Present Day: One year after the Blackout

It was funny how quickly things changed. Nicole walked the southern boundaries of Seattle, Washington with four others. When the People’s Republic of Seattle, the Republic for short, was formed, she remembered Chairman Ashford preach about preserving the American democratic ideals when anarchy overcame their country when the lights went out. In the beginning it was exactly as he said. People were happy. Months later, though, everything changed. For better or for worse, Nicole couldn’t say. As a CIA agent - former - she thought it’d be a return to the country she signed on to protect. It was anything but.

Rounding a corner, Nicole signaled the four to stop as she looked around. Her grip on her rifle was far too tight. She knew. Within the borders of the Republic, there wasn’t any need for her to be so uptight. Placed within the Sentinel Intelligence Unit. Essentially, it was a fancy term for a police officer when her skills weren’t required. However, when espionage and sabotage was required, she’d become the spy. She had done either role far too many times. She’d take her current placement over the regulars though.

As if the world wasn’t already majorly screwed, Ashford was hellbent on recreating a fantasy empire. A new United States - except with Big Brother. Men and women were all forced conscripted with regards to their age, past experience, and health. The Regulars were the vanguard force that led the Republic’s vision of expansion. News of the multiple skirmishes with the old government and raiders circulated through the population. The propaganda painted the tale of valor and glory while the regulars who made it back told a different story. While dissent was there, Ashford had a way with words. He could make the most rebellious fall in line with the promise of peace through militaristic victory. That kept the conscript lines full and brought out the fanatical devotion soldiers carried with them on the battlefield. A modern day Hitler.

On the flip side, the Republic’s borders were heavily patrolled by the Sentinels, the group she was given. Lightly outfitted compared to the regulars, the sentinel’s acted as a shield to repel invaders and keep ‘aliens’, a term for non-republic citizens, out. She hated the job, but it kept her tokens coming.

“What’s wrong?” One of the sentinels walked up to her, his face shrouded by a balaclava. “See something?”

She wasn’t sure. Nicole kept staring straight ahead. There was an abandoned building — a food mart of some type. She swore she saw something in there. A flicker of a shadow.

“We’re still well within the border,” said the sentinel. “Should I send a runner to South-Com?”

Nicole shook her head. She tilted her refurbished helmet up. The military vest — died black and red — seemed to constrict her chest as her long sleeves felt suffocating. She hated the uniform the sentinels wore. She preferred freedom with her fashion. A privilege that came with her other job.

“First Sentinel?”

“Se—“

An echoing blast filled her ears. On instinct, Nicole dove to the nearest wall. One of the sentinels was dragging back another as the woman wailed from the chest wound. She was bleeding fast. Nicole peeked around the corner. Dark silhouettes moved within the very building she was eyeing before.

“Second!” The soldier who had suggested a runner before looked at her. “Grocery store! I see two!”

“Another three to the left side,” he said. “I’ve got eyes on them!”

Bullets pelted into the wall forcing Nicole to break away. How the hell did they get so far in without a report? Which faction were they from?

Leaning to the side, she sighted with her rifle and squeezed the trigger. The weapon jumped in her hands as the recoil pushed back against her shoulder. The damn thing had a kick. Maybe morning maintenance wasn’t such a bad idea. She heard yells come from the store’s location as she saw targets drop. Richter, her second, was always the dead eye when it counted.

As the skirmish drew on, footsteps bounded towards her. Nicole turned her weapon in their direction. A group dressed in black and maroon fatigues quickly signed an ‘allies’ gesture. Regulars. She pointed her weapon down as the masked figures came to stop by her. Several fanned out, but the CO stayed with her.

“Report.”

“Five confirmed targets in the store straight ahead. Two pegged. One dead, the other unknown.”

The Legate nodded as he signaled his team. They gave signs of acknowledgement as they opened fire. Slowly, they began to move up.

“Have your team secure the rear and flanks,” said the Regular as he stood up. “We’ll clean out the trash.”

—

It hadn’t taken long for the threat to be subdued. The regulars milled about as Nicole stood over her injured squad member. The other sentinel in her squad managed to administer emergency aid. She was fine but needed a doctor. Richter stood to the side as he talked to the fourth member who leaned against the wall. That expression. It was shell shock.

“First Sentinel.” Nicole turned around as the legate walked over. “My team will take over from here. The borders have been notified. We found the area patrol. They were executed by the knife. Bad way to go.”

“Did you find out the faction responsible for this?”

“No colors. My guess is on raiders, but they’re never this subtle. How did they get past the southern garrison?”

She wondered the same thing. Also, why were the regulars here?

“Your squad heading to the lines?”

“Cleaning out the old government’s hard work.”

“So it is.” She looked down as a makeshift stretcher had been fashioned by Richter and the other sentinel. Finally doing something useful she thought. “I’m pulling my patrol back to South-Com. Have a message? Least I can do.”

The Legate shook his head. “Just report this. More sentinel patrols in this area. The last thing the front needs is an attack from behind. You handle a rifle well.”

The two saluted one another as the regulars began their sombre march to what may very well be their death. A pity Ashford couldn’t follow a policy of coexistence. To add more salt to the wound, she was helping in the murder of the government she swore loyalty too. It left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Second, get the stretcher. It’s time to go home.”

Richter nodded. Slowly, the four made their way back to the Southern Zone Command Hub. It was a silent walk back.

—

Nicole had changed into civilian clothes as she walked into the ration center nearest her quarters. Being well into the evening, folks were already calling it a night. The chef waved to her as she waved back. Old man Horace. Though his hair was a hodgepodge of brown and grey, his eyes twinkled in blueish glee. He used to be a college professor, agriculture to be exact. From the life of teaching college students, he had been shafted to this job. If he was miffed by it, he hid it well.

“Alright Horace?”

“I was beginning to clean for the night, but then your pretty face showed up,” he said leaning against the polished silver serving table. “Not much of a choice presently. Got some left over stew and some bread. Interested?”

“Meat?”

“Yes ma’am?”

Nicole reached into her pocket, taking out her pouch of tokens. “Can’t be cheap then.”

Horace grunted as he swooped down and grabbed a bowl. “Discount for you — try not to tell the Se— Oh …”

“I don’t want to get us in trouble with my branch,” she said. “So…?”

“Ten tokens.”

“Christ,” Nicole said as she placed ten tokens on the table. “Any chance of warming it up?”

Horace grimaced as he pushed the bowl and bread towards her. “Water’s over there. Feel free to have at it.”

She took her things as she stopped to get a water before sitting at a table in the corner. She tucked in, observing the room between bites. Even in Central — the safest place in the Republic — she was ill at ease. It was going to be a long night. She’d have to go check on her injured sentinel.

---

One Year before the Blackout

Her cellphone suddenly shut off. Nicole looked at the encrypted phone. She tried the power button several times. Right when she was about to reach into her bag for her other phone, the lights in the cafe she sat in flickered off. Cries of surprise from the other patrons followed suit.

“What the hell’s going on?” A hipster — for the lack of a better word — stood up as he gripped his headphones. “What happened to the lights?”

Nicole didn’t stick around to listen to the conversation. Rushing out into the darkened city of Seattle, there were more pressing concerns. A slight drizzle began to fall as people milled about. The traffic lights were all out and so was every car. Other than the confused muttering of people, there was no other sound. It was eerie.

For the past few months, Nicole had been stationed at the Seattle office. The agent tasked with following a potential domestic attack on the western seaboard, Nicole had been on the phone for the past few minutes talking to an informant. A deep cover informant. With the communication severed, the informant would’ve been spooked or compromised. A massive blow to their efforts if that were the case.

Walking up to a pay phone, she lifted it from the receiver. There was no dial tone.

She looked around and spotted a uniform. She hung up the phone and rushed out. “Hey!” she called over. “Do you know what’s happening? I was talking to my girlfriend over the phone, and suddenly I lost power. The thing was at 70%. Tried my car, but I couldn’t get it to start.”

The officer shook his head. He had a clean buzz cut and seemed to be one of the few who kept up with PT. “Your guess is as good as mine. Talkies don’t work,” he said. “My recommendation is to head home until this blows over. What power remains will be heading to critical units first.”

“Any estimate on when power’ll be restored?”

“Not a clue,” he said. A commotion came from the background as the officer swore. “Head on home ms. Crowd looks like trouble. Stay safe.”

She watched the officer run off as she made her way back to her apartment. Her laptop was built to withstand EMP-like conditions. Before she could get too far, she stopped and listened. Out of the silence, she heard a high pitch wail. Looking up, her mind went into total lockdown as she saw objects falling from the skies. It was only when the objects got closer did she realize what they really were.

Running the opposite way from the falling planes, a monstrous explosion rocked past her as she was propelled forward. Her body slammed into a nearby car as cries joined the terrifying symphony. A sharp pain came from her side as she continued to run. Gasoline and a coppery smell permeated the air. Something burnt was mixed in with it all, but she dared not try and imagine what that was.

As she felt her sides heave, as another explosion sounded from farther away. If she didn’t see the planes, she’d though the seaboard was being invaded!

She couldn’t resist staring at all the faces running past her. Men, women, and kids. All terrified, believing that things like this existed only in movies. Making sure nothing else fell from above, she braved into her apartment as she ran to her room. The domestic threat was never projected to be this catastrophic. Bounding up the stairs, she pushed through the fourth floor stairwell door. Quickly unlocking her door, she walked and locked it behind her.

Wiping the sheen of sweat from her face, she didn’t bother with a flashlight. It probably wouldn’t work. Her laptop rested on the table as she initiated a wake-up protocol. Nothing happened. “What the fuck?”

Playing around with a few other gadgets of her, nothing worked. Frowning, the thought that she dreaded finally crossed her mind. She was cut off from any CIA analysts. Was the hit that bad? Getting up and grabbing her on-the-go messenger bag, she quickly changed into a pair of jeans, grey t-shirt, and a dark-green jacket to go over her shirt. It was a bland get up, but it was practical.

Moving towards her apartment door after canvasing for any sensitive material, she was back in the hallway and out the door when she spotted a familiar face.

She quickly made her way over glad to see a familiar face. “Amanda!” she said as she pulled her into a tight hug then made some space between them. “Are you okay? Did you see those explosions?”

---

Present Day

Refilling her third cup of water, Nicole had all but finished the beef stew she paid for. It had been far too long since something like this was served. The farmlands that held the majority of the produce within the Republic was under constant guard and rarely were the animals killed. Only when they couldn’t perform their specific role did the caretakers slaughter them and gave them to the cooks. It was made the day of since there was no way to preserve the meat.

“This seat taken?” Nicole looked up. She was took caught on her daydream to have noticed Richter standing before her. She gestured to the empty seat. “Hilary is doing fine. Doctor says she’ll recover. Narrowly missed the heart and lungs. Lucky girl.”

Sitting back on chair, Nicole crossed her arms as she raised a prominent eyebrow. “Hear anything about the attackers? Raiders for sure or what?”

“Not sure yet. Central-Com has been pretty quiet about it. Either they don’t know what or are simply keeping it under wraps. Having raiders this far into the boundary is bad for morale.”

Nicole nodded. “I’ll see what I can find,” she said. “Depending on what I can tell you, I’ll pass on the news. I hope it isn’t Reich or Arkadia. We’re still trying to push the remnants out.”

“Remnants. I can’t believe we’re fighting against the United States.”

“It’s a whole new world, Richter.”

The sentinel snorted as he drained his glass. His eyes flickered to the tent flap. “Isn’t that your friend, over there.”

Nicole looked over as a tired smile crossed her face. She motioned her over to join the two. “Late dinner, Amanda?”

Before the Blackout

---

“You don’t like the lavender skirts?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Please bore someone else with your questions, Daniel.”
“Don’t be like that, Mandy.”
“Amanda.”
“Well, alright… what about the maroon ones?”
“Maybe. But the padding that Simone supplemented for the adjustment doesn’t work with walk. Joseline is never going to confirm it.”
“I’ll tell him to cut it.”
“Also, tell Natalie that the fabric for the Two-Four Layout needs to be lean, not paunchy. And why, for the love of all that is holy, would she not inform Marc about the Lacroix satchels when she was down at Pier 59 studios, like I told her? Fix this, Daniel.”
“Right awa--”

The poor boy on the other end of the line was suddenly cut off. The usual case would have entailed Amanda hanging up on her imbecilic assistant, but this time the tale told different words. Along with the sudden interruption of silence, the somewhat bohemian, yet stylish loft apartment darkened. Amanda was burrowed deep within her queen sized bed from Oxford Creek Beds—surrounded by concept spreads and layouts, a multitude of different fabrics and designer sketch books, and various accessories—clad in white frames and mattress and complemented with Prussian blue sheets and pillows, when it happened. She observed her surroundings with a hasty glance, deeply uninterested in the situation. To her it appeared to be just another power outage.

A minute or two passed. Amanda had shut her eyes for a moment, but soon realized that sleeping would only make things worse. She jerkily pulled herself up and out of the insanely comfortable furniture with a slight grunt, still wearing the getup of the day—black Jose Jacquard treggings with subtle, greyish floral design, a loose, knitted Doeuillet sweater of some charcoal coloration, and a black top underneath. Amanda was not accustomed to waiting for anyone or anything but herself, thus she aspired to reach the intercom telephone by the front door of her loft apartment and ring the concierge in the lobby. Little did she know or realize that the electronic device was out of service, just like everything else. Amanda vented a loud sigh. She actually had to get herself down to the lobby, in person.

The woman slipped into her somewhat clumsy Chanel high heeled platform pumps of black coloration to match the rest of her outfit. Perhaps it was not the wisest decision of her life, but forgivable considering her ignorance in the situation. Much to her distress, Amanda quaked in terror when she was met by the dormant and silent contraption previously known to her as the elevator. As she stood frozen, her disgustingly handsome neighbor, a man of wealth and success within the world of finance, exited his own residence, set forth by a similar inquiry as Amanda. He gently placed his hand on Amanda’s back when he greeted her.

“Hello, Amanda.”
“Brian, I didn’t see you there.”
“How about this power outage, huh? Creepy.”
“Yeah.”
“Going down?”
“I was hoping too, but the elevator doesn’t seem to work.”
“The stairs? It looks like you could use a bit of help, with those shoes.”
“Right,” Amanda chuckled slightly with her signature deep, sensual voice, somewhat displaying her luminescent white teeth, and tilting her head.

The trek down the stairwell proved to be a challenging feat, as the confined space of some metallic odor was pitch black and because the two high society figures lived above the top floor. Amanda had to be extra careful considering her poor choice of footwear. But her motto had always been to look fabulous even in the face of Armageddon. When they finally reach the lobby and the concierge, the two found a crowd of some dozen people conversing with the full service crew of the building, which included the caretaker, the doorman, the concierge, and the landlord himself. Apparently, the whole downtown area of Seattle was affected, perhaps even more so than that. The other residents of the building seemed frightened and concerned. Rumors were circulating quickly considering most forms of communication were disabled. But Amanda was not amused. She sported her traditional blank stare and somewhat apathetic aura inherit to most people who frolicked in the halls of fashion.

“We’ve already spoken with the authorities and the best thing that you can do is to go back to your apartments and wait,” said the landlord.
“When will this be over?” said some distraught resident.
“We don’t know. Please, just return to your apartments.”

Brian looked to Amanda where she stood with his arm around her shoulders.
“Well, that wasn’t entirely unexpected.”
“I need to get down to the studio. There are a few collections there that I cannot risk losing to looters, or whatever.”
“I don’t think looters are interested in fashion clothing.”
Amanda glanced at Brian with a pallid stare.
“Nonetheless.”
The man hesitated.
“I can come with you, if you want.”
“No. Make sure that none of these rats here break into our apartments, especially mine. I cannot imagine that you own anything of value,” she smirked playfully.
“Now that’s below the belt, missy.”
“Just where I like it.”

Amanda walked as hastily as her Chanel shoes allowed her to down 5th avenue, towards the studio. Her arms were wrapped tightly across her stomach, just below her chest and her head tilted downwards ever so slightly to indicate that she did not want to speak or acknowledge anyone. She was still in ‘work-mode,’ which meant that everyone were beneath her, whereas she would never dress in that attitude otherwise. There was no room for sheep in her line of work. And being the editor of a major fashion magazine, she had to be a megalodon amongst sharks. It was a habit and way of life that she would soon have to forget.

Suddenly, an immense explosion spewed forth when what appeared to be an aircraft viciously descended from the heavens, powerless and without control, and crashed into a building nearby. Amanda was startled beyond anything she had ever experienced before. Due to her rejecting walk and posture, she had not noticed when the aluminum contraption, a work of wonder, fell from some thousands of feet above her. The woman almost tripped over the high heels when it happened, her arms reaching behind her body in an instant to search for a nearby wall to maintain balance against. The scene was horrid and Amanda gasped. The building was set wildly ablaze and people in and all around the structure screamed in terror. Memories of that long lost act of villainy in New York came to mind, as it forever would when concerning aircrafts crashing into buildings.

Amanda suffered a slight panic attack, unable to move or decide what to do. A large collection of people constantly ran past her in some direction of which she was not familiar. A woman stopped and tried to shake Amanda back to reality. “Hello?! Are you okay?” she asked. Amanda did not reply. Instead, she continued to powerwalk in the same direction that everyone was running, leaving whoever it was that had taken the time to see if she was well behind. However, what happened next was utmost unexpected and it almost startled Amanda just as much as the explosion itself: Nicole. The dark haired belle exclaimed Amanda’s name and then embraced her tightly. Still slightly stunned and chocked, disoriented in her speech, Amanda attempted to react.

“Yes… I…what’s going on? I… have to get down to the studio… and pick up the Chéruit… c-collections… Nicole? Darling…”

Present Day

---

“So, it is then that we get the first premise: there are effects in the world and the universe. You see and hear them all the time. And every possible effect of something must have a cause. When someone with ‘political differences’ shoot at you with a gun, you hear the sound of gunfire, which is an effect of the gun firing the bullet. Therefore, the second premise becomes: any effect derives eventually from a first cause, which gives us the first conclusion: there is a first cause,” said Amanda.

The small gathering of teenagers appeared slightly lost and confused, yet they could somehow connect the dots by relating to things they knew to be real in their daily lives. One of her students—Michael—always sought to challenge Amanda in her teachings of various philosophical subjects. He was an extraordinarily clever young man, whom did not mean to be provocative, but rather learn everything he possibly could.

“Amanda…”
“Just wait one minute, Michael.”

She then continued.

“So, the second phase builds on the first. It starts with the conclusion that phase one is supposed to prove. It adds another assumption and draws the First Cause argument’s final conclusion. Here we have the conclusion of phase one: there is a first cause. The third premise says that if there is a first cause, then it is God. And the second conclusion says that God exists,” Amanda finished and looked to Michael, “yes?”

“I get that there are causes and there are effects and everything derives eventually from a first cause, but shouldn’t that mean that God is an effect as well of some other cause, and wouldn’t that mean that this theory is faulty as it has no beginning or end?” said Michael.

“It’s an interesting point. But when we define God we define it as something all-knowing, all-powerful, and morally perfect, which assumes that God would be capable of self-creation as well. As human beings, we cannot fathom the concept of infinity or something that does not begin or end,” said Amanda.

“But…-”

“This is about something called the Principle of Sufficient Reason… which we’ll talk about tomorrow,” Amanda interrupted.

The woman dismissed the class of some eight students with an uneventful, almost arrogant wave of her hand. Amanda had made it perfectly clear that she did not enjoy the duties to which she had been assigned, but she had little choice in the matter. In a world like this, there was no purpose or room for any particular fashion or vanity, at least not in the sense to which Amanda was accustomed. However, she did cherish the weekly gatherings of girls and women at her place to discuss said topic: fashion and style. Amanda did not know the first thing about sewing, but she did know a thing or two about fabric, fitting, and other such things useful to the ladies when it came to being and looking fabulous.

The philosophy class had extended well beyond its usual timeframe. Amanda encouraged the students to discussion, but when it pushed the lesson by two hours, sometimes three, she was less than happy about it. Amanda swung by her quarters to slip into something more presentable. She still had a respectable collection of exquisite garment considering the state of things. Some random, dark treggings were sufficient, complemented by a white t-shit and a lengthy cardigan on top. Footwear was all about being practical these days, which is the only reason why anyone would ever witness Amanda in sneakers.

Amanda had yet to eat anything since lunch time, countless of hours earlier. Her stomach ached and screamed all the way over to the ration center closest to Amanda’s residence. When she entered, she thought she went mad just then. The scent of whatever had been cooked or prepared from earlier of the day assaulted all of her senses at once and washed, drowned her in euphoria. Amanda heeded Nicole’s inquiry and made her way over to where she sat.

“Horace, I’ll have whatever gorgeous here is having, whatever the cost.”
“We all know you can afford it,” said Horace.
“Well, I have to suffer for it once a week with a dozen or more strangers in my home.”
Horace chuckled. Amanda sat down across from Nicole and next to Richter.
“Hello, Rich,” she said, “Yes, darling, late dinner indeed. Michael kept at it once again… that boy is going to be the end of me, I know it.”

One Year before the Blackout

Shock may have been putting things far too lightly. Nicole had seen these things before when she was sent to a black site overseas. What she had to do and witness back then let lose a flood of mixed emotions. Amanda showed symptoms that folks in panicked trauma typically exhibited. She pulled her down as another explosion tore through the already raucous night. A warzone. It took a few moments for Nicole to realize that it was farther away this time. It didn't change how scared she was though. Whoever or whatever was responsible for this was going to be in for a very rude awakening. She would see to that. The agency and the whole entire United States would demand it. Since 9/11, this was the worst case of domestic violence seen since.

“I have absolutely no idea what’s going on,” Nicole said. That was the complete truth. Cut off from the comprehensive database of the CIA, there were no references or informants to notify her — or anyone if this was nationwide — if this was a terror attack, power plant failure, or anything. She wanted to laugh at how reliant she was on technology. “I was meeting a friend from university. Just a little catch up. It was pretty normal until the power went out. I thought it was just my immediate area. But, Amanda, that was before airplanes fell from the freakin’ sky! Did you have any power? Any news at all?"

"Manda," she said tentatively. She knew how much Amanda loved her work and the fashion collections, which Nicole never got into. The 'hot' trends changed for too frequently and was way above her paycheck to afford. She had grown up on practical having been born and raised as an outdoors girl and thrift shop extraordinaire. Where her friends preferred the latest trend, she trusted her typical jeans, t-shirt, sneaker combination to pull her through. “I don’t think we should head deeper into the city. Even before planes started falling from the sky, I saw mobs forming. The police are there, but I don't know what's happening now."

Though Nicole dreaded going back into the city proper, she knew how much Amanda valued her craft. Having been quite the fashion queen back in university, Amanda’s love for the market showed with how she dressed. One look at the woman, and it would’ve been apparent of her heightened fashion sense. The collection within her studio wasn’t cheap either. On the selling and acquisition side. It would’ve broken the girl’s heart though Amanda had a tough exterior. Nicole’s guess anyways.

Sighing to herself, Nicole felt her hip as she felt the bulge of her concealed. Making sure it was there, she dropped her hand. She seldom had to use it in the states, but when it was needed, it was handy. “I don’t know how much we’ll be able to move,” she said. “We’ll take the backroads. Alleyways. Away from the crowd. Stay with me and keep moving, alright? You okay to walk? There’s a bench over there if you need to sit?”

---

Present Day

Nicole smirked as she listened in on the banter between Amanda and Horace. She should’ve known the philosophy teacher took her meals latish when her students met. She watched as Horace scrapped what was left in the pot. It was a handsome amount.

“Well, if our dear teacher can’t handle the kids, I don’t know who can.” Draining her glass, a hint of a smile pulled at her lips. There was little that made her smile these days, which was why she clung more so to whatever anchored her to the past. “Have you tried bounding his hands and duck taping his mouth shut?”

“Oh that’d go over really well with the Department of Education,” Richter said, sarcasm dripping off of his words. “Don’t listen to her Amanda, Nicole’s not as kind with the children like you are. Probably why she leads grunts like us."

“It’d at least allow her to eat at a decent hour,” Nicole retorted as she pushed away her empty plate. “Get serious for a minute. Have you looked at the replacement for our squad. We’ll need to break him in tomorrow. Straight out of the Garrison.” Richter rose and eyebrow then looked at Amanda. Nicole saw his discomfort. “Commissar Mackin isn’t going to send us to re-education because of this.”

“You never know these days.”

“Richter, I’ll take responsibility. I doubt our lovely teacher will snitch.”

The first sentinel sighed. He clicked his tongue — his telltale of nervousness. “You don’t think the Minister of War did a good job? Remember when we went through the Garrison? Sadistic son of a bitch he was.”

Try the Intelligence Unit Nicole wanted to say but didn’t. Members of that branch save for the director was sworn to secrecy. In return for their high risk work and double shift, they were afforded privileges that others did not receive. For instance, when sentinels and regulars had to be wary of passing commissars, intelligence operatives did not. To be inducted into intelligence, a whole battery of tests were administered. Loyalty was demanded, but the rewards were quite high.

“Still have that scar on my back,” she said reluctantly. An obstacle course wound. The minister - an ex-SEAL - made it an interesting that day, and she received the short end of the stick. “Didn’t prepare us for our first firefight. Remember the raiders? Eastern border? Say … four months ago? Half the sentinels froze. Good portion were killed.”

Richter nodded as he finished his vitals. “Then we’ll break him in. Why not? Probably have a bit of fun while we’re at it. Anyways, I’m going to turn in. Morning patrol tomorrow. Something about dissidents in the northern sector. Night Amanda.”

Sighing and getting to his feet, Richter grabbed his things and walked towards the kitchen where Horace was still cleaning the pots and pans used throughout the day. Nicole turned her attention back to Amanda. She reached over and gave her a slight shove. “I meant what I said with the kid though,” she said. “Get chow with the others, don’t have to deal with the smart ass, or find someone to piss away the time with. Sounds way more tantalizing than what you did. I bet your philosophy goes in one ear and out the other for the kids. Hell, even I have trouble following sometimes. How’re you holding up otherwise? How're the girls doing? You know, the fashion pow wow you hold?”

Before the Blackout

---

Amanda had never been shocked before. Not in the sense that was accustomed to people in general. She had been aghast at Daniel’s or some other poor soul’s incompetence in her line of work, but never had she suffered negative physical symptoms from it. Amanda had troubles breathing. Her palms were sweaty and shaking. The sudden impact of chaos had turned the otherwise high society queen into a disgusting mess. But luckily she had run into Nicole. The woman was Amanda’s best bet of getting out of this horrid situation alive, perhaps even unscathed. Nicole’s lighting reflexes and protective action disrupted whatever sanity there was left in Amanda’s mind. The intentions were altruistic, but nonetheless unexpected. The random explosions did not add much comfort to the equation, to say the least.

“Did you have any power? Any news at all?” said Nicole.

“Power..? No, I was speaking to…Daniel? I think… and everything just went dark,” Amanda replied with a hesitant and trembling voice. “I… I don’t know what’s going on… I have to get to the studio,” she continued.

“I don’t think we should head deeper into the city. Even before planes started falling from the sky, I saw mobs forming. The police are there, but I don't know what's happening now,” Nicole continued. Amanda tore herself loose from Nicole’s protection and retorted in despair:

“You don’t understand, Nikki. I have to get to the studio… I don’t care what’s going on, I have to get there,” said Amanda.

“I don’t know how much we’ll be able to move,” said Nicole. “We’ll take the backroads. Alleyways. Away from the crowd. Stay with me and keep moving, alright? You okay to walk? There’s a bench over there if you need to sit?”

“I can walk, I think. Just help me… bad choice as you can see,” said Amanda and glanced at her shoes. The girl locked her arm into Nicole’s to support and allow herself to trek faster than otherwise possible. Amanda exhaled deeply while staring into the ground before her at a slight angle. “Okay, let’s go,” she finally said.

Present Day

---

Amanda flinched slightly at the comment from Nicole which contained erotic undertones of some sort, highly illegal the last time she had to read about them. But most likely the girl simply meant exactly what she was saying: to shut the annoyance up. A modest, yet desperate chuckled escaped from Amanda’s person. “Oh, yes, that sounds like a great idea, Nikki—I’ll try that,” said Amanda.

“Don’t listen to her Amanda, Nicole’s not as kind with the children like you are. Probably why she leads grunts like us,” said Richter. Amanda glanced at Richter, who was sitting next to her, and then back to Nicole. “I’m not so sure about that,” she said, “this girl right here got talents, which is why she pushes and orders you guys around,” Amanda continued.

While the two soldiers were chatting Horace was kind enough to bring Amanda her late night dinner. He knew that such kindness always netted him a few extra tokens in tips. This night was no different. The plate was nice and clean, the food looked decently delicious, and Amanda was sufficiently satisfied so far. She slipped the man a few tokens and smirked at him. Amanda was a regular after all. Contributing to the food and service was the least she could do. The girl returned her attention to the two soldiers when Richter was about to leave.

“Sleep well, Rich,” she said.

Nicole’s words were somewhat comforting. She was the only person Amanda knew from before the blackout, which made it even more so important to cherish and heed her words and company. Amanda sighed. While what Nicole said was partially true, Amanda could not help but to feel a bit distraught. She did not know why she felt that way or what she could do to set it right, but what she did know was that just being with and near Nicole made things slightly less horrible.

“I don’t know… I guess I’m fine. It’s not like there’s nothing to do. I mean, there’s never a spare moment,” said Amanda and poked at her food before biting off another chuck of the meat. She covered her mouth while she chewed, awkwardly catching Nicole’s gaze with her own. “Well, they seem to enjoy whatever you’d call what we’re doing on Thursday nights. I mean… they’re paying for it, so I must be doing something right. But lately I’ve felt like there’s something missing. I’m not getting a kick out of it as I used to… and I don’t know why,” she said and waved at Horace to bring her a tissue. The girl gently wiped away whatever smudges the food had left at the corners of her mouth. “… It’s all very confusing,” she continued. “But whatever, forget about that. How are you doing, sweetie? You are not going shot at out there, are you?—because I’ll kill you myself if are putting yourself in harm’s way, you know.”

Before the Blackout

“I can walk, I think. Just help me… bad choice as you can see," Amanda said. Nicole followed her glance and grimaced. Certainly one hell of a time to pick wearing heels like those. Offering her arm, Amanda quickly linked arms. “Okay, let’s go."

Having surveyed Seattle when she first arrived, Nicole knew the many routes available to get to many locations of interest. While she rarely shopped at places such as the one Amanda ran, she kept tabs on the place because of personal connection. Namely Amanda. Opting for a pathway between a pair of apartment buildings, Nicole ignored the people requesting for help from anyone. There was a stench in the air - a terrible, charred smell that elicited terrible thoughts in her mind. Ignoring the sensations, Nicole quickened their pace.

"Hey! Hey!" Nicole stole a glance behind her as a man followed the two. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she continued to move. "Hey that's the wrong way! You don't want to go that way, miss! I ain't trying to cause any problems here. Problems are, however, done that way!"

Nicole turned as her hand rested on her hip. She made it look casual. Strangers were her targets as were they her hostiles on any given day. She had been trained to pick out targets and non-targets. This man was neither. "Riots I'm guessing?"

"Police are trying to stomp it out, but without those radios of theirs ... well, it's a cluster fuck. Pardon the language."

A cluster fuck indeed. Noise erupted from the direction the good samaritan pointed out. Though trained to kill and sneak, Nicole never counted on having to escort another person in a hot zone. If Amanda wasn't with her, she'd have gone to the store no problem. However that wasn't the case, and she still felt obligated to get her friend to that studio no matter what. Call it loyalty cultivated through mischief.

Casting a glance at Amanda, she turned back towards their original path. "Thanks for the warning; we'll be careful."

When the exit of the back alley finally came into view, Nicole stood dumbstruck as fire littered the street before her. People were breaking into stores while what Seattle police stood in riot gear launching tear gas into the crowd. She saw an officer beat a man with a night stick as the victim curled into a fetal position. Many of the stores had been broken into as millions of tiny shards of glass sparkled off the ground. It looked like a photo of the Night of Crystal Glass from her World War II class.

"Amanda ... I don't know about this," she said. "Falling planes is one thing, but going through a riot is a completely different story altogether. I'm not sure if I can get us through this one, dear."

---

Present Day

“I don’t know… I guess I’m fine. It’s not like there’s nothing to do. I mean, there’s never a spare moment."

Nicole sat quietly as she allowed Amanda to chew her food. She winked as their eyes locked. She fought the urge to tell Amanda about her growing misgivings for the current regime in Seattle. She wanted nothing to do with it anymore, the killing of the government was bad enough. What sealed the deal in her guilt was consciously killing other Americans when the necessity presented itself. If it weren't for the fact that saying such things in the presence of a prowling commissar would constitute as immediate treason, she would've let lose right there. However, she still had her own safety to consider. The life she lived - though a terrible one - wasn't all that bad. She hated to admit it, but she enjoyed the thrill of it all. Maybe she should've went into the armed forces instead.

“Well, they seem to enjoy whatever you’d call what we’re doing on Thursday nights. I mean… they’re paying for it, so I must be doing something right. But lately I’ve felt like there’s something missing. I’m not getting a kick out of it as I used to… and I don’t know why."

Nicole thought on this for a moment. She was no therapist, but her input wasn't too terrible most of the times. "You could always petition the Ministry of Internal Affairs for a reassignment," she said. It wasn't the most ideal, for current occupations were decided upon an individual's past experiences. From there, jobs would certainly be matched to said skills, but the decisions rarely mutually decided. Nicole counted herself lucky to have landed a job she somewhat enjoyed. "Otherwise, why not try to switch up how you run your Thursday gatherings? Perhaps introduce a concept that you're excited about? Obviously make sure the little brats are on board and stuff. That shouldn't be a problem with you though. You were quite the convincer back in university."

“… It’s all very confusing,” she continued. “But whatever, forget about that. How are you doing, sweetie? You are not going shot at out there, are you?—because I’ll kill you myself if are putting yourself in harm’s way, you know.”

Laughter rang throughout the cafeteria as Horace looked up from his dish washing. Curious as to why Nicole laughed like a madman. "Then you should get it over with. A normal day always includes a bit of getting shot at," she said. Though she joked about it, her mood grew sombre. "Cutting the bull, I'm really tired Manda. I'm good at what I do, and that's what scares me. I can't go into the fine details, but getting a rush from shooting up some poor raider invading our borders? That just sounds completely psychotic to me. One of my sentinels was shot in the chest today, Manda. That could've been me. If the shooter was aiming more to the right, I would've been the one getting replaced. I was happy it wasn't me who got tagged. Relieved in fact."

Scratching the side of her neck, Nicole looked into the distance. "Things are moving pretty quick, and I don't want to be caught in the middle. Nor do I want that for you. Anyways, sorry about that. I kind of laid it on you tonight. Frustrated I suppose."

Before the Blackout
Amanda instantly became suspicious of the man who suddenly uttered words in which she had no interest. She had fallen victim to random strangers speaking to her about superfluous subjects many times before, most of which intended to impose their erotic fantasies that lay dormant in their twisted minds upon her. Amanda was utmost uncomfortable in the presence of the man who with all intentions wished them well, allegedly. When the man excused his rough and poor choice of words he ogled Amanda from top to toe, but casually so as not to raise suspicion or hostility from the girls. Even though Amanda did not witness it, as she kept her stare to the pavement on which they trod, she could feel his vile intentions. Disasters often tended to bring the worst out of people, masked by deceitful benevolence. “Let’s just go…” Amanda whispered to Nicole, who subsequently thanked the man for his kind warning.

Amanda’s heavy steps echoed in their immediate surroundings …klick, klack, klick, klack… and some manner of older ladies and refined women who passed them by in the chaos must have thought it appear utmost uncomfortable, perhaps even painful. But the girl’s poor choice of shoes for the situation actually shifted her focus from the tragedies all around them to something less disturbing — the pain which slowly crept its way down her ankles and into the length of her feet was a proper and welcomed distraction that forced Amanda to think clearly. The worst stage of her shock receded with the pain from walking rapidly down the streets and when the girls reached scenery of pure destruction and disorder, Amanda could surely make a better judgment than just a few moments ago.

The Chéruit Collections were fabrics and abstract design fashions of pristine value, worth a small fortune to the everyday philistine droning and slaving a profession for which they had no passion. But the outcome of them being stolen by looters was rare. If the studio was broken into, the trespassers would with utmost certainty ignore the score and turn around. Who would want to steal a heap of fabrics and strange clothing in times of duress? Amanda considered her options carefully. She assumed the situation to be temporary and since the studio was locked and secured, it did not seem to be in any immediate danger. However, the inner workings of Amanda’s mind was for Nicole to be revealed another day.

“You’re right… let’s get out of here. Where do we go, what do we do?”

Present Day
“You could always petition the Ministry of Internal Affairs for a reassignment,” Nicole said. Amanda burst into a slight chuckle at the comment. “Yeah, right…,” she said.

“Otherwise, why not try to switch up how you run your Thursday gatherings? Perhaps introduce a concept that you’re excited about? Obviously make sure the little brats are on board and stuff. That shouldn’t be a problem with you though. You were quite the convincer back in university,” Nicole said. Amanda put her plate away. She had either suddenly lost her appetite or realized that she was well fed already. However, to say that Amanda was well fed could be perceived as quite contradictory: she was underfed if anything at all, considering her slender figure.

“To hell with it, I shouldn’t complain… it puts food on the table. But whatever, forget about that. How are you doing, sweetie? You are not going shot at out there, are you?—because I’ll kill you myself if are putting yourself in harm’s way, you know,” she said.

Amanda carefully heeded her friend’s words as they were spewed out onto the table and into the air around them, somewhat pessimistic in nature. At the end of the rant that could have gotten the girl into quite some trouble or perhaps raised serious concern with a psychiatrist of some sort, Amanda gently placed her hand on top of Nicole’s and embraced it slightly, holding it in comfort and welfare. “It’s okay, love. This is why I’m here, for you to have someone to do this with. I’m always here for you, I hope you know that. Just like you were there for me that night when all of this first began.”

Before the Blackout

“You’re right… let’s get out of here. Where do we go, what do we do?”

Nicole breathed easier as she took a step back into the alley they had just come from. Where would they go indeed? Several CIA safe houses were scattered throughout the city, but getting to them didn't seem possible at the moment. One of them resided in the thick of the civilian and law enforcement brawl that was currently underway. Her eyes locked onto a man getting trampled by a mob. She wondered if this was how the people in the middle east felt about her presence over there. Was this thing worldwide? Her thoughts went to the soldiers and personnel overseas. The thought of being caught off from home was terrifying.

Outside the city limits, there was a cabin that served as another safe house. It was meant to be a mobile interrogation room if an operative found a person of interest. Nicole wasn't really sure how to tell Amanda of the instruments that were housed there, but there didn't seem to be any better alternative. The only thing was how to get there. The highways would be blocked and the risk of someone following was great. Taking a peek at Amanda's shoes, the woman knew the other couldn't possibly make the walk. Maybe it was better if they holed up in an apartment instead? What if Nicole was overreacting? Over analyzing?

Looking around the street, Nicole sighed as she was about to regret her next words. "We need to get out of the city," she said. "But first, we're going to have to get you some new shoes, Manda. I have a place - a good distance out - that we can take shelter in."

Taking a step out into the streets, Nicole made sure she stayed as far from the crowd as possible. Her eyes scanned the fire-ridden landscape for a shoe store of some kind. A fair amount of stores had already been broken into. Technically, she hadn't vandalized anything. A darkened 'sports authority' sign caught her eye. She had her destination. Grabbing Amanda's hand firmly yet gently, she led the pair where she felt the path was the safest.

When they reached the front of the store, Nicole looked inside. It was nearly vacant. "Go inside and change into a pair of sneakers. Legit running shoes Amanda." Her eyes glared at a few people walking towards them as they hurried away. "Change your clothes as well. Something you can run in. I highly doubt you'll be comfortable in that get up. Please, don't argue with me. They're pretty, I know. I'll happily pull from my savings to replace them later. Now, hurry."

---

Present Day

Nicole flinched as she felt Amanda's hand clasp over hers. The sensation of being touched had never sat well with her after the immediate blackout. Someone had tried to do something indecent to her when she was knocked out. It was an instance she had never forgotten and felt ashamed of. She was a trained agent. How could some average civilian get a jump on her. Human error she thought silently to herself.

“It’s okay, love. This is why I’m here, for you to have someone to do this with. I’m always here for you, I hope you know that. Just like you were there for me that night when all of this first began.”

Nicole smiled as she banished her immediate thoughts. "Thanks Manda. Glad I stumbled upon you when shit hit the fan," she said. The tension from her body left her as the rush from the day had slowly yet steadily exited her system. "I'll try to keep these 'counseling' sessions behind doors. Can't start giving people the wrong impression. It'd makes things hairy with central. I'm going to hit the bunk. I'll drop you off at your place on my way back?"

---

Present day: Intelligence Command

"The orders have been issued."

Director Zimmer of the Intelligence wasn't pleased at all. The order to start invading Arcadia - the Republic's southern neighbor - wouldn't be a small feat. Particularly when it involved sending an operative to infiltrate. Arcadia - a democratic nation trying to survive between the New California Directorate and the Republic housed a formidable internal and border security. Zimmer would go as far as to say they were as tenacious as the old government the Republic was pushing back.

"I heard you the first time Commissar," he said as the balding, middle aged man looked at several dossiers. "Many of our operatives are already in the field."

"None are free?"

Zimmer arched his brows together. If he wasn't careful, he'd be replaced for not being resourceful. Ashford, the damned fascist. "Several have just ended their sentinel shift."

"Problem solved. Send one of them. I don't have to remind you how important the takeover of Arcadia is to the Republic."

The intelligence director snorted. He hated the man in the cap sitting before him. "I wrote the report. I know how god damn important it is. However, sending a fatigued personnel is the same as sending a child. They'll need to be briefed an-"

"No excuses director," the commissar said getting to his feet. "The Republic - or the Chairman - doesn't broker incompetence or the useless. Your position doesn't spare you from being ... substituted for a more apt person. You will find someone! You will send them! I shall be back tomorrow to receive the necessary documentation from you. In the meantime, I suggest you look hard, Director Zimmer. Now, it's awfully late. I will be back at noon tomorrow."

The commissar grabbed his coat as he stormed out of the room. Zimmer sighed as he breathed easily. He looked at the dossiers again. There wasn't any need to ponder the query any further. He already knew who he'd send.

Getting to his feet, he grabbed his personal belongings as the bed at home called for him. Before leaving, he walked over to a working analyst. "Send a message to Operative Laurence. She is to be present in my office for a briefing. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

Zimmer sighed as he made his way to the door. A new America my ass Chairman he thought to himself as he stepped out into the quiet night.