Chapter 1
Sunlight cascaded across the front of the incomplete house, shining in through the bedroom window. The front of the house faced East, allowing the rising sun to act as an ideal wakeup call. Edmund shifted under the bright light, rolling over in his haphazard bed. A couple minutes passed as he slowly stirred from his slumber, sighing lightly to himself occasionally. He couldn't, or rather shouldn't, lie here all day; not with the chores he had on the docket. He rolled onto his back, staring blankly up to the ceiling as he mentally ran through his tasks again. With a final little sigh at having to get up, he tossed the worn, red blanket aside and swung his legs out of bed.
Joints popped audibly as he took a moment to stretch his arms and roll his shoulders, the sound muffled by the surrounding flesh. His stiff neck offered more pronounced cracks as he twisted his head, eliciting a sharp gasp at the sensation. The room came into focus as he sat there a moment more, allowing himself to finish waking up. Light from the window shown across his broad shoulders, casting his shadow across the floor and a dresser along the opposite wall. To his left was the South-facing window, and his reading recliner in the corner past it. To his right, beside the door, was a long coffee table laden with a large rectangular object draped in another blanket.
Edmund hefted himself up and stepped over to the rectangle, folding the blanket up to reveal the terrarium and the old, four-foot ball python that resided within. It was stretched out around the edge of the enclosure, with a faint bulge about half way down its body. His brow furrowed with concern as he leaned down to get a closer look.
"Still with me Monty?" he asked as he watched for movement. The snake's head crept overtop the enclosure's hollow log and looked to him, likely drawn by the foreign movement. It flicked its tongue at him idly. "Good man," he remarked, a smile spreading across his face.
"Got a bit on our to-do list today," Edmund continued as he stepped over to the dresser. "Going down to Damien's camp for the usual business, plus a little extra. Haircut, hot bath, little medical checkup, a bit of bartering, maybe a hot meal that includes a bit of real meat for once..." He collected the patchwork T-shirt and denim pants that he'd set aside the night before and slipped into them.
"Not that that's ever been an issue for you," he said playfully, motioning over to the terrarium. "That said, hopefully I'll be back before dark. You'll be in charge until then, sound good?"
Monty shifted his body a slight bit, bringing his head under the hollow log before stopping again. Edmund practically beamed at the serpent. "Perfect," he continued as he stepped to the bedroom door, "Just don't burn the house down until I get back, hmm?" Edmund cast another contented glance at his friend before closing the door behind him.
Looking to his right was an organized pile of accoutrements he's prepared the day prior, resting on a squat little table beside the front door. A large duffle bag and an old school backpack on its last legs were the most notable items. He nodded to himself as everything appeared as he left it, and turned to the desk strewn with electronics at the opposite side of the room. A quick check of the 3 home batteries along the wall, each roughly the size of a filing cabinet, informed him he still had sufficient energy reserves. He rolled the old office chair out of his way to get at the laptop that served as the central hub from which his little getup was orchestrated. The various bits and bobs of radio equipment whirred to life as the laptop booted up, the humming orchestra reaching its crescendo as the computer chimed its login jingle.
He maneuvered the familiar programs with ease, quickly setting up a multi-hour audio file to be broadcast across broadband radio frequencies via the array outside. Once the audio file was finished playing, the whole system would shut down automatically after a short period of inactivity. With a final click of the play button and another contented smile he left the electronics to their work. "Aaand we're live," he said to himself cheerily as he turned for the front door.
Bright light shone in his eyes as he opened to front door, greeted with the merry melancholy of birdsong and the smell of early Fall. He took in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, before moseying off to visit the outhouse at the far side of the incomplete building's concrete foundation. He could imagine the sound-waves wafting off the dish-laden tower as he passed it by. But daylight was burning, so it was about time to set off. He stepped back inside, if only for a moment, to gather his prepared things, pausing as he pondered which piece of protection he should be packing. With a resolute nod he grabbed the Mossberg and a handful of extra shells. He uttered a quick and quiet prayer to himself as he closed the door behind him, humbly asking for safe travels.
Edmund strode over to the side of the house, where a tarp was lazily draped over something about waist-high to him. He tossed the tarp off, gazing down upon the 4th home battery that was profusely tied down to a little red, metal wagon that probably belonged to some kid long ago. There was a lot to say for this old wagon, however. It had been his workhorse for as long as he'd been residing here, helping him move anything from a sack of potatoes to the living room's couch.
He set the heavy duffle bag atop the battery before leaning down to check that all the ropes were secure. "Looks good," he voiced to no one in particular. "Knots are good, ropes are taut, and battery... is still borked." His lips pursed as he gazed at the large battery.
"Hope the others get me through winter," he continued as he grabbed the wagon's handle in his right hand, his left still grasping the Mossberg. With the delicate nature of his cargo in mind, Edmund set a cautious pace as he set off into the forest. "Might actually have to tread lightly this year. Gonna' need the heater obviously, for Monty if nothing else. I guess if push comes to shove, I could just keep the radio's off. Eh, I'm sure it'll be fine."
"There you go talking to yourself again."
"So what? I've gotta' have intelligent conversation somehow. Not that there's anyone else around."
"There's our shadow..."
"Oh yeah, riveting conversationalist they are. We should invite them over for tea."
"Why not? We already read to them at night."
Edmund scrunched the features of his face hesitantly. "Yeah but that's different. Playing obliviousness and outright invitations are two entirely different ballgames. Besides, it kinda' takes the mystery out of a mysterious entity if you invite it over to hang out." He noticed a clump of roots that threatened to overturn his wagon, carefully skirting around them before continuing.
The discussion bounced back and forth for a while, debating the pros and cons of finally initializing proper contact with his mysterious stalker. It was a conversation he found himself having more and more ever since XCOM had declared victory. As if on cue, he let his discussion fade out as he noticed a familiarly unnatural silence falling over the surrounding woods. The one man caravan came to a halt as he angled the wagon's wheels so it wouldn't roll off on its own volition. He moved both hands to his shotgun, though he made it a point to visually keep his finger off the trigger as it hung limply in his grasp.
The forest canopy was beginning to shift to the beiges and soft oranges of Fall, but it was still too early for the leaves to start falling in earnest. The usual variety of oaks and elms made up the majority of the forest's population. That said, the foliage canopy seemed a bit thinner around here, leading to some thicker underbrush and the occasional bush. This, in conjunction with the clear morning sunlight, cast a bright but speckled light across Edmund's surroundings. He allowed himself a moment to simply take in and savor the scenery. A shiver rand down his spine, causing a tingling sensation throughout his extremities that he found oddly pleasant.
Suddenly he jerked his body into a slightly squat combat-ready pose, drumming his fingers along where they grasp his weapon. His gaze darted hither and yonder, eliciting jerky movement from his head and torso as they tried to keep up. Of course, he was hamming it up for spectacle. He'd viewed their interactions as a game for years now, but since the declared end of the occupation he'd gradually dropped the perceived formality of these interactions. His intent, besides entertaining himself, was the hope that he was ingratiating himself with the entity. After all, it was the closest thing he had to a friend in the lonely wilderness.
During his frantic scanning he spotted a nearby persimmon tree with a thick bush nestled around the base of its trunk. Its orange fruit, velvety like tomatoes yet juicy and sweet like an orange, hung just low enough for him to reach. He righted himself and casually strode over as if he hadn't just been wheeling around like a madman. He reached up and effortlessly plucked a fruit from its perch, biting into it. The features of his face immediately twisted and contorted as the sour juices flowed across his taste buds. Suffice to say, they weren't quite ripe yet. He'd try to remember this location and come back in another few weeks.
"Hey," he started before coughing the bitter taste out of his mouth, "I'd love to goof off here with you for a while, but I'm afraid I got stuff to do today. Hoping to get back before dark, for what should be obvious reasons, so I'm on the clock at the mo'." He took another bite of the fruit, not recoiling quite as much now that he knew what to expect.
"Might have time for a bit of goofing off on the way back home though. I dunno," he continued with a shrug, "not like I'm tellin' you what to do or anything." The persisting silence was the shadow's reply, albeit an expected one. Edmund nodded his head in acknowledgement before taking the final bite of the fruit and turning back to his wagon.
He was taking his first step before something caught his eye, freezing his raggedy shoe in the air with a vocal "Ah!" A black, scaled tail stuck out from the bush beneath his foot. It was almost as thick as his wrist at the point where he visually lost track of it. Judging by the near-solid black pattern and milky-grey underbelly he figured he knew what kind of snake it was.
"Sorry about that Mr. rat snake; didn't quite see you there," he stated politely as he adjusted the trajectory of his foot so as to step over the serpent. He saw no need to disturb the animal beyond idle conversation. "A bit late in the year for you to be wandering out and about, hmm? But who am I to judge? Critter's gotta' eat, and all that. Just hope you've got a good burrow to shack up in this winter. It'll be a chilly one, me thinks." His idle prattling continued as he made his way back to the wagon.
The silence continued unbroken but for Edmund's ramblings as he continued his trek down the wooded hillside. His shadow was persistent today, not that he minded. He enjoyed the feeling of company without the awkward hassle of socially engaging. All the more reason he'd grown fond of this entity over the years. He mused to himself how 'sad' that might have sounded before the invasion. Even so, it's the life he had chosen; at least as much as one was able to choose for themselves, given the circumstances.
Speaking of socially engaging, the ground had begun to level out, which meant he was nearly upon Damien's camp. The couple hours of travel had flown by swifter than he had expected. The forest's silence faded back into the sing-song melody of wildlife as he spotted a bit of smoke through the canopy. He adjusted his course and followed the beacon to its source.
The closer he came to camp the more thin the woods became, gaps in the overhead canopy becoming more frequent and underbrush thickening. He slung the Mossberg over his shoulder and broke out the machete, wielding it with his free hand to cut through troublesome spots. Once he came close enough to the edge of the tree line he could faintly see the familiar camp beyond.
The camp lay in an opening about the size of a football field. The central structure was what had once been a small, back-roads gas station that had found new purpose post invasion. The canopy over where the pumps had been now had patchwork camo netting draped from it to the ground, giving the vibe of a bizarrely militant circus tent. Beneath it, he knew, was the heart of the camp where the majority of residents slept and socialized. The gas station's main building had been repurposed for the camp's more nuanced purposes like medical care or food storage, though they allowed vines to grow along the outside wall if only to help keep up appearances.
An old school bus sat in the parking lot adjacent to the netting, and Edmund recalled how it had been gutted and made to serve as housing for the camp's newer residents. A couple other old, dismantled cars sat stationary near the bus, but they seemed to serve little practical purpose. Surrounding the ramshackle settlement was a waist-deep grassy field that ran to the edge of the trees. Most of this grassy space was subtly fenced in, allowing for goats and other critters to roam. The goats hade for a decent supply of sustenance for the residents, as did the chicken coups behind the main building. All in all, Damien's two-dozen or so people had a good thing going for them, all things considered.
Stepping up to the tree line, Edmund could barely make out the old barbed wire seemingly interwoven with the border brush. He knew better than to hack his way through, so he set about the mildly arduous task of circling around the clearing to where the fence stopped. As he did so, the subtle sounds of the community's bustle steadily reached his ear. It seemed they were easing up on their low-profile measures. Still, he couldn't hold it against them; as far as they knew they were free people now. Once he reached the old road, where the fence turned inward to follow beside it, he found himself idling there in hesitation. He did so hate being the bearer of bad news, after all.
There was a rustle from the grass behind the barbed wire, but before He could really process the implications there was movement. A figure leapt out from the brush with a short, high-pitched shout. "GAH- Damnit!" Edmund replied instinctively as he jumped, nearly toppling his wagon as a result. Laughter echoed in his ears as he took a moment to catch his breath.
"You're right, he is jumpy!" the kid managed to get out through a bout of chuckling. Another two stepped through the fence behind him. The one who had gotten the jump on him looked to be about ten, but was generally unfamiliar now that Edmund actually stopped to look at him. The others, in their early teens, were familiar residents of the camp.
"Got you, mountain man. You gotta' stay on your toes out here," the tallest one with cracked shades quipped. He raised his index finger like a gun, gesturing like he fired it.
"Don't worry," continued the middle teen in a tattered leather vest as he squat down next to the younger one, "he gets as much of a kick out of it as we do, don't you old timer?"
"Not always, kid," Edmund replied sternly, pinching his brow as he did so. His breathing was returning to normal now. "Especially not with how tense it was with the Liberation War in full swing."
The unfamiliar kid's laughter petered out as he nervously stepped up to Edmund. "They said you were tall, but I didn't think..." His expressions shifted from curiosity to a sort of worried realization as he looked up to the older man. A frightening familiarity fell over him as the man towered nearly two feet over him.
Edmund, however, found himself struggling to grasp the kid's shift in tone. His expression blanked as he looked down at the kid, trying to piece things together in his head. 'Cut the tension. Crack a joke about your height.'
'Alright, um... What about- no, no...'
'Come on, you're fumbling dude.'
'I'm out of practice, alright? Cut me some slack!'
'Well the window of opportunity for a joke has passed now, so...'
'Alright recover the situation then.'
'Yes, something funny. Something self-deprecating.'
'Sure, umm... how about...'
'Come on, this is dragging into an awkward silence.'
'You know what, this is unsalvageable. Best to break off.'
'Agreed.'
Edmund's gaze shifted back, noticing that the kid had taken a couple steps back. The shades teen was shaking his head while the other had found a stick to fidget with. Feeling a bit awkward and guilty about how badly he'd dropped the ball, Edmund gave the trio a half-hearted thumbs up. "Yeah, uh... yeah."
He Turned from them and continued making his way down the decrepit road. The only response he got was some soft snickers and mumbling. After a few steps his curiosity got the better of him, compelling him to look back over his shoulder. The teens were climbing back through the fence, but the younger kid was still standing there gawking at him with his mouth slightly agape. Their gaze met for a brief moment before one of the teens called for the kid to "keep up!" This seemed to shake him from the stupor, taking a few frantic steps to the fence. He cast a final glance at Edmund before slipping into the grass.
"I didn't think I flubbed up that badly..." Edmund mumbled to himself dejectedly.
"Oh sure, you can talk to yourself for hours; but you see one new face and you fold like paper."
"Clown city, population: this guy," he said with a faint air of humor.
He muttered to himself for a bit longer as he approached the camp proper. An unfamiliar couple of grizzled folks, one with a barebones prosthetic arm were standing outside the school bus discussing something between themselves. Edmund fell silent as he looked over to them curiously. They apparently noticed, and turned to meet his gaze, following his movement towards the canvas canopy until he turned his attention elsewhere. He had not yet had a good opportunity to really meet the newer residents, and he was now having additional doubts about attempting to do so.
Regardless, the low hum of electronics and the casual verbosity of friendly conversation grew as he walked up to the canopy. He sheathed the machete, using his newly freed hand to push through the divide in the canvas. Inside, the left portion of the area was lined with bunk beds and bedside trunks, and the right side was strewn with various tables and chairs. There was a moderately clear path down the middle for ease of access to the building's front doors. Around a dozen residents were milling about the tables socializing or playing cards, while a couple others were napping at their bunk. A pair of old office fans, one at either end of the area, were slowly panning back and forth as they kept the warm air circulating.
Not many people gave Edmund much thought as he made his way past the small crowd. A couple familiar faces nodded in his direction, and he returned the gesture. He did note that there were a few of his exchanged bottles of alcohol among the crowd. At least, a few more than what he'd come to expect. He surmised they were still in a celebratory mood from the end of the war.
Opening the gas station's door caused a jingle to echo throughout as it brushed a bell hanging above it. Edmund stood there patiently until a familiar gruff voice shouted an invitation from a backroom behind the barren counter. He parked the wagon and his duffle bag by the door, keeping the Mossberg shouldered against the backpack. The way back to Damien's private room and office was familiar by now, thus Edmund made his way to it and opened the door.
"Ed!" Damien greeted merrily, "Glad you made it down here alright. How're you doing?" He sat behind a ragged metal desk with an archaic computer tower and monitor to one side. His haphazardly made cot was pushed into a corner, and a filing cabinet beside it likely served as his dresser.
"Things are... uneventful. But then, that's how I like it, so I'll say I'm doing good."
"Good, good," Damien nodded and motioned to a folding metal chair between the desk and the door. "Take a load off, I know it's quite a little trek."
Edmund leaned the shotgun by the door and unslung his backpack before taking a seat. It wasn't terribly comfortable, but it was still nice to get off his feet. He adjusted himself slightly before taking a deep breath. "So, where would you like to begin?"
Damien smiled and shook his head slightly. "Always right to business, aren't you?"
"Sorry," Edmund replied as he looked away and shrugged.
"It's fine, I know the score. As we discussed over the HAM yesterday I've gathered up some supplies for you, as well as informed Max about your lil' checkup. I assume you brought your contributions, as usual," Damien continued, leaning back comfortably in his own foldable chair.
"Of course. As previously stipulated at the end of the war, I've been keeping my ear to the airwaves. I've done my best to catalog what I was able, and have notes and files for you to go through at your discretion. Though, as usual, I would like my external drive back when you're done downloading. Also, I've brought one of my home batteries that's given up the ghost. I don't know enough to try and fix it myself, but I figure you guys can fix it or salvage it for parts."
"Well that's very kind of you, though I'm sorry for your loss," Damien replied with a smile and a bow of his head. "We'll see what we can do with it, but either way I'll add it to my running 'IOU' tab."
"Thanks friend. However, I do have one question." Edmund rubbed his chin idly, "...Who's Max?"
Damien's expression scrunched in a moment of confusion, but realization came just as quick. "Oh right, you haven't met her yet. Maxine is one of them Goodwell survivors, out in the school bus. Her ma' was a nurse before the war, and educated Max as best she could. Unfortunately her mother didn't survive the attack, God rest her, so I wouldn't advise tryin' your usual 'small-talk' with her."
Edmund gave a knowing nod. "Understandable. Wait, but... What happened to Ms. Harper?" He continued, worry seeping into his tone.
"She answered that call for volunteers XCOM made a couple weeks ago. You probably heard the one."
Edmund let out a breath he'd been unconsciously holding. "Right, yeah; they're trying to bolster a more centralized 'resistance' cell based out of the old Bass Pro pyramid in Memphis."
"Bingo. I figured more of them Goodwell folks would have went to help out, but I guess they're still miffed at XCOM for droppin' the ball with their defense. Can't say I can blame them in that regard." He said dryly with a shrug.
Edmund gave another sigh, leaning back as he diverted his gaze for a moment. "Me neither. Even so, I hope Harper will be alright out there."
"Why wouldn't she be? War's over, aint it?"
"Well yes, but also no. There's more detail in the data I've brought, but I'll give you a short rundown if you want," Edmund replied bluntly, pausing for effect. He pulled the backpack over, taking out a small collection of paperwork and an external hard drive, arranging them neatly on the desk as he spoke. "Feel free to stop me for any questions. Though, we both know I can ramble, so do please feel free to reign me in if I get off on a tangent."
Damien silently eyed the reports and notes piled on his desk as his brow furrowed. After a moment he met Edmund's gaze and nodded for him to continue.
"We'll start with the Resistance," Edmund replied with a curt nod. "Long story short, the band's breaking up. Many cells are going off to do their own things: mercenaries, tin-pot dictators, micro-nations, you name it. Turns out there's not much need of a resistance when there's no one to resist. XCOM's trying to keep the network together, hence their centralization efforts at Memphis and other locations, but they're too distracted with other matters to fully commit. Either way, most folks still seem to be celebrating the end of the occupation; as if they expect things to just magically go back to normal now that the Elders are dead."
Edmund was taking a breath to continue, but Damien raised a finger to cut him off. "What about those other big resistance groups, whatever they were called? I thought they were supposed to be all buddy-buddy with XCOM. Aren't they helping?"
"Ehhh, not really..." Edmund scrunched his face hesitantly and waggled his hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "It sounds like the Templars are going off to the Asian territories to start some kind of psionic pseudo religion. Good for them, but not of much help to the rest of us. The Reapers are crawling back into their old cities or starting fights in the new ones, but frankly couldn't care less about rebuilding efforts. Their own leader, Volk, has gone on record to say as much. The Skirmishers, on the other hand, seem like they're the only ones trying to put forth some genuine effort to help rebuild. Problem is folks generally don't want anything to do with them because they're ex-Advent."
"To be clear, it seems like they're all still allies; there's just not a unified effort anymore. Again, touching back on the point that there's not much unity without the evil alien overlords to unite against." Edmund paused to let the info sink in. He'd let Damien pick the next talking point.
Damien had come to rest his elbows on the desk, meshing his fingers together and holding them to his mouth. The silence hung heavy for a second before he spoke. "Speaking of the evil overlords, what's it lookin' like for ADVENT and them aliens? We did win, didn't we?"
"Yes, but those are surprisingly different situations. I'll start with the ADVENT side of things." Edmund cleared his throat and adjusted how he sat before getting into it. "I'm going to be blunt with you. With the loss of the psionicnetwork, ADVENT is finished. No communications, no coordination, and no control, on a global scale. This is both good, and bad. It's good because, yay! The evil, all-encompassing, global dictatorship is no longer harvesting humans like cattle!
"It's bad because the all-encompassing, global dictatorship was just that: all-encompassing. IE, the only system of governance and peacekeeping over the entire planet vanished over night. This has left behind, and I am not exaggerating here, the single largest power vacuum this planet has ever seen." Edmund leaned forward, looking Damien dead in the eye with as serious a grimace as he could muster. "It is anarchy out there."
He leaned back, returning to his more casual tone. "But that's getting into a tangent. Getting back to ADVENT's status; there seem a few significant holdouts across the world. Mostly politicians or military leaders attempting to retain their personal holdings. A more notable example would be on our very own West Coast. A trio of major city-centers have managed to not spiral into bloody chaos due to the efforts of an ADVENT general. Apparently he retained a surprising level of independency, and has since enacted a strict marshal law over 'his' region. It seems like this holdout is what XCOM's focused on these days."
Edmund's gaze began to drift as a memory floated to the forefront of his mind. Its recollection elicited a morose sigh. "We've cut the head off the snake and thrown it to the fire. Now it's successors burst from its belly, doomed to succumb to the same flames that engulf their progenitor."
Damien squinted faintly as his guest fell into silence. He'd been content to let him ramble, but this felt different. "That sounds... specific. Not to mention oddly remorseful, given what we're talking about," he inquired, hoping to coax some context out of his friend.
"Sorry," Edmund replied curtly, shaking his head and refocusing his gaze. "It's just, this all reminds me of one time back in my childhood. My folks found a copperhead by the river and decided to kill it. I had wanted them to relocate it rather than killing it, but they wouldn't have it. Turns out it was pregnant, and my father tossed it onto our campfire. I still remember those babies writhing on the coals..." he concluded somberly.
"Y'know, copperheads are a real danger," Damien said sympathetically as he leaned forward, "That thing could've killed you in a heartbeat, not to mention what could've happened if its young'uns got all over the place. Your folks made the right call."
"I know, but I still wish they'd have at least tried a non-lethal method first. Life is supposed to be a precious thing, after all." Edmund leaned his head back, his eyes rolling slightly as the subject reminded him of the next topic. "Speaking of the supposed value of life, might as well get into what's going on with the aliens."
"Would've thought they'd just scamper off back to space," Damien ventured idly, "but from the rumors I've heard it sounds like they're still all over the place..."
"Much to everyone's chagrin. The Elders are dead, if XCOM's reports are to be believed, but the other aliens seem to be sticking around. I could speculate on lack of ships, lack of ability to pilot ships, not knowing where to go, or any other equally credible reason, but either way they don't seem to be going anywhere. Problem is xenophobia is very in vogue right now, and folks are looking for an outlet. People are skeptical about ex-ADVENT to put it politely, but when it comes to the aliens things are turning into full-on genocide. There's lynch mobs in city streets, disemboweling captured aliens with crowds of cheering onlookers! Human 'sympathizers' are being lined up against walls! It's-"
Edmund realized he was getting exasperated, and loud. He paused, trying to breathe evenly while closing his quivering hands together. He regretted snooping those video files from the resistance network, terribly so, but he would be a fool to deny it was happening. It wasn't like he was a fan of the invaders, but he firmly believed there were lines that shouldn't be crossed. "It's... It's all in the files. There's some twisted stuff in there, regardless of how you feel about them."
Silence lingered there for a while, allowing Edmund to recompose himself. He didn't notice as Damien looked down to the stack of physical and digital data, the man's brow furrowing as he did so. Sure Damien didn't see Edmund all that often, but he'd never seen anything elicit this sort of reaction from him.
"Tell ya' what," Damien said softly, dispelling the quiet moment, "I think I got a good enough picture of what's goin on. I can go over the details on my own later, and you seem to be... overexerted from your trip. How about you go wait in the commons while I sort out the goods and let Max know to get set up, hmm?"
'Is he patronizing me?'
'Shut up, you know he's not.'
'I hope so...'
Edmund took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out with a sigh. "Sure, that... sounds like a good idea."
Damien nodded contentedly. "Any final thoughts before we get back to it?"
"I suppose, a polite recommendation if you'll have one," Edmund replied, shifting back into a matter-of-fact tone of voice.
"Let's hear it."
"My honest advice? I think you guys should continue as you have. We all should. That is to say; keep our heads down and don't attract attention." Edmund directed his gaze to the compiled data to visually emphasize his point, and the reasoning behind it.
The chair creaked with age as Damien stood up, stepping around the metal desk to stand by his guest. "Sounds like that'd be sound advice, friend," he commented politely as he held a hand outstretched.
Edmund watched him for a fraction of a second before standing and accepting the handshake. They exchanged a firm shake before he turned to the exit, gathering his belongings. He opened the door to leave, but paused as Damien patted his shoulder idly as he did so.
"Shouldn't have to wait too long for Max. I'll come get ya' when she's ready," the man concluded. Edmund replied with a smile and a nod.
Making his way back out of the haphazardly remodeled gas station, leaving the wagon and its load where it lay, he was greeted by the familiar tune of music. It seemed someone in the commons found an active broadcast and tuned in. One of the more central tables had a radio at its center, playing Surfing USA. A dozen or so folks had gathered closer to the radio, enjoying the pleasant melodies while they continued their socializing. Edmund eyed an unoccupied and unassuming corner that suited his interests, and began moving along the edge of the area to get at it. As he settled into his seat, the song faded out as an announcer brashly made his voice known.
"Yarrr! It be yer boy, Captain DJ Skallywag!" the voice began in a gravely, cartoonishly exaggerated pirate voice. "If yee just be tunin' in, we be surfing the air-waves of Pirate Radio! Today's booty be a Beach Boys blowout! An' Lemme' tell ya, these salty sea-dogs be bringing some 'good vibes' with the next few songs, if ye be catchin' my drift! Harharhar!"
The cackling voiced faded back out as Good Vibrations began to play. Edmund noted a couple residents crack a grin or shake their heads at the musical host. He couldn't help but smile at the reactions. Sure, the pirate persona was a bit much, but he got a kick out of it. After all, he thought it was wise to use a persona when broadcasting for the sake of preserving his anonymity.
Time passed as the tunes continued playing and the group mingled. None seemed to pay Edmund much mind as he sat in his corner, silently observing them. If anyone noticed or were put off by his focused, thoughtful expression, they didn't show it. He idly pondered the machinations of socializing, and the pro's and con's of such systems and the mechanics therein.
His attention was caught by movement at the mesh entrance. The kid that had jumped him earlier poked his head in and began scanning the area, as if looking for something. As his gaze fell upon Edmund their eyes locked for a fraction of a second. The kid's eye seemed to bulge as he withdrew his head from the entrance. Edmund blinked idly, unsure of what to make of the interaction. He decided to shrug it off and return to his silent musings.
A short while later there was more movement at the entrance. The boy poked his head in again, this time immediately looking to Edmund. He turned to look at something behind him as he pointed in Edmund's direction, saying something that couldn't be heard over the music and conversations of others. Edmund, for his part, was now fully focused on the entrance and what was transpiring. The music transitioned to a tune he recognized as a song titled "Heroes and Villains."
Before he could theorize what was happening, the mesh flapped open as four men dressed in camo hunting gear stepped inside. Three possessed rifles and other similarly themed accouterments, while the fourth had a couple of leashes wrapped around his left arm that kept a pair of German Shepherds in check. The four men turned to look at Edmund, their features masked by camo-themed hats and face coverings.
"Oh hell..." Edmund muttered to himself, a dour expression spreading across his face.