Chapter 2

Four men stood in the entryway, their forms outlined by the natural light pouring in around them. One of the German Sheppard's let out a half-hearted bark as it shuffled against its leash. The disturbance caught the attention of the patrons socializing around the radio. They looked between the men and Edmund with a mix of interest and expectancy. The tension hanging in the air was palpable as all parties waited to see who would make the first move.

Edmund's brow was deeply furrowed and his eyes focused, accompanied by a mild frown. He couldn't care less if people were picking up on the displeasure he was so blatantly expressing. Truth be told, though he was presently too distracted to recognize it, he was far more nervous than he had ever been in any of the encounters with the mysterious forest stalker. His right hand drifted down to rest on his waist, near where his pistol was holstered. It Just when the tension was reaching its boiling point the central of the three figured slouched his shoulders, relaxing. The others seemed to get the memo and promptly followed suit.

The man moved a hand from his rifle to pull back the hat/mask combination, letting it hang loose from the back of his collar. His thick, coarse beard still hid many of his features, but his eyes seemed to display a sort of bored irritancy. "Junior," he began, turning to look over his shoulder, "It's just that mountain-man. Try to settle the kid, would you?"

A fifth camo-clad figure, this one noticeably skinnier and lacking head gear, stepped in behind the others. Junior's expression, much younger and without the beard of his elder, shifted from curiosity to bemused dismissiveness when he eyed Edmund. He turned to the near-frantic kid and ushered him over to the bunks at the opposite end of the commons area. They found a bunk and sat together, the older beginning to talk in hushed tones as the younger listened. Even then, the worried adolescent occasionally cast a worried glance at Edmund.

Edmund, like the accusatory child, was still very much on edge. He'd already been blindsided by one unexpected escalation, and there was still too many unknown factors at play. He wasn't keen on letting his guard down quite yet. The onlookers, on the other hand, seemed to lose interest as the four men started weaving their way through the chairs and tables to get to Edmund's quiet corner.

The leader pulled a folding chair out from the small table and practically fell into it, causing the metal joints to groan at the sudden application of weight. A smile could be construed from the shifting features of his beard as he met Edmund's gaze again. Even so, silence persisted between the two. The man was pressuring him into initiating the interaction. This happened every time they encountered each other. He seemed to revel in forcing Edmund into this position.

"What do you want, Killian," he stated bluntly, uncaring if his displeasure bled into his words.

"Well, we's gotten word of sum stranger startin' trouble," Killian began coyly with a southern drawl that surpassed even Damien's. "Comin' into camp an' scarin' some o' them kids, you see."

Edmund's eyes squinted beneath his still furrowed brow. "Excuse you? He's the one who jumped out and nearly gave me a heart attack, and you're saying I scared him?" he replied indignantly.

"Oh, so you're sayin' you get scared by kids jumpin' 'round shoutin' 'BOO'?" Killian said with a chuckle. Edmund's glare didn't seem to have any effect on the man as he continued. "Well either way, you done somethin' that's got him thinkin' you're one of them slime-changin' freaks. What're they called again...?"

"Think XCOM calls 'em Faceless," of the other gun-wielding men said dryly from where he stood. Edmund looked to him, then to the others standing around the table. The dogs were kept far enough back as to be out of his reach, but the way they glared intently at him was certainly not helping his tension.

"Right, them things," Killian continued, drawing Edmund's gaze back to him. "Thought we might get a shot at a new trophy, but guess it's just you. Unless you really are one o' them freaky bastards, eh?" He leaned across the table and slapped Edmund's chest playfully, if forcefully.

"No, I'm not," Edmund replied plainly, trying to ease his mounting frustrations before continuing. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging the mildly painful gesture."Mind elaborating just how, or why, he got the impression that I was a faceless, of all things?"

Killian's beard shifted, implying the smile vanished. "From what I recall, it went down during the Goodwell massacre. 'Parently bunch of folks were hidin' in a gym, the settlement operatin' out of an old school as ya' know." His voice was taking a more somber tone. "Kid 'n his folks was among 'em. Apparently one of the survivors, a very quiet, unsociable dude not unlike yerself, turned out to be one of them things. It went to town on the survivors while XCOM took their sweet-ass time comin' to help." Killian fell quiet in a moment of reverence.

Edmund's bald-faced aggravation eased as he too ruminated on the tale for a moment. His features relaxed as he looked down, considering the context and how the kid could have easily interpreted his earlier moment of blanking as the apparent dead giveaway of an alien imposter. Even so, and as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't feel any sadness over the revelation. Empathy and sympathy had always been his weakest aspects, though not for any lack of trying. Still, he knew he should at least try to play the part. It would be 'socially unacceptable' for him to do otherwise.

"Well," he said in a neutral tone, swallowing a lump in his throat. "That... really sucks."

Now it was Killian's turn for his brow to furrow in frustration. "The hell's that supposed to mean?" he said tensely as he straightened in his chair.

Swing and a miss. A more neutral demeanor was falling over his mannerisms as he inadvertently slipped into indifference. "What?" he replied in mild defensive, "It sucks that that happened. A very unfortunate event."

Killian leaned forward, resting an arm on the table. He looked almost angry, if Edmund had to guess. "Show a bit of sympathy would you? What kinda' heartless bastard are you?"

"What do you want, for me to fall to the ground balling my eyes out?" Edmund continued, trying not to sound incensed, "It is a very not-good thing for a kid to have to witness, and I'll be praying for him as I do for the other survivors. What more do you want from me?"

"Maybe show the kid you aint some kinda' soulless monster?" He replied snidely.

The others standing around the table shook their head and/or sighed. Edmund looked between them again, his eyes eventually falling on the kid at the other end of the room. The kid was watching intently, causing their gaze to lock once more. Killian followed Edmund's gaze, realizing the kid's silent observation as Junior continued quietly talking to him.

"Tell you what," Killian began with a calmer tone as he turned back to Edmund, "I got an idea how you can put the kid at ease." He looked up to his ally keeping tabs on the German Sheppards. The man nodded and stepped closer, allowing the dogs to nuzzle up beside Killian's lap. The beard shifted into a grin as he bent over to start scratching them lovingly. They reveled in the attention they were receiving, huffing and warbling as their fur was ruffled.

"No'ne in their right mind doesn't like lovin' on man's best friend," Killian said in a slightly cutesy voice, as if he was talking to the dogs rather than Edmund. "And them filthy aliens sure don't appreciate 'em, so I figure seein' you pettin' on my good boys here will help put his mind at ease."

"No, thank you," Edmund replied curtly. A new wave of tension, admittedly from concern more than irritation, was beginning to well up in his chest. "I'm good."

"See, that's the thing though," Killian replied, the cutesy tone gone now. He motioned for the dog's handler to move closer to Edmund. "You aint good. But the way I see it, this here is how you'll help clear things up."

Edmund was visibly tensing up now, too preoccupied to try to visibly hide it. He couldn't tell how much of this was Killian actually thinking this was a good idea and how much of it was the man's usual desire to screw with the introverted isolationist. Either way, he wasn't having any of it. "No, I'd really rather not," he said, a tremor of worry in his voice.

"All you gotta do is show you aint some emotionless alien freak. An' besides, what kinda' fuckin' retard doesn't like lovin' on dogs?" Killian said with no small level of snark as the handler stepped closer.

"This retard, for one," Edmund continued with a bit more sternness in his voice. His self-preservation instincts may be left wanting, but by no means did that mean he wasn't worried about getting mauled by animals. Not again.

The dogs, for their part, turned from the man who had stopped giving them affection to look between him and Edmund. Taking their handler's hints they stepped closer, though they didn't seem quite as happy when approaching their new target. If anything, Edmund thought he could hear a low growl from one of them. He briefly wondered if it was his own adamant tension that was bleeding over to the animals, or if they simply didn't like other people. It ultimately didn't matter. Not in the here and now. He found himself trying to scoot further back into his chair to get away from the encroaching animals.

"Take it easy, they don't bite," Killian insisted, "At least not without reason..."

Okay, yeah, the growling was definitely not Edmund's imagination. He frantically stood from his chair, knocking it over with a clatter. The canines seemed further put on edge by the movement and sound, their growling escalating into the occasional, hostile bark. His right hand had never left its resting place near his sidearm. Now standing, he might have been wary that this was visible to the others, but he was a bit preoccupied with keeping away from the perceived threat.

"Hey, take it easy," Killian said with mock-concern, "you're scaring the poor things."

Edmund huffed indignantly, not having the nerve to offer a quick retort. The mesh netting brushed against his back, making him realize he had backed himself into the corner. The world seemed to fade as his focus rested squarely on the animals. Panicked scenarios rand through his mind, spurred on by the lingering horrors he'd seen on the resistance network. He didn't want to actually draw his gun, for obvious reasons, but he dearly feared what may or may not happen if he didn't. Either way, he couldn't imagine how much longer this tension would last before something happened.

For a moment he thought he heard his name being called, but he couldn't tell over the increasing frequency of snarling barks. But there it was again, clearer this time, loud enough to be heard over the barking. Edmund dared a glance in the direction of the source, breaking his focus on the animals. He spotted Damien standing at the building's entrance after a quick scan of the area. A deeply disgruntled look was apparent on his face as he glared in their direction.

"Edmund, Max is ready for you," he said sternly, though without hostility or negatively. "Come on."

Edmund stared blankly for a faint moment as his mind seemed to stall. He looked back to Killian and his men, noting that the German Sheppard's handler had backed off. Killian himself glared at him, though he couldn't tell if it was out of hate, disappointment, frustration, or any combination therein. A tense quiet had fallen over the commons area, allowing Edmund a moment to look around. Even the radio had been turned down. Everyone else in the commons area had turned to witness what was transpiring. He was too flustered to even try to discern what expressions everyone was wearing. Even so, he was able to recognize the now familiar look of worry on the distant kid's face. Junior, likewise, looked worried, albeit with a hint of confusion mixed in.

Edmund turned from the onlookers, hastily picking up his backpack and snaking through the tables and chairs as swiftly as he could. He kept his eyes down and did his best to not make a sound as he made his way to Damien. He'd had about enough socializing for the moment, to say the least. Reaching the building's door, he looked up to meet Damien's eyes for a fleeting moment. The man's expression seemed to soften as he gave a knowing nod. Damien shot the armed men a hostile glance as his guest stepped inside, silently showing his profound disapproval. Killian responded smugly by propping his feet on the table and leaning back in his chair.

"Look, Ed..." Damien began as he closed the door behind him, "I don't know what got him goin' this time, but I'm sorry. Truly."

Edmund dropped his backpack on the old checkout counter and spun around. "Some Goodwell kid got spooked by my social ineptitude, and he used it as an excuse to harass me," he retorted with a vitriolic burst. He tried to keep his volume down as to not be heard outside, but he did not hide the underlying emotion.

Damien sighed deeply as he rubbed his forehead. "He should know better than to harass someone who contributes to our humble operation..."

"Doesn't matter to him, he's not a member of your camp! They're on loan from the Southern Survivors as 'armed assistance'. That means he thinks he can do whatever he wants without reprisal!" Edmund ran a hand through his thick hair as he paced back and forth. "See, this is what I'm talking about! Fools like him are running around scott-free out there, unchecked simply because of the merit that they're not aliens!"

Damien stepped forward, reaching up slightly to put his hands on Edmund's shoulders. "Don't let him get you riled up. Come on now, take it easy..." he continued in a gentle tone.

Edmund stood there quietly, his gaze looking around sporadically while a multitude of emotions cascaded across his face. His fingers flexed from fists to outstretched over and over again. It took a minute, but his tension began to ease as the adrenaline faded. Eventually he managed to settle down to the point that he could look Damien in the eye and give a thankful nod. Damien smiled and patted his shoulders.

"Now then, let's let Max take a look at'chya," he said, motioning to a door opposite of the checkout counter. Damnien's group had renovated the building's interior over the years, building a few ramshackle walls to divvy-up the building's once open interior.

"Yeah. It's just... Sorry about getting worked up like that. I know I shouldn't let it bother me-"

"No, none of that," Damien cut him off firmly. "You're perfectly fine. If he screws with you again you come straight to me. I don't need him running off my only source of hard liquor." The corner of his mouth turned up as he gave a wink.

Edmund couldn't help but huff a couple laughs through his nose. His mouth twitched between the scrunched frown that was there previously and a smile that was fighting for dominance. The smile won out, and he playfully shook his head at Damien's jest. "Thanks."

Damien's grin spread, giving him a pat on the back before opening the door into the haphazard medical room. Inside, an old medical stretcher took up the center of the room. A little rolling stand stood at the foot of the stretcher, and a cabinet rested against the plywood wall that used to be the building's front windows. At the back there was a wooden desk, parallel to the refrigerator doors that were now boarded up. A young woman in slightly blood-stained scrubs sat behind said desk, filtering through paperwork and utensils. Chestnut hair hung straight down from her head, barely reaching below her ears. She was young, too. If Edmund had to guess, he'd say she was either a post-invasion kid or one of the few infants to survive the endeavor.

The door's opening caught her attention, looking up to the two men standing outside. Her deadpan face turned from Damien to Edmund, lingering on the latter. "You done?"

Edmund's smile falters a bit as the cold, neutral tone catches him off guard. "Yeah... I guess."

Max pursed her lips in response, setting down what she was working on and standing up to walk to the stretcher. "Come on then," she remarked idly as she grabbed a manila folder on the little stand. She opened it, glancing at its contents while she waited.

Edmund looked between Damien and Maxine before stepping in. His host closed the door behind him as he stepped beside the stretcher, facing the woman expectantly. She looked up from the folder's contents for a moment, visually eying him from head to toe. "Take a seat," she began in an almost bored tone.

Edmund did so diligently, if gingerly, as to not risk breaking the aging piece of equipment. The stretcher creaked as it shifted to accommodate his weight, but it held fast.

"Name, date of birth, and height." Her dull, feminine tone was the only sound in the room. The patient file her predecessor had left had such details, but being thorough was wiser than being sloppy.

"Edmund Meyers, February 2, 1992, six-foot seven-inches, ma'am," he replied respectfully.

"Checks out," her stoic tone not faltering. She gestured at him with her pencil. "...Forty-four, hmm? You look good for your age."

"Feel it in my bones though," Edmund replied plainly, audibly cracking his neck to emphasize the point.

A curt hum was her only response as she flipped through the papers. The silence lingered a moment, helping Edmund's mind continue to diffuse. He was beginning to space out, lost within his own mind, when he was jolted back to the present by another question.

"From... what I've heard, your dialect seems more plainspoken than the southern drawl more commonly found around here," She asked dully, without any hint of her intent. "Are you originally from the area?"

"I could say the same for you," he replied as his weak smile returned. There was no discernible reaction. "...I was born in the Midwest. Parents moved to Alabama when I was three. They were plainspoken as well, so I think it developed from them and where I was as an infant. Kids used to pick on me because they thought I sounded more 'sophisticated' than them." His smile persisted, letting out an amused huff at the memory.

A twitch in Max's lips was her reply. She flipped to another page in the envelope and paused before continuing. "...I see notes referring to past lacerations around the neck and shoulders. 'Animal attack,' as it's listed here. Any residual matters there?"

Edmund craned his chin up while pulling his collar open to give her a glimpse at the aforementioned wounds. Numerous small cuts and slashes scarred the visible flesh with little rhyme or reason apparent. "Old Bobby Bobcat got the jump on me. Harper's work has held up, so nothing new."

"Right, well everything on file seems in order," She continued as she set the folder back on the rolling stand, exchanging it for a stethoscope and a couple other tools, "Let's start with the physical checkup."

Time began to drift as neither party bothered to keep track of it. Maxine calmly, methodically went through the basic motions of a checkup. Her system was in a different order than her predecessor, but Edmund didn't let himself get hung up on such a inconsequential matter. She checked his blood pressure, temperature, lung function, and so on. The closest thing to a reaction from her was when she weighed him in at well over three-hundred pounds. Her eyebrows raised as she read the final number, looking up to meet his gaze. He simply offered a smile and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm legitimately big-boned."

The dental check went much the same, with her attentively going down a checklist of to-do's. The scraping of tools against his teeth, though non-damaging, always drew Edmund up inside. Then again, he always assumed it was much the same for everyone else as well. Regardless, his pre-invasion crowns were holding fast, there were no new cavities, and there were no aches or pains that he felt the need to point out. When inquiring into cleaning, he assured her his toothbrush, though old, still performed sufficiently. The dental portion of the checkup was concluded with a few closing notes and familiar advice.

Edmund's hair had always been dense, opting to grow 'out' rather than 'down.' To counter this, he tried to keep it slicked back in what could loosely be described as a pompadour. Not that it would matter for much longer, as he informed Max that he wanted it shaved down to a buzz-cut.

"You want to shave a thick, warm head of hair right before winter sets in," Max remarked dryly at the request. "Might I inquire as to why?"

"If, or rather when, such a thick head of hair gets wet, it quickly becomes a hazard. A head of cold, wet hair can get you deathly ill if you're not careful. Believe me, I'd rather not go through that again." Memories of being shacked up with the worst sick he'd ever experienced floated through his mind. He wondered just how close he had come to getting pneumonia.

Maxine conceded the point, and set to work. Edmund was instructed to lay across the stretcher, his head hanging off the end so as to keep the clippings from getting all over him or the surrounding instruments. She used a pair of scissors for most of the dense hair, but finished the job with a positively archaic electric clipper. The machine's menacing buzzing might have worried Edmund if he hadn't gotten used to it over the years. Maxine concluded without fail, putting the instruments away before sweeping the shavings aside to be disposed of later.

She excused herself shortly thereafter, explaining she needed to start the bath. Edmund took the moment of isolation to reflect. Reflect on the day's events thus far. Reflect on the state of the world. Reflect on what the future might look like. His parents and church members had always reassured him that God was in control, and that all things would work out as he willed it. Truthfully, he believed it; and XCOM's improbable victory only further reinforced the notion. But even so, he could not deny the struggles of the day-to-day. His idle musings turned to prayers for guidance and assistance as he leaned forward, running his hands across the bristling fuzz that now adorned his scalp.

"It'll take a minute to cool off," Max stated as she stepped back into the room, "but I suppose you knew that already. Anything else before you get to it?"

Edmund sat upright from his slouched posture. "Not really, but..." He hesitated, wary of how he should broach the subject. "May I ask what exactly happened at Goodwell? Only if you don't mind doing so, of course. Killian told me a bit, but I don't exactly know how much of what he said can be trusted."

She met his gaze, hers eyes cold and distant. Seconds of silence passed before she sighed, resolved to recount the memory. "I'll be brief. They're not exactly pleasant memories."

"Of course," he replied with a courteous nod.

"...The old school had been on the outskirts of some town—name's not important—that the forest had engulfed over the years. We were one of the more contributive Resistance camps in the area, so we had more support from the Southern Survivors and other such groups. It didn't matter though. Not when it came down to it." Her demeanor shifted as she took on a more remorseful tone. "ADVENT used the forest to their advantage, masking their approach. Their mechs surrounded the building, cutting down those who tried to run. "

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she looked to the floor. "The guards barely kept them busy long enough for us to send for help. When they had us sufficiently boxed in, they air-dropped... monsters on us. Berserkers, chrysalids... nasty shit like that." Edmund noted a scowl forming. "Tore the building apart, and the occupants along with it. A group of guards rallied most of the survivors in the gym, where they hoped to hold out until XCOM arrived. I did what I could to help our wounded, but my options were limited. Those felt like the longest hours of my life..."

She paused for a moment, her jaw stiffening. Edmund patiently waited for her to continue, watching emotions shift her features. He wasn't here to pressure her, after all. She eventually looked up, sniffing sharply before continuing.

"When XCOM dropped their troops, they moved to rescue about half a dozen people that had gotten pinned down trying to make a break for it. Unfortunately their arrival seemed to somehow give the damnable beasts new resolve. Chrysalids were bearing down on the gym, barely held at bay by our defenders, when the faceless revealed itself. The... sounds... squelching and crunching like an animal was being torn apart from the inside..." she visibly shivered. "The boy you mentioned, James; his parents were some of the first to go. Literally ripped in half by the thing's unnaturally long claws. The guards panicked, turning their fire to the wretched abomination. But, turning their attention away from the chrysalids..."

She looked up, locking eyes with Edmund. "By the time XCOM finally got to the gym, there was barely anyone left."

Edmund held his gaze with hers for what felt like minutes. Even with his social inabilities he could see the anger, remorse, and horror in her eyes. He felt sorrow for her, at least to the capacity that he was able. "I'm sorry," he lamented, trying to sound as sincere as he could. "I'll be praying for you, James, and the other survivors."

Her eyes narrowed, her expression now shifting to reflect her feelings on him more than her memories. "...Your bath should be tolerable by now," she replied coldly.

Edmund took the hint, obvious as it was, and stood from the stretcher. He maintained eye contact as he looked down to her, nearly a foot shorter than himself. "Thank you for your good work, though I apologize for the hassle." His hand extended to her to show his thanks. She didn't take it, instead breaking her gaze as she turned to walk back to her desk. A soft sigh was his acknowledgment of the dismissal, and he retracted his hand. He exited the room quietly, being sure to gingerly close the door behind him.

The bath's location was the same as ever. The gas station's old maintenance room; a water heater on the left, storage shelves on the right, and a large galvanized steel trough at the back that was big enough even for him. Edmund noted the hose still attached to the water heater, and how the half-full tub was steaming. He tested the water with a finger, but he found it to be sufficiently not scalding. It was still hot, terribly so, but he had always reveled in a good hot bath. He gave the closed door a wary look before disrobing himself and stepping into the metal tub.
'You think we should feel guilty? Having them give us medical care and a hot bath like this?' he thought to himself as he felt the tension in his muscles ease.
'Nonsense. Every other resident gets the same treatment, and we've paid for it.'
'Yeah, true, but I still feel a bit guilty about being away for so long just to show up for special treatment.'
'Oh bog-water; I just said it's not special treatment. Besides, if nothing else they owe you at least this much for Killian's BS.'
'I guess... Still, I wish that-'

Edmund's internal conversation cut short as the door opened. He panicked, curling in on himself to prevent indecent exposure. The sudden movement shifted the water about, some of it sloshing over the side.

"Stop splashing like that, you're wasting our water," Maxine said, having gone back to her dry tone of voice. She stepped inside, casually turning to the shelves and looking over them.

Edmund shot her an indignant look. "A little privacy please?"

She turned to him with a disapproving expression, looking him over before huffing. "Grow up; we're all adults. Privacy's a luxury we can't afford out here. You should know that." She returned her attention to the shelves, taking her time as she picked out a couple of bottles. "Nothing I haven't seen before, anyway..." With one final glance in his direction, she stepped back out and closed the door behind her.

Edmund was left curled up, jaw agape as he still processed what just happed. Sure, it wasn't like he had anything to be ashamed of, but the indecency of his unintentional exposure made him profoundly uncomfortable. And the fact that she was probably half his age only served to exasperate his discomfort. Not to mention the conversation they'd just had.

He remained there like that for a short while, flabbergasted. This whole visit was becoming more and more of a reminder as to why he was staunchly against leaving his mountain top to join a more communal group. He couldn't imagine dealing with this more frequently than a couple times a year. But in the meantime, the water was still warm, and he wanted to at least try to enjoy it while he could.

He took ample time in cleaning himself and washing the trimmings from his head. Any opportunity to bathe properly with soap was to be valued. Unfortunately, try as he might, he just couldn't enjoy the rest of the bath. Warm and soothing as the water was, the worry of another intrusion loomed over him like a storm cloud. He barely even thought to himself, too worried about what might happen next. After what felt like an hour, as the water was becoming tepid and cloudy, he dried himself and adorned his patchwork clothes once more.

After much deliberation, he concluded that it would be best if he wrapped up his business and head back home. It made no difference to him if there was still stuff to do, he just wanted to be done with this trip. He grabbed his backpack from where he left it on the counter and stepped back to Damien's room. It was open, and a subtle knock was all it took to capture his friend's attention.

"Ah, Max take care of ya'?" the man said, looking up from the old computer monitor. His face seemed to lighten as he did so.

Edmund exaggerated a look of mild discomfort as he nodded his head side to side. "She did her job fine. Bedside manners were a bit stand-off-ish, but I don't know how much of that was me. Either way, I'm heading home."

"So soon?" Damien sounded almost hurt.

"That hot meal can wait until later, I've had about enough of today. You guys done offloading my stuff?"

"Yeah, wagon's empty and the duffle's got the stuff we discussed. The download's just finishing..." The computer whirred and beeped as he unplugged the external drive and set it on the desk. A mild, if understanding, frown fell over Damien's expression. "I wish you'd stick around a bit longer, but I can't say as I blame you today. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Ahh, not your fault. Trials and tribulations, my friend. Trials and tribulations." He took the external drive, sliding it into one of the backpack's more protected pouches. A forced smile curled his lips faintly as he offered a two-fingered salute. "God be with you."

Damien nodded in return, his frown softening as the door closed. Edmund lingered at the closed door for a moment, second guessing his early departure. The notion was fleeting however, and he resigned himself to the decision he'd made. As stated, his red wagon sat by the main door, empty except for the duffle bag. He took its handle in hand, taking a deep breath before opening the door to the commons.

Parting the double doors, he strode forward as calm and normal as he could. He noted that the radio had fallen silent; his broadcast had likely concluded by now and fallen into sleep-mode. Also of note was the lack of Killian and his ilk, which was simultaneously a relief and a concern. After all, he wasn't keen on the idea of being jumped by a couple of 'feral dogs' on his way home. To be fair, he'd like to believe Killian wouldn't go that far, but he wouldn't put it past him either.

Stepping out of the camo-mesh netting, Edmund could tell it was still the early afternoon. With fall beginning to set in, that gave him a few more hours of daylight. Plenty of time to get home, at least in theory. He started down the old road, returning the same way he had come, this time with a much quieter mind. As he passed the old bus and the same few Goodwell survivors outside it, he gave pause as something caught his attention. A poster, one of XCOM's propaganda pieces, was plastered tall and proud by the bus' door. It depicted six soldiers in various poses, staged in front of a burning building. The format was simple 'top text - bottom text' in bold white lettering.

"ADVENT WILL BURN THIS WORLD."
"JOIN XCOM! DEFEND HUMANITY!"

He couldn't help but cock his head as he tried to understand what he was seeing. These survivors, upset at XCOM for failing to save their camp, had XCOM recruitment propaganda on their home? Maybe it was because he'd mentally been through the ringer today, but it just didn't add up. Regardless, he noticed the survivors casting him surly looks again, and decided it might be best to look into at a later date. He didn't need yet another situation to go south. Not when he was so close to leaving.

And so he did, without further incident. No children jumped out of the fence line, no unruly hunters cut him off once he was out into the woods. There was nothing but peace and quiet as he wandered deeper into the forest. Actually, it was a little too peaceful. Too quiet. As in, it was so quiet that the soft crunch of his every footfall seemed to be swallowed up by the sheer overbearing presence of this silence.

He took a deep breath and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had already been a less than ideal day. Did he really want to risk further incident by engaging with his Shadow? He was seriously considering just ignoring it and carrying it on, when there was a sudden, sharp SNAP somewhere to his right. Not entirely feeling up for exaggerating a swift head-turn, he lazily turned in the direction of the sound. Oh wow, trees. Look at that, more trees. Bushes, how riveting. Menacing shadow figure, classic. Another tree-

His gaze doubled back as his eyes widened. Several yards away, crouching among a clump of shrubberies, was a seemingly humanoid figure. Its body was wreathed in a shadow cast by the tree it stood beside. The dark form, contrasted against the forest backdrop, was punctuated by a pair of familiar, dazzling, violet eyes. His eyes locked with its, causing a shiver to run down Edmund's spine.