knowing the horrors that could await them ahead and how long people can sink when law and order breaks down in a ravaged and barred off zone like this.
"It is kill or be killed?" she quotes, lamenting this while also trying to find something humorous in there.
"Yes indeed. We are the killers here. Whoever is armed here, we drop. Unless they drop their guns. We are not that heartless." he says with a sympathetic tone.
Only to instantly juxtapose this in the next sentence.
"Now, let's grab our first victim here and get him out of sight. You should take his rifle too and strip him of anything useful. Your pistols may not last us the entire way now that we cannot rely on a steady supply of ammo."
She is a little hesitant, given that it is not an Aparoid laying dead on the ground but she does not lag behind. Each grab one arm and drag him behind the car they were hiding behind previously.
Patches takes his gun and any spare magazines he was carrying. For the rest, this guy was not carrying anything useful. It feels wrong to loot a corpse like this but it is necessary. They have to survive with nothing but themselves and what they have. She curses and retches a little bit as she sees the blood pool slowly around the body. It is not the blood per se that makes her disgusted, it is that it is a person. She may not have shot him personally, but she did help to kill him. In a way.
Once the corpse has been stripped of anything useful, she puts the rifle on her back instead of using it directly. She is not used to rifles so she will only use it in an emergency. When she has no other choice. She turns to Trevor, who can see how she feels just by looking into her eyes.
"Hey. Keep your head up. I know it's hard, but it's either him or us."
She nods trying to contain her emotion and swallow her principles. She knows he is right but this does make it any less easy.
"It never is easy." Trevor responds in kind as he gently puts his hands on both sides of her head, making sure there is nothing but eye contact between them.
"But you are not alone. You got this old rot with you. Together, we'll survive anything."
She giggles with little noise and thanks him for the reassurance. He helps her get back up on her feet and now that this side of the crater is secure, they move up the incline until they reach the edge.
The inside looks unnaturally smooth and shiny, like it is covered in glass. Purple, flowing lines that run sporadically through betray its Aparoid nature. Surrounding the crater, shouting from the still standing buildings, are more people that look somewhat vaguely like the guy they had to put down. Some are armed, others not. But all are directing their cheers and cries either to the sky or to the poor, unfortunate soul that is bound to a pole in the middle of the crater. The uniform he is wearing displays that he is part of the Cornerian Army. But this is not some private; this is a Lieutenant. Not even any kind of Lieutenant, but he is part of the prop-guys.
- Kill the Cult
"Yup, that is a prop. Surprised he hasn't pissed his pants yet." Trevor softly chuckles, rather heartlessly as he observes the poor man through his sniper scope, hidden in between the rubble of the edge of the cliff.
"Wouldn't you in that scenario?" Patches counters.
"Terrified? Yes. Needing a new pair of pants? Not particularly." he answers as he zooms out to get a better view of the surrounding area.
"Prop guys are all dressed up nice and made to look like they are soldiers. But they are just overblown clickbait journalists. Great if they make articles for you, annoying if you have them against you. They also have no spine for combat."
"So?"
"I mean, not everyone has it. And that's alright. But I would at least ask not to pretend. This poor idiot here definitely tried to. And is now having a really bad day and got caught. If I have to guess."
"We should get him out then. Maybe he'll tell a story about us?" Patches responds, not at all looking for a little bit of that good-natured fame they agreed on.
And Trevor is not entirely against it either. Even if their real names will not be used, it is always nice to have a little rumor about you started. Especially in this dumpster fire of a zone. Word spreads fast, even in the ruins.
"Good idea. But this amount of people is too much for us to handle."
Patches looks around and does see that if they are discovered, they will be shot at from multiple angles and different heights. If they want to save this guy, they will have to find or do something that will scare them away. She asks if she could have Trevor's clip-on night sight, the one he had in Herg's lair. Not because she wants to blind herself using night vision in broad daylight, but because it magnifies a little. So she can kind of act like a spotter to him.
Trevor responds entertained and hands it to her. Now giddily engrossed in the role already, she mainly looks in directions he is not looking at the moment. And then both notice that the cheering and screams are dying down when over unseen speakers, music starts playing. And Trevor recognizes it very well. It is stereotypically Titanian/Katinian music. That would explain the ethnicity and "generally" barbaric behavior seen by these people so far.
"Ah jeez, I know some conservative politicians that'll have a massive field day with this display. The only things that are missing are them wearing robes, a turban, carrying a rocket launcher and wearing a bomb vest." comments Trevor both disgruntled and trying to be funny.
"You're not sounding very happy about this."
"Shouldn't I be? Look at them, staying true to their stereotypes. And of course, who is the victim in this scenario? Someone native to Corneria."
"Maybe race or ethnicity has nothing to do with this. Maybe this is just a whole group of misunderstood and cast aside people finding something to… bond over. Knowing who the enemy is."
Trevor is silent for a moment.
"You gotta explain that one to me."
"Alright. Imagine you are an immigrant. Born on either Katina or in a remote colony on Titania. Then you or your parents move to Corneria in search of a better life. The life you've known is no longer applicable and you are thrust into a new life. Different rules, different customs, a different language even. But everyone around you sees you for an outsider. And does nothing to help you feel at home or fitting in. Sure, you'd try. But how much pushback can you endure? Before you turn to what you know and start looking for those around you that think alike?"
"Wow, you just got political." Trevor puffs, impressed enough that he has to stop looking through his scope and double-check if that came from the same rabbit that had such child-like glee when it came to roasting thousands of Aparoid bugs in that core.
"But you are… right? Kind of? I mean I don't think I would go this far."
"Exclusion leads to fear. Fear leads to anger. Anger to hate. And voila." she reasons.
"Did you graduate in social studies or something?" Trevor asks, puzzled.
He did not think she was simple or dumb in any way. But did not expect this kind of knowledge from her. Then again, she used to be a cop for a decently long time. She might have a better idea of how certain things go down within civilian society. And she pretty much confirms this; she had to settle a small ethnic dispute that could spill over into something more massive if not dealt with instantly. She put the aggravators apart and questioned them separately. Hence how she learnt about the depths of divisions between people and religions. It got her interested so in her spare time she decided to read up on it. Just as a thing to pass the time, not a whole study. She does not claim to know everything, but sometimes the basics can be enough to understand problems better.
"Fair. But if this is hate, then how are we going to dislodge this poor man from between their clutches?"
"It all comes down to fear. And when that comes together, there is usually just one person that turns that fear into hatred."
"Like a cult leader? Clever thinking. Reminds me of Silva."
His face instantly sours.
"Yuck! It reminded me of Silva."
Patches chuckles as Trevor spits the bad taste out.
"I don't think you are wrong about that. You stood up against him and you saw who joined you."
"You honestly think those guys will run? The dipstick behind us definitely did not surrender."
"True, but that guy was a lot older than these younglings. And neither did Jane." she mentions, leaving Felix out of it… considering…
"So I shot the incarnation of Jane and now I get to pop the Sheriff's too? Exciting! If only the bastard would show up…" he comments eagerly, leaving a popping emphasis on the last letter of his sentence.
Together, they search for this guy. Considering the music is getting louder and the chanting is dying down more, the leader should come any minute. It is inevitable. In preparation, Trevor starts breathing slower to calm his heart beat. When this person shows up, he wants a clean shot.
And it is not long until this leader emerges. From a building, directly across from their position, that used to be an electronics shop, a guy dressed like he fell into a pots & pans and leather store emerges. Walking on bare feet nonetheless. Complexion and ethnicity is on par with the rest and he has a great, black and largely unkept beard. Trevor could swear it was velcro, that is how stuck together and messy it is. Post-apocalyptic mixed with a misplaced messiah syndrome and a genuine sick in the head terrorist. What a character.
"This is their leader?!" Patches wonders as quietly as possible, perplexed by the total absurdity of what she is seeing.
"At least it makes our job much easier." Trevor snickers again, trying not to laugh out loud while he has to look at this idiotically dressed individual.
But when this guy raises his hands in his air in a V-shape, the palms of his hands facing outwards, the music and any leftover cheering dies immediately. All eyes, no matter if they worship, observe or question, are now aimed squarely at this person. His dress sense may be off, but he is clearly not stupid. He has managed to amass a following, united in fear and driven by hate for all things foreign to them. In this case, the Cornerian prop Lieutenant bound to a pole. At his mercy.
Then his arms droop down and he starts to pray. Reciting some hymns or mantras, too soft for Nova 7 or anyone else to hear. But then, without the assistance of a microphone, he starts preaching loud enough so that the whole neighborhood could hear it.
He speaks in a language neither Trevor or Patches know but he is very passionate about it. But then he calms down a little bit and speaks a delict of Katinian, that Trevor heard more often. He does not speak it fluently or even properly, but he can pick up on a few words here and there.
This is like being in a church, where the priest tells stories from a holy book. But these are not words of kindness or peace, but they are malicious and dangerous. Pure hate speech, nothing more, nothing less. Trevor is reaching his limit of how much more he can hear.
"Right. I'm shutting this prick up. Patch, I hope you are correct about those boys around us."
"I hope so too. I don't want to end their lives this early on. They can learn and be better. But…"
She sighs, dreading the thought of having to do it.
"But…?"
In response to Trevor, she pulls out her two pistols and takes the safeties off. Why they were on to begin is the question for later but it does look cool.
"Kill or be killed." she says steadfastly.
"Attah girl. Wait for my shot, try and find a target you really think you'll have to put down."
She does just that, keeping her two weapons at the ready while Trevor listens carefully at the words of this maniac. He is waiting for a moment where his use of words is at the peak of projected power. To create a statement.
And then he hears it; something akin to "We are invincible" or "We are the chosen ones". The perfect counterargument to a claim like that, is testing it. With a cartridge filled with facts and logic ready in the chamber, he pulls the trigger and refutes the maniac's hate filled sermon with a silent, deadly cough.
Peaceful silence returns for a moment, until the lifeless corpse of the preacher hits the tarmac with a satisfying smack. A shot right between eyes has finished him off. Nothing more than a person like this deserves. Some people do not deserve the chance to defend themselves after doing and saying all he had.
The effects of this are felt almost instantly. The sermon has been disturbed and those who were reveling in it are now confused and shaken. Silently panicking while one voice is screaming out that someone or something killed their beloved leader. To search, find and torture those responsible. But this attempt at the revival of hate, falls on deaf ears. It is however not enough for Trevor to be convinced. And Patches sees that he moves to put this screamer out of his own misery.
But she wants to stay true to what she said. She believes it. Therefore she does something that she will get flak for because it is reckless. With her mind set, she stands up while holding out one gun ahead of her and aiming the other up in the air. She pulls the trigger three times to make sure she gets everyone's attention. And then she aims that gun ahead of her too.
"This is your one and final warning!" she shouts at the top of her voice.
"You no longer have to listen to his hate! Return to your parents, your families, give your lives another chance. This is not the way to live. Turn away now. I will offer it only once. Please, for your own sake."
Trevor watches her in both horror and admiration. How reckless and stupid could she be, to reveal herself to the lion's den like this? While at the same, how impassioned, confident and sympathetic she is for doing this. Bravery comes in many forms, often viewed from the outside as stupid. And this example bears her name.
And it is thankfully working. Weapons are being dropped by the dozen. As the fear these young people were harboring comes bubbling to the surface and the will to live forces them to abandon their hate. No divine intervention was necessary, just a reminder that they are not monsters and that they have their whole lives ahead of them.
The only stick in the mud is the one guy still calling for more. So he deserves particular ire from Patches, who takes it very personal when this disrespectful bastard continues his attempts to incite violence and adds misogyny into the mix. Because how dare a "bunny bitch" like her talk like that? And she is alone too. They can take her easily and avenge their fallen master like the martyr he really is.
When the words "bunny bitch", or at least a variation of it, fall again, is the moment Trevor takes exception too. Slowly and smoothly, he gets up from his hiding prone position and points his still smoking barrel up at him. The man is silenced without a silenced shot fired. He can see that it was Trevor who put down his leader. And when he sees Trevor walk backwards to stand back to back with his Patches, his partner, he knows that not only is she not alone, she is to be respected.
He tries to resume but can only produce stutters. Especially when he sees the flock fade away from view. For those that remain, reality has only started to set in. And they regret their transgressions. Which is a relief for Patches, as she believed wholeheartedly that this would happen. But believing is not knowing for sure. The gamble has paid off.
"Well done, Patch." Trevor compliments just loud enough for her to hear.
"But do that again and I will murder you, your reckless bint." he then bites at her, but with a smile on his face.
"Gotcha, Sir. Then again, I was just trying to imitate your actions in the metro." she assures with tongue firmly in cheek.
"And here I thought we weren't allowed to be callous towards each other. Do you need a supporting hand on the knee too?"
"Down boy, save that for your girlfriend."
"Wow, that was not very progressive of you." banters Trevor right back.
"And here I thought you didn't want this to get too political?"
"Touché."
Their in-joking has to be put on hold when the man who they thought was reasoned with, suddenly starts shouting again. He is in severe denial and refuses to believe this is the end. He believes in the cause and those who have lost their way or try to stop them, must therefore meet their end. He gets more and more raving mad, to the point where one would expect foam to form his mouth. His finger is moved to the trigger and his sights are set on some lost soul still present on the other side of the crater.
A gunshot rings out through the street but it stays with just that one. No fully automatic symphony of death. Instead, an instant buzzkill to an attempt at a massacre has happened. The rifle falls out of the devoted man's arms and he drops to his knees. Not because he is enamored or divinely inspired by the deity he worships, but because there is no longer any thought going through his splattered brain. Lifeless, his corpse falls over the edge of the window he was screaming from and slams down below on the pavement with ten holes in his forehead.
Patches' gun barrel is smoking this time and it quickly moves from potential target to target before being held up. For there is no one left that wants to avenge this fallen devotee. Satisfied, she lowers her guns and puts them back in their holsters. And Trevor does the same, lowering his rifle before putting it on his back.
"Well done Patch. Again."
"Thank you Sir. Just doing my best."
- F.I.A.
After Patches had stripped the previously raving and ranting madman of anything useful, mainly full magazines for her secondary weapon, the quiet has returned. No longer is it as eerie as before, as anything is better than hearing the crazy amount of cult nonsense. Of this cult, only a few people remain. A couple are still reflecting on their actions in the windows and buildings. And of course, the vapor unit and the poor prop-Lieutenant in the middle of the crater. The man has not moved a muscle ever since they first saw him. With the exception of faint breathing.
With the perimeter now secured, the pair decides to cut this poor soul loose. They vault over the edge and slide down until the surface becomes more even. Trevor has the instant urge to comment on how stupid this prop-guy looks but he remembers that he is no longer military. So he cannot identify as such. Let alone let this guy know that he knows that he is a prop. He is "Bones" now, not Trevor. Might as well let that upper-class accent out as well.
Now the pair stand on either side in front of the tied up man. There is no response coming from him, so like the pair of "survivors" that they are, they start discussing their options. The difference between accents is audible, as Patches is using her "southern"-inspired drawl which is not as convincing as she thinks it is. But she does it with passion and that is what makes it believable.
After not agreeing on what to do, whether to strip him, kill him or even let him be, they at least agree on one thing; those ropes must be hell on his wrists. The least they could do is cut him loose. And since he does not have anything useful on him, like ammo, food or clothes that would fit either of them, they might as well let him go.
Problem is, they do not have anything sharp to cut him loose with. Trevor therefore asks Patches to fetch that machete the cult leader had. But she declines very thoroughly, saying that she is not even going near that thing. She does not know what it has been used for and she is not willing to know. Trevor says they do not have another option, unless one comes falling out of the sky.
"Back left. On my belt." the tied man suddenly speaks, weak but audible enough.
"They never checked me properly. I would've used it, if it weren't for those dirty barbarians to tie me down like this. Cowards."
The prop's tone is rather brave and gritty. He must think very highly of himself. And once again, Trevor has to suppress commenting on the fact that the man is a prop and therefore about as tough as a ball of wet toilet paper. But he resists.
"Problem solved, Patch." he calls out as he approaches the tied up man.
He finds the knife and its scabbard. It is nothing big, but with a serrated edge at the top and a large cutting edge with a razor-sharp tip, it will be very useful regardless. Trevor takes it out and starts cutting the ropes.
"You know, you could have told us this a little earlier." Trevor then comments to the man.
"I didn't know your intentions with me. So I kept myself quiet until I knew more." is the response given.
"Hm. Clever. You never know in these neighborhoods do you?"
"All too true."
Trevor then manages to cut the ropes loose and the tied man is free. Still on his knees, he holds out his hands in front of him, seeing the very painful rope burn on his wrists having left a mark. But he keeps up appearances and endures the pain. He then stands up, with his sore knees shaking from weakness and attrition. It must have been a while since and the ground is not exactly accommodating to skin.
On the cusp of comparing this to something sexual, then switching to maybe providing the man with some medical care, Trevor's thoughts instead turn to asking the man his name. Whereupon, once again, the prop-guy pretends to be a tough cookie. Giving a rather confusing answer about secrecy and some mission he is supposedly on, he eventually gives a codename of "Hunt".
Trevor's eye has a slight twitch. Has Quinn infected everyone with his movie references? Even Patches thinks this is crossing the line but pretends she takes it seriously.
"And uhm… who might you two be?" the "Hunt" fellow asks after his rambling.
"Well, since we are using codenames… nah, joking. Call me Bones." Trevor chuckles.
"And this wonderful heap of fluff beside me is Patches."
"So Mr Bones and Ms Patches? Married then?"
Trevor and Patches look at each other and then, almost at the same time, start pretending to gag.
"Please, not in a million years. Besides, she has already rejected my advances." boasts Trevor like he is the jackpot in a lottery.
"Down boy! Before I gave you a sore shoulder again." she snarls back with a sly smile.
"More like a cold shoulder in your case."
"And you two are sure you aren't married?" Hunt then interrupts, seeing those two argue, unaware it is just the two of them bantering.
"Pretty sure. He already has a girlfriend. We are… looking for her. Yes, that's it." she corrects after a moment of going blank.
Given how saving his girlfriend was a secondary objective and their primary objective is secret, she had to quickly find a new mission. She cannot tell anyone their real goals, let alone a prop-guy. From what she knows, these guys are massive gossip freaks.
"How lovely. However, if she's somewhere around here, I wouldn't hold out much hope. Things here are beyond terrible."
Trevor's good mood turns sour after hearing that. As if this weak excuse of a soldier knows anything about her. How, even if she is against violence, she could shatter any person's skull with a good kick to the head. And this is quite attractive to Trevor. A man of culture some would say. So for this Hunt figure here to claim such nonsense, is insulting enough for him to want to leave his vicinity as soon as possible. And to not even think about giving him any of his precious medical care.
"Yeah, as much as I am willing to believe that, I would rather find her. Regardless."
Hunt is catching on that Trevor has not appreciated his comment very well but he does not know how to deal with it. And in an effort to save face, he completely ignores Trevor's comment and instead tries to converse with Patches. About how she looks a lot like a cop and what is up with that.
Patches in turn feels insulted now too. He treats her like she is second fiddle and then as the punchline to a bad joke. So now she is about as interested in answering as Trevor is. Furthermore, she can feel a steady stream of second-hand embarrassment from just looking at the guy struggling to pretend to be big.
"Look, can you just tell us where we can find an Aparoid jammer?" she asks exasperated, so they can get this over with.
"Oh yes! I know that." Hunt comments, all cheered up and back into it now.
"It's about a kilometer or so to my north-east. So, your south-west in that case. If you follow this street till the end and then take left, you'll eventually end up on a small square. There, in an alleyway will be an Aparoid sentry on guard. Follow or kill it, either way it will lead you to the jammer. But it is infested with those things there. It's like they know that someone wants to destroy their jammers."
"No worries. We can handle them." Trevor curtly assures him before he hands the prop-guy his knife back.
"I think it is important that you go back beyond that wall. You are Army, right?"
"I was wondering that too, because I saw the patch on your arm." Patches chimes in.
Hunt takes this knife back and puts it back in the scabbard. He laughs awkwardly and then says that he is in the army… kind of. More so as an undercover agent, not like a normal soldier on the frontline. In other words, he is better than that. This insinuation makes Trevor's blood boil.
"Then I'd suggest you move to the wall and get out of here." Patches assists her partner is he is a little short on words now.
"If you run back the way we came, go left on a crossroads that looks like a battlefield and you should be golden."
"Oh thank you, Miss. But uhm… I don't have a weapon. Aside from this knife. Do you think I could…?"
"No." she says as blunt as possible.
"Ah, I see. I'll find one underway then. Goodbye to the both of you and… thank you. Again. You two really saved my ass."
At least his last show of gratitude was sincere and he did not act like he was a total badass. And with that Trevor has at least peace. So he calls Hunt to a stop and gives him two last tips. He should take the rifle from the corpse of the cult leader's Lieutenant so he can at least protect himself.
"And secondly… you should really ask for a new pair of pants. You have kind of… ruined them." Trevor points to the darker color in the crotch area and running down either side of the legs.
Hunt's eyes open wide when he realizes this, looks down to double-check and when he looks back up, the shock and embarrassment is complete. Tripping over his own words, he says he definitely will and he takes his leave. Stumbling away like he literally just peed his pants. And Mr Bones and Ms Patches watch him go, feeling the satisfaction that they no longer have to deal with him. But also feeling the grim satisfaction that this windbag is leaving thoroughly shamed.
Once the prop is out of earshot, Patches drops her accent and mentions to Trevor how he should have used the wet pants incident to blackmail the guy. Because he could in that way be persuaded to tell their story beyond the wall. After all, rumors spread quickly. Even in a hellhole like this. And the effect of having people talk about you in a positively dangerous way in this place cannot be understated.
While Trevor concedes that he did not think about it and that he likes how evil her mind gets sometimes, it is ultimately unnecessary. A prop like this was not out here to be a tourist. Most likely was in the area for inspiration for new war propaganda and when everything went wrong, he got left behind.
"What we did here will be blown out of proportion massively by that guy. Better let the artist decide how to run the brush across the canvas. Especially when he has us to thank for his life to begin with."
"Point taken. But still, I think it would've pleased you a lot too. Given how I could see a vein pop in your neck every time you heard that guy talk out of his ass." she giggles.
"True, but I believe a certain someone told me not to be so callous."
"Not at all what I meant, you jerk!" she grumbles as she gives him a light push.
"I'll write that insult down in my report when we get back there, Ms Patches." Trevor responds overly stern and posh.
Patches rolls her eyes and puffs at the remark, whereupon Trevor starts laughing at her dismissing.
"You really are a jerk." she banters on
"Takes one to know one." he replies, quick on the draw.
"Bite me."
"Love you too."
There is a moment of silence between the two before Patches has a realization.
"We really do act like we're married, don't we?"
"As long it only seems that way. I do not care for relationship issues with the missus. She'll decapitate me with one swift kick to the noggin'."
"Sounds like my type of woman."
"Heh heh, hence why I like her too."