The Committee for National Security

Chapter 2 - Seattle

6 Months after expulsion / June 5th, 1980

After Midnight, June 5th, Pacific Time Zone

"Never base your faith on feelings. Base it on GOD's word."

- Kenneth Copeland

Angela [The Library - Director of the Library] — ? ? ? — Dated ? ?, ?

Angela grunted as the shaking stopped and the Library once again fell into a tranquil silence, opening her eyes and furrowing them upon realizing she had been buried underneath a particularly large pile of books. No matter, she thought. She moved her arms around—there was enough space to move after all. Immediately, she pulled back her arms before thrusting them forward, rising from the pile of books she had been buried under.

Pushing herself up from the pile of books she was buried under, she looked around. It looked like a total mess. Pinching her nose with her right hand, she extended her hand and summoned the books that contained the Patron Librarians. The Assistants would need to be released once the Patron Librarians.

Clenching her fist, she closed her eyes as the began to unbook them. "Awaken, my Librarians."

Immediately, the books dematerialized and in their place were the confused Patron Librarians, having woken up from almost being buried. Roland dusted himself off as he remanifested, before casting a quick glance at Angela.

"You're just as beautiful as the day we started the draft, Angela." He shot with a smirk- Angela couldn't help but make her palm meet her face, even if she thought it was sweet. He'd need to be turned into a popcorn machine for an hour after today.

"Smooth as always mister 'I-Almost-Killed-My-Girlfriend.'" Tiphereth glared at Roland, who turned around and whistled, only intensifying Tiphereth's furrowed brows.

"So… We're back?" Netzach asked, looking around, conjuring a can of beer.

"It would seem so, Netzach," Chesed responded, quickly taking a sip from his coffee once more. "Though the question is- What changed?"

"It seems," Binah commented. "That we may have been… Expunged from The City. A second time."

"Preposterous," Hokma scoffed. "It just seems… Absurdly redundant that The Head would do it again. We were expelled one time, were we not? What purpose is a second expulsion?"

"It seems that they have… Decided to reinforce their point of desiring to never see us again," Yesod spoke up. "We may have been expelled further away from The City."

"Which seems kinda useless to me, honestly," Roland said. "That being said, The Head is The Head. They're needlessly cruel about things like this."

"Amen to that." Hod said, pouting as she earned a glance from Binah and Gebura. She earned a pat on the back from Malkuth, and seemed to let go of the pout, exhaling heavily. "I… I still hope all of you can still forgive me, by that way…"

"What's in the past is in the past," Angela closed her eyes and turned around. "This is this."

"Hey-! You cribbed my line!" Spoke up Roland, who earned a small chuckle from Angela in response.

"That's that." She said as she grinned.

"Why you little-!"

The rest of the Librarians contributed either a chuckle or an amused laugh at Roland's indignant expression, before silencing as Angela coughed. "Alright. We must get to work," She said, turning back to the Librarians. "Chesed, Netzach, Roland. I need you three to come with me," She looked at the rest. "Hod, Malkuth. Survey the damage done on the other floors. Yesod, I need you to get me a list of the Assistant Librarians. Gebura, I need you to check that the Abnormalities have not been uncaged. Binah, Hokma. Support Gebura."

"You got it!"

"Mhm. Order received."

"Gotcha. I'll check 'em."

"Your command is received, Miss Director."

Roland, Netzach, and Chesed looked at each other. "Uh," Roland opened up. "Why us?"

"I need you three to come with me to check out the outskirts," She opened up. "Besides. Netzach and Chesed are familiar with it." At that, the two people cringed, but nodded. Roland, meanwhile, just shrugged in response.

"Okay, I suppose…" He said as he stepped forward to go with Angela, the other two following behind him. Angela turned around a third time—To which he raised an eyebrow at. Why she was fond of turning around, he didn't know. Maybe it was for dramatic effect—and marched forward. Roland shot a glance at the two people behind him-

"Think we're going to be in the middle of a pit of lava, held up on some island?" Chesed asked, sipping from his coffee as Netzach snapped to look at him with an extremely confused expression. Roland couldn't help but make the same expression.

"What the hell is that question, Chesed?" Netzach asked, immediately procuring a can of beer and hurriedly downing it. "That is the most brain damage-inducing question I have heard from your mouth." Chesed chuckled in response.

"It's the plot of this one book I read~" He responded, ignoring Roland's intrigued glance back at him. "This one house gets carried away by a tornado—from some place called Kansas, if I remember correctly—and finds itself on an island in the middle of a lava lake. It was a pretty fun read."

"Chesed," Netzach deadpanned. "That is somehow the most absurd plot I've heard from a book. Even moreso than the romance novels I read back in my old life," He sighed and closed his eyes as he continued walking. "It's a wonder you're technically a sociologist given your choice of reading should've impaired you."

"Like you and alcohol, I simply live with my sociology studies and my reading habits," He waved Netzach off. "It simply, well, is what it is."

Netzach downed another beer can. "I suppose I understand then."

"Glad to hear it!~"

Roland stopped glancing back at the two and instead continued walking with Angela to the front balcony of the Library—where he handed him that darn list after they were evicted by The Head in the aftermath of Roland's rampage. A turn left and a turn right later, they were at the door to the balcony. Woohoo, Roland thought, sighing in relief.

Though. As soon as Roland saw the door, he fully expected Angela to make a dramatic entrance. He put his thumb and index finger to his chin in a thinking motion as him, Netzach, and Chesed stopped. Would she push the door open with her two hands? Would she snap her fingers and the doors slowly open to reveal something dramatic? Would she-

His question was answered immediately, as Angela opted to kick the doors out, her status as the Library Director overpowering the door's thickness—though he supposed that was an illusion—and weight—probably an illusion too—paving the way for the balcony's opening. Angela smirked and looked back at Roland.

"Ta-da. Open sesame."

Roland sighed. "Angela, you need to stop reading action novels."

"Never." Angela pouted.

"Fine, fine." Was all that escaped Roland, with Chesed snickering at his suffering and Netzach simply contemplating offering him a beer. Angela's antics were pretty amusing, but man. She really needed to stop taking inspiration from the stuff she reads in the Library.

The four of them went outside, expecting to find themselves elsewhere. Be it an island in the middle of a lava pit, the continuously deserted outskirts, or-

"Wait," Roland paused as water droplets hit his face and began to drip down into his hand. Looking into the sky, he widened his eyes. "Is this rain?" He asked as Angela began to collect rainwater herself, looking surprised once she gave herself time to think. It was rainwater! What the hell was it doing here?

"In the Outskirts?" Chesed asked, equally as surprised as he raised an eyebrow. Rain wasn't supposed to be a thing in the outskirts. In fact- It was rare to see rain at all! So why in the hell would it rain after they were expelled? "I'm highly-"

"Damni-" Netzach shouted as he stepped outside and was met with rain. "Rain's gotten into my beer. Shit's diluted now."

The four of them scanned the outside environment in surprise. Instead of being met with a deserted, cracked wasteland—something expected from the Outskirts, really—they were instead met with a foggy night time environment, complete with rain. Extremely unusual for the outskirts to have this kind of weather.

"Hey-" Roland said as he wiped rainwater off him and stared forwards into the distance. He saw lights. Orange, white… They were very far away and blurry, but he could see them. He turned backward to the rest of the group. "All of you! Angela! Chesed! Netzach! Look at this!" He shouted, calling for them as he stood near the ledge of the balcony, staring at the lights.

"Are those-" Netzach opened up as he used his right hand as a substitute for binoculars, drinking with his other hand.. He widened his eyes. They were supposed to be far away from the City! Far enough that they couldn't even see it at a distance if they tried! So why the hell- "Are those city lights over there? Angela, you seein' this?" He asked.

"I do indeed see them, Netzach," Angela said as she grimaced. "That is… Extremely unusual to see." She looked at Roland. "In fact- Roland. Are you sure that we're located anywhere near the City?" She asked. Roland raised an eyebrow, looking at Angela. He put his right fist on his hip and shook his head. Angela turned back to the city in the distance, and furrowed her eyebrows.

"One has to wonder if they would be more welcoming than the City of the old," Chesed asked, leaning forward while sipping from his coffee mug once again—How much coffee is in that damn thing, Roland mused—and looked at them. "Only one way to find out though…" He grimaced as he muttered those words.

"...Change of plans." She said. "You three. I need you to scout out the city in the distance—get in somehow," She muttered. "I don't care how or why. As long as you get there." Roland nodded at that, while Chesed and Netzach awkwardly looked at each other. Sipping their respective drinks. They glanced back at Angela, then back at each other.

Annoyed, Angela tapped her foot as she waited for them to respond. Roland already responded, so why not them? Eventually, Netzach nudged Chesed with a jab to the chest via his elbow. Sighing, Chesed put the coffee mug away and looked at Angela. "One more question, Angela," He said, leaning on the balcony. "Can we at least prepare drinks for our city trip? Please?"

"...Fine." Angela muttered, glancing at Roland, who simply raised his arms in mock surrender. She turned back. "Go prepare yourselves a thermos or something- You're going to be scouting out the area for a while, you two."

Chesed nodded. "Thank you, ma'am." He said as he turned around, Netzach following behind him as the two walked back inside. Angela looked at Roland and sighed. In response, Roland wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a pat.

"Promise me you'll be okay Roland, alright?" She asked, looking at him. "It's been so long since I've had someone to hold me…" She took him by the hand, staring at him as she pushed herself almost to tears. She was a robot, yet she was doing good at imitating emotions. Roland gave her a big smile and pulled her in for a hug.

"I'll come back for you, Angela," He stated, patting her in the back. "I promise you."

"...Thank you, Roland."

"No problem."

Roland then released Angela from the hug, smiling. Angela's response was only to smile back, confident in Roland. They had shared the pain that they bore, the pain they were consumed and blinded by. And now… As Roland let go of Angela's hands and walked away, returning a wave goodbye Angela gave him, he knew that he would never disappoint. Pulling out the black mask he always wore, he looked at it for another time.

"Angelica would've wanted me to move on if she perished…" He said to himself. "She always told me… That's that, and this is this," He put the mask on, sliding on the black gloves that he kept as a memo to his beloved one who he had lost a long time ago. "Angelica… Angela… I will never disappoint all of you," He said as he ensured the gloves' tightness on his hands. "I will never fail. I promise you all…"

He unsheathed Durandal. "I will come back alive."

George Herbert Walker Bush [United States Government - Central Intelligence Agency Director] — Outskirts of Seattle, Washington State — Dated June 5, 1980

George Bush stared down the man in a black suit, who placed his gloves on the table alongside a black mask. Not something he expected a man in a business suit to have, he mused.

The four of them were sitting at a table in the sports bar, having designated this place as a place for conversation. Ad hoc, of course. It wasn't like Bush had the pleasure of rechoosing his designated meeting zone with Archer after… What happened outside.

He didn't expect to be having to converse with Archer about his intel in earshot of total strangers—what happened to opsec again?— even if the bar was crowded enough that their table's conversation would be drowned out. He never expected things like this. But then again, he wasn't expecting to have to stare down the Devil and survive ei- "Agh-" He complained as Archer examined his fingers one more time. "Agent Archer-" He complained. "My fingers don't- Need that much pressu-" He grunted as Archer began to pull at his finger-

"That's enough-!" Netzach responded, putting his beer bottle down—That guy's first instinct upon entering the bar was buying a beer, Bush noticed—and grabbing Archer's left hand. "Let go of him, man." He glared at Archer. Archer, nodding, let go of Bush's right hand, releasing the pressure from his fingers.

"Thanks," He glanced at Netzach. "Nets.. Netsach, was it?" He asked. In response, Netzach gave him a nod.

"Yep, that's me," He nodded. "Want me to get a bottle for you?" He asked, preparing to stand up- Roland simply cringed and was about to tell him off, but Bush waved him off, looking at Netzach, pointing at him with a finger gun.

"Yep," He said, popping the 'p.' "But get me something non-alcoholic though. I'm trying to limit my consumption on the job," He tried to act casual, but Bush just sighed as soon as he finished that sentence. He'd have loved to be casual other times, but this was a CIA job. And he just involved strangers in it. "I'll think about washing today's memory off some other time."

"Suit yourself," Netzach replied, shrugging as he went to order another beer. "Man. I'm going to get called a faggot again…" He muttered to himself as he left, Bush's earshot being able to pick it up. He furrowed his brows. He wasn't a goddamn faggot? Then why the hell was he dressed like that- Hell, why's his hair like that?!

Jee-zus, Bush put his right hand on his cheek in disappointment. Some people just open themselves up to comments like that. If they don't wanna get those, then they gotta stop dressing like a goddamn fag. He just sighed. But, people choose to do their own things. And he had more important things to choose than yelling at someone for their looks.

"He looks like a cocksucker, Director," Archer opened up, looking at Netzach. "Wouldn't you agree-"

"You don't talk like that about Netzach," Roland opened up, glaring at Archer. "Shut the hell up."

"But he's a-"

"...He's right, Archer," Bush turned his head to glare at Archer—who, in Bush's eyes, looked out of place for someone on a rainy Seattle midnight—and put his hand down on the table as Archer attempted to protest. "Cut it out, Agent."

"...Yes, Director." Archer relented. Now that he quieted down, Bush could properly take a look at Archer. Taking the photograph he was given for reference on Agent Archer, he held it to the side to compare him and the photo Bush was given. In the photo Bush had, Archer's physical appearance could be defined as a fit, middle-of-the-line man. He had brown hair and blue eyes, and he had the physical appearance to befit a young CIA recruit.

He put the photo down and looked at the Archer in front of him. Clearly, he was not prepared for the weather in Seattle today. Bush scoffed mentally. The man was dressed in shorts, flip-flops, and a t-shirt. Ill-fitting for Seattle, but considering he just came back from Southeast Asia, it made sense. Still. It was comedic that the meetup was in Seattle, even with his outfit.

C'mon. Even Roland and Netzach had outfits that—comparatively speaking—fit the weather of Seattle more than whatever the hell Agent Archer was wearing.

Bush was snapped out of his thinking when Netzach marched back to the table, 3 non-alcoholic beers on one hand and a bowl of french fries on the other. "I was offered to try some of these… Uh…" Netzach opened up, placing the non-alcoholic beers on the table before looking at the fries with a confused expression. "What were these called again?"

"Those are French Fries," Bush stated, taking one bottle of non-alcoholic beer and opening it. "Never had 'em before?"

"...No," He opened up, sitting down. "In fact- I've never heard of this shit before. Sounds like something you'd have eaten in the Nests, if anything," Netzach opened up, before Roland shot a glare at Netzach, who just responded with a confused expression. "What? It's true. Sounds like a Nest thing to me!"

"...Uh, the hell is a Nest?" Bush opened up as he took three french fries and snacked on them, before widening his eyes and realizing something important. He needed answers. Fast. "In fact, actually-" He seized the chance, leaning forward. "You guys knew who the hell that woman was, yes?"

"Uh, no-" Roland opened up, before Netzach put his hand over his mouth, much to Roland's annoyance. Instead, Netzach spoke.

"Yeah, we do," He sighed. "Listen. You've seen something you weren't supposed to see, buddy."

"And you've got yourself involved in a government case that you weren't supposed to be in," Bush responded, snacking on another french fry as he spoke. "But as of now, it looks like we're both in deep shit then." He glanced back at Archer, who, despite being soggy, managed to give a vaguely threatening glare at Roland.

"...You're right," Netzach commented, frowning and furrowing his brow, staring down at George Bush. "So…"

"I'll make this easier for us," Bush proposed, taking another fry and munching on it. "We're both in our own little… Situation, yes?" He said, taking a swig of the bottle again. "You're not from here, would that be correct?"

"...That would be correct, Mister… Director?" Roland opened up, taking a french fry and eating it—giving a mildly surprised but satisfied reaction in the process. Heh. You try something new everyday, Bush mused, before turning to answer.

"It's Bush," He looked at Roland and extended his hand. "George Bush. Director of the Central Intelligence Agency."

"...How can you be sure that you're trusting someone worthy of being trusted?" Roland opened up, hesitant to give Bush a handshake.

"Because I've seen spies throughout my life," He said. "You're not the type to be enemy spies, far as I'm concerned."

"...I see. I'm Roland," Roland responded, before returning the handshake. "You're awfully trusting to people you've just met," He said, taking another fry. "Hell. You're awfully trusting to people not from your place."

"I can tell when someone's bullshitting me," Bush responded. "And I can tell you've never heard the word Soviet once in your life."

"...The hell's a Soviet?" Roland opened up, looking at Netzach for answers.

"Exactly," He said. "And considering you know that… that she-devil I just survived more than I do…"

"... And how we don't know this place…" Netzach trailed off. Roland realized what he was in for, and could only smile. Smart bunch, Bush mused.

"...It'd be mutually beneficial if we learned to cooperate, no?" Bush said, smiling. Roland could only respond with a smug smile, before they gave a firm handshake. Upon that being finished, they both retracted. "See… I need… Well, I need a job done."

"You've found the perfect man then," Roland smirked. "And you need information on that woman, which I can…"

"...I think you're both forgetting that, technically, due to your status as aliens, the federal government is able to deport you…" He flanked them verbally, causing Netzach and Roland's facial expressions to turn sour at the note of being deported. Seems like they didn't like that. "...Unless."

"Lemme guess," Roland said. "You're offering us a job in exchange for protection."

"Bingo," Archer commented. "Splendid display, Director Bush."

"Can it, Archer," He waved Archer off. "But yes. That's what I was going for. You're going to get an offer. In exchange for protection from the federal government's peering eyes, I will instate you as members of the Central Intelligence Agency…"

Netzach raised his hand, interrupting George Bush. "Just one more thing, Director Bush," Netzach opened up as he finally took a french fry and stuck it in his mouth, before muttering something along the lines of 'Oh. That's delicious.' "See… Us two aren't the only ones not from here."

"Oh?" Bush's left eyebrow raised. Intriguing. Could he get more allies on his side, then?

"That's right," Roland opened up. "There's… More of us. When you and, uh, Archer are done speaking… We'll take you to our boss."

"There's more of you already?" Bush asked, a small smile on his face. "Yeesh. Any more and Reagan would've called for your deportation."

"...I'll choose to ignore that comment," Roland said, shaking his head. "But you've got yourself a deal, Mister Bush. We'll take you to our boss. We can then exchange information… And then settle on an employment plan."

"I assume that your boss is okay with this, then?" Bush opened up. He wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to get turncoats. He was already trustworthy enough by knowing things about that she-devil. But he just had to make sure that Roland's co workers weren't the shifty, Benedict Arnold type.

"...She did ask to find out anything useful about this city. I suppose that having faced her down and survived is useful enough."

"Not to mention. Again, I can protect you and your coworkers from deportation. But you'll have to follow my orders," He sighed. "Company's Contracts. Just know that they exist."

"I understand."

"Good," Bush opened up. "Now then," He turned to Archer. "The intel we were supposed to be discussing, Archer." He opened up, taking another fry.

"Right here." He slid a folder onto the table. The two strangers-not-of-this-world shifted uncomfortably, before Bush turned an eye to them. Roland tugged at his collar, unsure of… Something. Probably him being here. If Bush was being honest, he didn't care.

"...Would you like us to be out of your hair, then?" Roland asked, grabbing onto the chair as if he was preparing to stand up. Similarly, Netzach was preparing to get up- No need for that, Bush mused. "No," He said, waving them off. "Consider it… Job orientation. You're free to stay here."

"You sure? This could be something we don't wanna know."

"I'm already involved with something beyond my comprehension," Bush shot back. "I think it's fine if I pay you back by letting you hear this briefing," He shrugged. "Sort of… an eye for an eye, as one might say?"

"As long as I get to try more of these fries," Netzach responded. "I don't really care 'bout anything else."

"Try not to get waiters on our table when ordering, please?"

"Yessir," Netzach responded. "I'll get the food myself."

"Now then," Bush turned back to Archer as Roland and Netzach went to drinking their beers—Roland's non-alcoholic, Netzach's alcoholic—and eating fries. "Archer. What's the status on the Soviet superweapons you've been working to get intel on?"

"Well, sir," Archer responded, scanning left and right to make sure that the noise of the bar would drown them out—it did—and that people who did pick up details would just forget them. "We've seen an increase in MIDAS material acquisition…"

Chesed [The Library - Patron Librarian of Social Sciences] — ?, ? ? — Dated ? ?, ?

Chesed scoffed as he continued his trip down this city, remembering the—quite franky, very idiotic—decision by the other two to split up in the middle of their trip. As soon as they entered a sidewalk, they just… Broke off? He could only sigh. He was practically forced into it. He couldn't catch a break with their idiocy.

He thought back to their decision to split up. It had only just been… Give or take about thirty-or-so minutes since they arrived, and yet Chesed was already feeling like a lost cat just navigating this place.

"Well," Roland stated as they crossed a stop sign and came across a crossroad. Upon stumbling into it, Chesed was immediately intrigued and alarmed. No place in The City was supposed to have this many cars! And neither were they supposed to have roads that were so long that they almost looked like snakes when viewed from up top. "I suppose this is just one part of where we're headed."

"No shit," Netzach deadpanned, opening up his thermos—containing a large amount of alcohol, for the record—and taking one big gulp. "This feels more like the outskirts of a Nest. We sure this isn't just some Nest? Shit," He muttered, nursing a headache. "It feels like we're marching straight back into death."

Chesed, of course, had a different question in mind as he sipped from this coffee thermos. What kind of people would be in this… Well, Nest. He supposed. This wasn't The City, but it wasn't a city either. Felt more like a nest. He had always wondered what it was like for someone from the Nest to go into the backstreets.

"Chesed," Roland opened up, stealing a glance from Chesed as he drank his coffee. "Any of this look familiar to you?" Pah. Of course he'd be asking the Nest boy if he had any familiarity with the place. Annoyed, Chesed shook his head. No, Roland. Chesed did not, in fact, find anything familiar with this place.

The near-standardized roadway with cars was what alarmed him the most. Most people usually didn't take cars for cross-Nest travel. But if they were using it here—this is hoping that his assumption about the cars being from different nests was correct—then clearly, there was something INCREDIBLY unfamiliar about that place.

Not that he'd bring that up right now though. He had to savor the espresso while he could before he had to continue his mission. Something that remained on his mind was the fact of coffee. Would he find anything worth his time here? Netzach did say that his top priority was to try the beer from this, uh, place. And perhaps try them all.

Of course, Roland had to remind them that they had jackshit in terms of Ahn for that. And speaking of Roland, he was in a thinking pose as he stared off into the road, the three of them to the side—hiding literally behind a bush—and observing traffic go in and out of this Nest. If he had to comment, the cars were definitely unfamiliar in terms of exact shape.

The roles he could tell at a distance. But never the exact shape.

Roland looked at Chesed. "Hey, Chesed," He asked. "You're familiar with the intricacies of a Nest, right?"

"Me? To this?" Chesed responded, pointing his thumb at the distant city shrouded by fog. "Roland, are you sincerely asking me if I'm familiar with a place that only superficially bears similarity to a Nest? Really?"

"Uhh… I thought that with your background, you would've… Y'know…" He scratched the back of his head as Netzach facepalmed. Chesed resisted the urge to snatch Netzach's alcohol thermos and down it himself. "Sorry- I'm not familiar with the Nests that much, believe it or not. It's just a pain in my ass to think about that."

"I should beat you with a hammer, Roland," Chesed deadpanned. He just wasn't in the mood for it today, but man. If Roland was going to act like this, he might as well prepare a giant hammer to hit him over the head with. "But. I'll try," He sighed. "I'll leave you backstreets rats on your own." He suggested sarcastically.

The most unfortunate part of it was Roland getting a bright idea—a eureka, as some would call it—and looking at Chesed. "You've given me an idea, Chesed."

"Oh boy~" He smirked. "What is it this time?"

"I'll take Netzach-" He said, grabbing Netzach by the shoulder and yoinking him close. "-And we'll be exploring the Backstreets. You, meanwhile," Roland glanced to the side, as if trying to see if anyone else was there. "Will be going in your natural habitat, mister rich-kid."

"Oh come on," Chesed sighed. "Can I at least protest this?"

"Nope," Netzach said, slumping onto Roland's shoulders. "When he's set his sights on something, he'll pursue it to the very end…" He sighed. "Egoist."

"Really? Splitting up in a place like this? Roland, are you daft?" Chesed bluntly asked, receiving a shrug from Roland in response.

"Only one way to find out," He said, causing Chesed to pinch his nose. At least he could manifest E.G.O. if he really wanted to defend himself. "We'll be scouring the back-alleys. You go, uh, have fun with the city parts of this place."

"Lovely." Chesed sighed, standing up. "I'll be on my way then."

"Right. Meetup after our recon missions are over?"

"Right. I'll see if I can find a way to contact you."

"Good luck, Chesed."

"Good luck to you too, Roland."

And that's how he found himself wandering into a small… He supposed he could call it a village. Based on the small, house-like structures and ubiquitous amount of cars, he could confidently assume that it was just a small village extension of the nearby city shrouded in fog.

It was actually pretty calming, all things considered. That didn't mean that it had its black marks, though. See, on this midnight, there were at least six times were he'd snatch a quick glance of someone looking all messed up and sitting on the floor, the wall, or benches. Internally, a part of him winced seeing that. He remembered Kali had a term for this… Bums, they were.

Home-less bums. Seeing them like that made him grit his teeth and frown. Perhaps he could negotiate with Angela to open up more Assistant Librarian slots when she got used to this place…

On the other hand, the mere fact that they were sleeping like this after midnight… Roland told him all about the Sweepers once. Yet, to see them still like this when the clock very much should have been at least in the middle of Sweeper feeding time…

"I suppose they got it off lucky," Chesed sighed as he walked by another homeless man sleeping on cardboard next to a barrel lit on fire. It was a miracle the rain didn't snuff it out, nor did the fog choke it out. "Better here than a Night in the Backstreets." He slurped his coffee as he moved on.

Still. A part of him wished to do something here.

Oh well. That could be done later. But for now, he had to keep on moving. He turned left- A curious sight greeted him as he gave a left turn. In front of him, there was an odd-looking arrangement of buildings that he had never seen before. On the right, there was a small, square-shaped building. To the left, there was a tall roof held up by small pillars. Interspersed between them were small boxes with hoses attached to… He guessed pumps.

And in front of it, there was a sign that read "SHELL" which seemed to have the logo. It was, of course, the namesake. A shell. Chesed raised his eyes at this. What was this place supposed to be? Some sort of station? But for what?

He walked closer to it, putting his right hand on his forehead as an improvised binoculars. He didn't notice it earlier, but now- He could definitely see that there were two cars parked near the boxes with the pumps. They actually blended in rather well with the dark, foggy, and rainy midnight. Chesed looked left and right before crossing over to take a look at the parked vehicles.

When he first set his eyes on them, the first thing he was their dark green body and open-top design. Mounted in the rear was what appeared to be a gun, with a belt of bullets linked to a box being its main source of ammunition. His eyes darted over to its other details. It was four-wheeled, and had white stars painted on its body. He moved over to check out its front, specifically its hood and windshield.

On its rear were the words 'US ARMY' and the string of numbers that read 2D1828. "Army, huh," Chesed noted as he rubbed his hand over the signage. "I'm.. Surprised that this Nest has an Army," He muttered, before sighing, crossing his arms—still holding his thermos—and shaking his head. "Then again, it could a corporate term." He told himself.

In front of that vehicle was the same type of vehicle, only with a tubular something mounted to its rear instead, with its left side hosting what he saw to be some sort of visor. Why exactly this visor needed a tube he did know, but he brushed it off as he moved to the building that was right of the boxes-with-pumps and the parked vehicles.

Coming in closer, he saw that it was a store of some sort. "...Git 'N Go?" Chesed asked himself, raising an eyebrow. What an odd—but he guessed appropriate—naming choice. "I guess it doesn't hurt to try something new in these Nests," He repeated to himself as he sighed and drank another shot of coffee. "Here goes nothing."

He walked over and stopped at the door. It had a handle on it, but he wasn't sure where it swung. Would it be a push or pull type of door? He looked around, hoping that he wouldn't have to embarrass himself by failing this , then looked back at the door and grabbed its handle. He first tried pulling it- Only to be frustrated when it refused to budge.

"Push, then," Chesed told himself. Pushing the door, he was relieved to it swing open upon being pushed inside. "Nice." He told himself as he walked inside. There wasn't any room to turn left—the left was just a wall—so he turned his head right, and was greeted with what he guessed were the owners of the vehicles parked outside.

Lined up, all sitting in a long table that seemed to be bolted to the wall by the sides, were men in green who seemed to be the vehicle owners, all of them carrying some sort of firearms. His expression soured upon realizing that these men had guns. It was unusual. According to Roland, there were heavy restrictions on firearms. Yet…

His eyes darted over to what was to the left. In the foreground sat a bored cashier who seemed to be killing time by sleeping. And on the desk were various confections and snacks. Upon eying them, he couldn't help but smirk at seeing them. Maybe Tiphereth would like one, actually. He put that on his mental notes as he continued scanning.

In the middle, just to the left side of the cash register, were shelves filled similarly with various confections, snacks, and even a merchandise rack that seemed to contain magazines. Piquing his interest, he squinted. Huh. Looks like he has a lot to learn from this world.

He walked forward, trying to see if he could find anything to take-

"Woah, woah! Buddy!" He heard a voice from his right. "Jee-zus. You alright there?" Chesed turned around to see one of the men in green having turned around to face him. Clad in green with a pot helmet covering his face, the man was of a dark skin-tone, with blue eyes. He had a concerned expression on his face. "The hell happened to you?"

"I went walking," He shrugged. "By myself."

"Sweet Christ," He shook his head. "No, seriously. The hell happened to you? Nobody just walks around in the rain by themselves-"

"Oh," He realized what they meant now. "Now, that's the funny part~" He responded, opening his thermos expecting a gulp of coffee—only to be annoyed when he realized it had all run out. He closed the thermos and continued talking. "See, I got split up during a trip by my amazing friends~ Told me that, as someone from 'this area'-" He said while using quotation marks. "I'd somehow have a 100% accurate way around."

"Shit," His expression shifted to that of annoyance. "And they just left you like that?"

"Yeah."

"Fuckin- Good lord, civvie," He muttered, his coworkers looking at each other muttering about something and shaking their heads. He could tell they were… At the very least, shocked. "Those guys are dickheads."

"Eh. They've got trust in me. I'm sure they did it with the best of their intentions~"

"And those intentions were leaving you looking soggy?"

Wait. As the man said that, Chesed looked back on himself, tugging on the shirt underneath his overcoat. Suddenly, he felt the fabric being… Dry. He then tugged his hair. Dry as well. He must've never noticed that, huh. "Well- I never noticed it, sir~"

"...I. Uh. Okay," He said, standing up from his seat. "Hey, civvie. Why're you here in the first place?"

Chesed froze at that. He had to come up with something on the spot. Right now. "Uh… First place I saw that wasn't closed and would probably welcome someone like me?" He said in response. "It was the only location for, uh, a while that seemed to be open."

"Jesus Christ. You sure you're not cold, buddy? I could get you something warm."

"Actually- I was planning on buying snacks for another friend when I'd go back-"

"Civvie. I can tell when people don't have the money to buy anything," He interrupted. "You don't have any money, do you?"

"Caught me red-handed~"

"Shit. Dickhead friends must've taken it before forcing you to split… Fucking robbery…" He muttered, shaking his head, before walking over to the shelves. "Tell you what, civvie. I'll cover the cost of whatever the hell you wanna buy here. Get yourself something warm and tasty- Like a hotdog."

Chesed nodded as he also went to the shelves. "My gratitude to you eternally, sir~"

"Don't call me a sir, civ. I ain't a REMF," He chuckled, looking over at the shelves. "Lieutenant Mathers. 161st Infantry Regiment, Washington Army National Guard. Your name?" He asked, extending a hand over to Chesed. He didn't know what a Washington Army National Guard was- Was it the security forces of this Nest? Or- no. It might have been the district. W District. Washington District. And he was a member of its security forces. Okay, that made sense. Chesed came to that conclusion and moved on to shaking the man's hand.

Chesed took a moment as he extended his hand as well, gripping Mathers' hand. Hmmm… Well. Is it really an impersonation if it was recycling the name of your dead self? Chesed mused as he settled on the name he chose. "Chesed. Daniel Chesed, sir~" As he said his name, Mathers seemed to raise an eyebrow at that. What? It was his two names-

"You Jewish or something?" He abruptly brought up.

"Uh, no," Chesed said as the handshake ended. "I'm not." He had to be vague. What was a Jew, even?

"...Huh. Thought your first name was familiar- Something in Hebrew," He muttered, looking off to the right. "Forget about it, just get what you need to buy and I'll pay for it."

"Okay~! Thank you for shouldering the debt~!" Chesed smiled as he handed him his thermos. "Hold onto this for me, okay?" He was satisfied with this outcome. People here were far more tolerable than the City of old times. Rather than expecting something in return, this… This security force employee seemed to sacrifice his time and money for a man he's never met in his entire lifetime.

As Chesed scrolled through the station, gathering items—the ones that caught his attention were a brand called pringles, as well as some… Dark-colored things that said chocolate on them. That seemed to be something Tiphereth would enjoy. He also snagged some instant coffee. Nescafe, the branding said—he couldn't help but feel eyes on him that weren't Mathers or his coworkers.

As he turned a right he couldn't help but widen his eyes upon seeing a barely-visible figure go next to the cars parked outside. He stopped for a second upon realizing that they were probably going to sabotage it.

Oh no…

Lieutenant Andrew Mathers [Washington Army National Guard - 161st Infantry Regiment] — Shell Gas Station, Outskirts of Seattle — June 5, 1980

Mathers watched the young civvie shift his position from lively yet deadpan when necessary to shifty, eyes squinting as he stared at the window that overlooked the jeeps parked at the gas. I thought that there was something there, so I had to turn around and check- But there was nothing there.

"That kid's shifty," I commented to the autorifleman in the team, Private Carl Smith "Went from all bubbly 'n all that to…" He turned back, seeing Daniel's squinted eyes continue staring at the window as he grabbed items. Mathers turned back around. "To- Some shifty motherfucker expecting anything to jump 'im at a moment's notice."

"Huh," Carl was equally surprised. It was baffling to see that civ—abandoned by his friends, robbed of his wallet, and left to freeze in the rain—just suddenly shift from what seemed to be coping to being paranoid. "I never expected him to swing that way emotionally," He put down his coca-cola bottle. "See- He looks like a faggot, right?"

Oh. Mathers had to agree. He looked like a faggot. That outfit was very flamboyant. Almost like a beacon that specifically states "call me a fag" but for hair color. His hair was extremely messy—almost like he just came out of the bedroom. Some would say in more ways than one. His overall youthful physical appearance… Yeah. Mathers didn't oppose.

"Oh no, definitely. He's like. Top-tier faggot material," Mathers replied as he watched Daniel's grabbing become more hurried. "But I'm not so sure where you're going with this, Carl?"

"See- I would've expected him to swing from being some- Some ecstatic kind of guy to being the type of cocksucker who'd spread his arsehole and offer himself up to Ford," He said, causing Mathers to wince. As much has he had issues with fags, they were just normal. Not sexo-driven maniacs. "But this civ's shifty."

"Should I ask him what's wrong after I help him pay for his stuff and pack it?" Mathers asked, taking out his wallet and counting the money in his pocket. Around 120$ in total, he saw. Saving a lot did wonders.

In response, Smith nodded. "Yeah. Check out what's causing him problems."

Mathers nodded and turned around as Daniel appeared to rush towards the cash register, hurriedly putting his items down for the cashier to check out. When the cashier started moving to get Daniel's things checked out, Daniel turned his back to the windows the entire time, eyes still squinting.

"Uh, sir," The cashier opened up, putting Daniel's things into a paper bag. "That'll be twenty-five dollars-"

"I'll handle it," Mathers interjected as Daniel snapped out of watching the windows, taking twenty five dollars out of his wallet and handing it to the cashier. "Twenty-five right here."

"Thank you," The cashier recited the typical farewell message as Daniel snagged the paper bag containing his groceries from them. "Come again!"

Daniel walked towards the door, only for Mathers to grab him by the shoulder with his right hand. "Hey, civ," Mathers asked as Daniel turned around, grimacing. "What's wrong-"He was surprised when Daniel pointed at the window.

"You've got a problem at your car there," He stated, thermos and paper bag on his other hand barely clinging on due to his tightened fist that seemed to almost be the sole reason they haven't fallen off. "I think someone's trying to sabotage it."

"What-" Mathers was about to ask. How did the civ know that the jeeps parked outside were theirs? Panicked, Mathers turned around to look at the windows and- Oh shit. He just barely caught a glimpse of two extremely obscured figures slipping out of the light of the gas station and into the darkness of Seattle. He let go of Daniel and turned to the other soldiers of 1st Platoon's motorized patrol.

"Guys!" He shouted, getting their attention. "We've got a problem! Get your guns and get moving!" He shouted as Daniel ran out of the door while Mathers unslung his M16A2 and likewise followed. As soon as Daniel ran out of the door, Mathers swept the left side of the gas station with his rifle, with the rest of the platoon coming out of the store to follow them.

"There!" Daniel shouted as he pointed northwest, Mathers following the direction with his rifle. "I think I saw them heading that way!"

"Roger!" He said, turning around as the rest of the platoon poured out of the gas station. "Wellstone, Smith!" He called for the grenadier and the autorifleman of the team, making a hand signal towards the two jeeps. "Check for damage on the vehicles! The rest of you, on me!" He made the rally pointing hand-signal as Wellstone and Smith split off from the platoon, while Mathers turned around to follow Daniel.

Mathers observed as Daniel stopped to stare at the ground—looking for footsteps? In this weather? He only hoped that Daniel had some miracle to lead to them—and then stood back up, pointing straight. "I think they've headed toward that direction. If you want to get back at them, follow my lead."

"Roger," Mathers said as he turned to the rest of the platoon, making a move-up hand signal. "Follow the civie," He said, moving forward almost lagging behind Daniel, rifle pointed upward as there was no threat nearby. Mathers made a risk. It was either do or die when it came to following Daniel. And, man, would he rather do. Just as he was about to anticipate someone asking exactly why Mathers trusted the civ, he tried to shut up any future complaints- "Any lead is better than no lead!" Unfortunately, as soon as he said that, someone in the platoon coughed..

"Sir," One of the soldiers in 1st platoon asked as the platoon followed Daniel's directions, causing Mathers to wither inside and suffer in annoyance. God, why must the most insufferable people be in the National Guard? "Why the hell are we-" He wheezed out as the platoon moved in the rain, dashing from houseblock to houseblock and crossing the road. "Why the hell are we following a fucking civy-"

"Because he's the only one who saw the cars being tampered with!" Mathers responded angrily. "Unlike you idiots, he's got an eagle-eye."

"Oh come on, El-Tee," He continued. "Trusting a fag?"

"He's got the social aptitude you don't," Mathers shot back, irritated that they were bringing Daniel down. "Now sit tight and shut the fuck up," Mathers responded as he took the walkie-talkie out to speak to Wellstone and Smith while they were following Daniel. "Wellstone. Smith. Status on the vehicles?"

Mathers winced as Wellstone's response was akin to a violent tantrum, while Smith's response was a sigh, before he spoke up. "Sir. Fuel line's been cut and the tires have been slashed. It's bad," He heard Wellstone rave and rant in the background as Smith seemed to be peeping around the vehicle. "Fuel's been leaking for a while now- I think they also took the M60 with 'em! Shit!"

Oh fuck. "Goddamnit- Alright. Thank you for the update," He sighed as the platoon continued following Daniel, who seemed to be tracking them… Through some method. He didn't exactly know how, but Daniel was… Yeah. He was placing a lot of trust in this civ. Internally, Mathers hoped he wasn't failing. "We'll get you the grid square when we get to where the civ's heading. Over."

"We copy, El-Tee. Out."

Daniel then swerved right upon crossing over to the ghetto part of the Seattle outskirts- Causing the sprinting Mathers to do the same, only to stop when Daniel stopped just outside of the front door. Turning back, Mathers made a stop hand-signal to the rest of the platoon, causing them to freeze up. He then made the area-cover hand signal, causing the platoon who came with him to spread out and take cover behind the fences, trash cans, and brick walls of the house Daniel stopped at.

"You sure this is where they came from?" Mathers asked, gun cautiously pointed at the door as Daniel turned to him and nodded. Piqued, Mathers raised his gun. "Can I have your word that this is the place where they're hiding?"

"You have my word," Daniel turned to him and nodded. "I need you and another soldier to cover me while I go check for our little suspect," Daniel said as he placed the somehow-still-held-together paper bag and his… metal tubular jug of something next to Mathers, and crouched as he walked forward to the door.

Understanding what he's doing, Mathers turned on the radio. "Wellstone, Smith," He called back as he took a look at the map of the area of their patrol—in particular, the ghetto area, as Mathers recalled a pretty vital landmark that signified the ghetto area. "We're located at grid square… 272828. Ghetto crack-house, just, uh, go straight from the Projects sign and take a right."

"Shit. Knew they'd take advantage of the ghettos…" Smith muttered. "Alright. We're heading there. Give us a minute. Out." Nodding in response, Mathers put his map back in his pocket and grabbed his rifle, crouching and walking up to the doorway, looking at Daniel as he clung to the right side and moved his hand around to grope the doorknob.

"Want me to provide overwatch?" Mathers asked as he pulled the charging handle on his assault rifle, pointing it at the door as Daniel finally found the doorknob. In response to his inquiry, Daniel nodded.

"Yes, please."

"Alright," Mathers said as he leaned to face the doorway with his gun. "Civvy. Move in, go." He said, with Daniel responding by once again nodding and twisting te door open, before immediately flinging himself to the inside of the door. As Daniel entered the building, Mathers' rifle was trained on it the whole time.

Just inside the house was one big hallway, with more openings to the sides that would provide ample cover for ambushers. And at the very end of it was a staircase leading to the second floor of the house. Christ, Mathers could remember what this was a part of.

As Daniel slowly walked forward, sweeping his vision at every opening for a potential suspect, Mathers couldn't help but feel a pang of pain in his heart as he looked at the state of the house. Shit, this was just another one of the failed Projects. Mathers remembered his dad telling him about how excited he was when Fulbright announced his funding of the Projects in collaboration with the other wings of the Democratic Party.

Fulbright was a racist ass, Mathers knew that and drilled it into his head. But he also believed that, as a Democrat, he still had a duty to uphold as a descendant of Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Hopkins' New Deal that was barely on life support thanks to McCarthy's utter idiocy. The Projects were a housing project that Fulbright had undergone in some part of public works to restore jobs to America by imitating what the New Deal had done in the first place.

If he remembered correctly, this one was supposed to be completed around 1970-ish, given that the Projects started in 1965 and would've taken a while to finish. Mathers couldn't help but wonder what potential wonders could've gone into this. The Projects were a very ambitious, but simple and foolproof plan. There was no way that it simply just… Would've been put on life support and then left to die.

Of course, that's where Rockefeller came in. That slimy bastard. Now thanks to his economic visions, this goddamn Projects house was turned into little more than some shithead's ghetto crack-house. Anger boiled in him as he flashed back to Rockefeller cutting the Projects budget as part of a gutting spree to rid America of New Deal-era spending.

"This house was supposed to be lived in, damnit," He angrily stated, gun still trained on the stairway as Daniel quietly moved through the house, unable to hear Mathers' complaining. It was probably for the best that he couldn't hear this. Mathers' grip on the rifle tightened as he felt the boiling rage come to him. "Families had dreams here… Entire communities left to rot," He grit. His African-American heritage gave him a reason to hate Rockefeller, damnit! "All for some balanced budget…"

He sighed, rifle still trained at the stairwell as Daniel finally began crossing it. "Fucking Rockie," He sighed, before making a hand signal at Daniel. 'You' was the first one, 'Freeze' was the second one. Of course, the moment he made those signals, he remembered that Daniel wasn't a National Guardsman. Damnit.

"I don't understa-"

His statement was cut off by a gunshot from the top of the stairway, hitting Daniel in the head while he was facing the doorway, causing him to lose his grip on the stair railing and flop forward, dead. Mathers panicked- "Oh shit oh shit oh shit-" He got a civilian killed! Fuck! Mathers raised his gun at the stairwell.

"Come out you fucker! Come on out you piece of shit!" He said, closing one eye and aiming through the other. He refused to let Daniel's death go unpunished. You fucking sacks of shit-! Mathers was going to kill them! He was going to kill every last one of them! "I'm ready for anythi-"

He was cut off when a shadowed figure ran down the stairway and threw- Something at the ground before running back upstairs as Mathers shot off a few rounds of 5.56 from his assault rifle, just missing the damned perpetrator- Fuck. Mathers shifted his attention to what was dropped on the grou-

Oh shit!

"Shit! Grena-!"