Thatcher Rivet's Story

Jessie Roan (Rogue) and Matthias (Rogue); No Man's Land, headed East.

The sounds of AC/DC were fading into another piano solo by Journey, the soft music a stark contrast to the roaring screech-vocals. Still, Matthias bopped away, tapping his hands on the steering wheel idly, humming to the music. The truck swerved and bounced, handling the uneven terrain with surprising ease. It was a long time before he spoke about Jess' strange outburst.

"Nightmares, huh? It's a miracle to see someone who doesn't have any in this time." He managed to pull onto some semblance of a road, heading East, ever east through the barren landscape of No Man's Land. "You hungry at all?"

"It's why I didn't say anything." Jessie replied with a wan smile. Whenever she had the opportunity to rest, she often had nightmares. But sometimes she dreamed too, about her mother, about what flowers looked like when they weren't trampled underfoot. At his querry about food, she merely shrugged.

"A little." Lie. She hadn't had a decent meal in almost three days. But she wasn't about to complain, or even remotely hint at this fact. "Do you have nightmares, Matthias?" She wondered if a man who spoke of God and carried Bibles in the back of his truck had to deal with the same kind of mental torment as other people.

Matthias reached into his back seat, rummaging in some cardboard boxes there for any shape or form of food. He pointed his chin towards the rifle he gave her, his grin matching her own wan smile. "A singer in a smoky room... the smell of wine and cheeeeeap perfume. For a smile they can share the night, it goes onandonandonandon!"

He produced a granola bar, triumphantly. In his hand was also a package of wheat thins, dry crackers that tasted awful but were excellent when he was trapped in his truck for the night. "Here ya are. Water's in the cupholder, there, if you don't mind a man's germs." He thumped his wheel to the beat for a moment, before sobering at her question. "Nightmares? My dear, I have them aplenty." He said, uncharacteristically softly. "Most involve my time here, finding the key, my questions regarding other gangs."

He shrugged. "It interrupts any sleep I may get. What do you dream of?"

"My mother." Jessie replied quietly, taking a moment to open the granola bar. She stuffed the wrapper into her pocket, drawing her knees a little more closely to her chest, and tore off a piece before putting it into her mouth. Her jaw ached, eyes closing as she forced herself to slowly chew and swallow. She looked like an animal at the moment, but she certainly didn't need to act like one. "And my sister...how I lost my eye. That's a recurring nightmare actually."

She hesitated, thinking hard about it. "Mostly my sister."

He nodded, debating whether or not to bring up the subject of her sister. She lost her eye. So it wasn't just a gambit, a clever ploy to make the enemy think that she was far more scarred and jaded than the first appearance would lead her to be. He had known several people like this, who gave themselves scars to make themselves look just that amount of tougher. Matthias himself didn't have times for these games; for some reason, people took him deadly seriously when he arrived.

Probably had to do with the gun he toted around.

He turned down the music, recognizing a somber moment, and put is right hand on the space between them, his pinky finger gently brushing her pant leg. An unobtrusive, innocent touch. "We all have scars, Jess." He said, his voice low, rich. "You need not tell me about this one, if it pains you. Just trust in God to help you see the right thing, and move on. I'll be here if you need me."

Trust in God, she thought to herself. God was an element she couldn't see or feel or hear. How could she trust in anything that essentially didn't exist? Besides that, what would God want to do with a half-blind reject like her, one who had no home, no family, and....no life to speak of?

"Not talking about it," she began softly, "Simply means I'm afraid to talk of it...and I don't want to be afraid." She wasn't looking at him. She didn't move to touch him, but she didn't move away either. "I...my sister did this to me." She glanced his way. "She hit me with a heated branding iron when she caught me snooping in my dad's office...I, Matthias..." Her throat closed a little. She had to swallow in order to continue.

"Why should I trust in God when he couldn't even protect me from my own family?"

His hand reached over and placed itself, warm and heavy, on her shoulder. He smiled a kind smile, tilting his head towards her, smiling widely. "Look around you, dear. Look at the life that has survived, lived on after we tried to charr it out with our weapons, murder it with our chokehold. Look at us, how we struggle to continue living in a world where no life should exist, nor perservere. And yet we soldier on. We move forwards, upwards, and towards our goals in life."

He paused, the soft smile still on his lips. "I do not believe that we could be sitting here in this fine truck on this fine day without God's love, Jess. Life is hard, and problems are thrown our direction. Sometimes the people we thought we trusted turn against us. But God can alleviate those fears, and he can most certainly help you find peace and move forwards without being consumed with vengeance."

His spiel was a little disjointed today, distracted by the road in front of him and the fact that the tape seemed to have run out. His lips twitched idly. He supposed he could let the silence hang a little longer.

She didn't withdraw from his hand, but there was an element of wariness when he mentioned fear. She was gazing at him now, gripping her hands together tightly between her abdomen and the tops of her legs. "Will he protect me from the East?" she whispered quietly, her face paling just a little.

His smile dissappeared somewhat. "He'll protect you through me, my dear." He said, removing his hand and clutching the steering wheel again, removing the tape from the player and replacing it with a new one. "With me, you'll have nothing to fear from these gangs."

The tape began playing some Queen song. He didn't know the words, and was delighted by it. "Aha! Even in this wasteland, I can find some new music. Do you like music?"

He could change subjects faster than she could blink her eyes, but there was something he'd said that stuck with her. Actually, it was a couple of somethings. This man knew nothing about her, nothing about what she'd done, and yet here he was, having rescued her once, and was promising to keep her safe in the future. That was...marvelous.

It took her a minute to realize that he'd asked her a question, also that she was staring. She blinked, a tiny smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

Then she shamelessly began to sing along with the Queens tune.

Thatcher Rivet (Southern Leader) and Adem Norvik (West Scout) - Somewhere in a Forested Area of No Man's Land

One week prior to Current Day:

It had been a hard night but it would be the first of many. Adem was out scouting for the West. It involved covering masses of area scouting for food or basically any resources that may provide useful for the compound. Yes, they were allies with the East, and the East were, well, simply put it, loaded with stuff, they still needed their own fair share of things. Adem had trained as a scout at the age of 6. His father had been a scout and taught him everything he knew now at the age of 20. He was one of the best.

So, once again he'd been sent out to No Man's Land to see what could be found a long with a number of other men. They each had different areas to cover and would come back when they had covered their area or had as much as they could carry. It was dangerous, but it had to be done. Most scouts were fine. One or two got killed - but that was a very rare occurence.

Adem had lost track of what time it was. All he knew was that he was on a hard, cold floor and it was sometime in the middle of the second night out here. So far he'd picked up a few ammo cases he'd found hidden in the abandoned building he was currently in, but other than that it had been an uneventful and fruitless search. He wasn't going to find much in this area, he could already tell. But Adem would continue on. Maybe he'd find something valueable, like information towards finding 'The Key' and the cure to the virus that was killing people like flies in their twenties.

Who knew.

Eventually he gave up on sleep and pulled a small torch out of his backpack and some papers that he'd found discarded in one of the rooms in an earlier search. They were papers about the Key. Knowing it was a risk to have the touch on at night, he decided against all safety regulations for keeping it off, switched it on and started to read through what he had found.

In the darkness, a boot crunched, shifting on dusty soil.

Three young men, all burly and muscular, Doc-Ops soldiers of the Southern Compound, stood in a nearby thicket of spindly trees, knees bent and one hand touching the dusty, cracked earth. Any motion they would take would force the dust to rise up around them in little swirling puffs. Their eyes had long adjusted to the darkness that covered No Man's Land like a thick blanket, smothering those trapped in the large open landscapes that had made more than one man circle in the dust, lost for eternity. These three men in particular knew the land like the back of their hands, and were well accustomed to the nature of their current mission.

They had tracked the scout to his current location, followed his meagre tracks. The going hadn't been easy, and they had almost used up their entire supply of water before finally managing to corner him. Across the way, below a sand dune, lay another two Southerners, proned low on the dust, their faces nearly hidden beyond mounds of ash from a burned out cluster of houses. The five of them had moved in like a pack, and had surrounded their prey.

All they were waiting on was a word.

The man in the center of the cluster of three slowly stood, making no noise. The moonlight streaks that rained down upon them, barely piercing the thick clouds and blanket of night, showed off his salt-and-pepper hair, moving stiffly in the slight but bitter chill of the open landscape. His eyes were narrowed into angry slits as he examined the glow through red plastic that he had molded into glasses, designed to allow him to keep his nightvision while looking at lights. All of his men had it. He didn't smile, but bared his teeth slightly, a piece of grass stuck between his pearly whites.

The scout seemed to be looking through documents, and for this fact he was intrigued. He noted any weaponry that would be hiding, and growled a single statement.

"Take him."

As one, the two soldiers broke into a sprint, closing the shallow distance to their prey. On the other side, the other two men leaped to their feet, drawing pistols in case the situation became unwinnable.

Behind it all, Thatcher Rivet started sauntering, closer towards his goal.

Adem heard them before he saw them. Damn his stupidity for turning on the torch! Nowhere out here was safe. He should have known better! Immediately Adem was up on his feet, looking to see where the men were. He knew there were more than one from the footsteps and soon they were within his sight. Anyone else would have thought of fleeing, there was an exit easily enough behind him. But that wasn't in Adem's nature. He was a fighter, not a man who runs away!

The men looked physically bigger than him, and older. He himself was just under 6 foot in height and though he had muscle, he wasn't built like a brick. Immediately he picked up a old hunting knife out of his pocket and drew it in his right hand. It would have been holding a gun right now, but the gun was in his backpack and even Adem knew there was no time to grab it. At least he had a knife, some form of protection and he knew how to use it.

"Who the Hell are you and what do you want?" Growled Adem.

He wasn't going to be intimidated by these men or thefact there was two against one, it seemed. He was going to stand his ground - which may have been stupid - but Adem was no coward. His father had accused him of been a coward in the two years leading up to his death when he was only ten - his father only 25 and eventually succumbing to the virus. That had taught Adem a lesson. He was never going to be the coward his father thought he was.

"I demand to know what you are doing here." He told them when he immediately had no answer, drawing his blade up to make sure the men could see it. He had no protection currently against bullets though.

Inside, Adem was mentally kicking himself for thinking that he'd been safe. No matter how well he'd checked the area, made sure he wasn't seen or followed, some people had seen him. And they were now in front of him. But Adem was ready to fight and in the commotion of being found, the papers and torch he'd had were still scattered on the ground around his backpack.

The men ignored the knife, as they were trained to do. They were bigger and stronger, and double in number. Still, Thatcher was cautious, waving the men with the guns forwards as he approached the small clearing that the scout was situated in.

One of the two burly men would attempt a tackle at Adem's feet, while the other one would wind up for a punch, straight at the smaller man's jaw.

Adem wasn't surprised as one man came in for a punch. And he's anticipated the other man doing something - like a tackle. He had been trained to fight for both attack and defense. You weren't allowed out if you couldn't at least hold your own in a fight. And Adem could very well hold his own in a battle. He'd often come out of the 'fights' they had in training. So it surprised him that while he just managed to duck out of the way of the punch, he'd misjudged the distance he had to move to avoid the tackle.

The body crashed and caught one of his legs, knocking it out from under him and causing him to fall to the ground. Dust rose and the papers flew in all directions. He was on his back by his back pack and one hand, once he'd gotten over the initial winding, dived into the pack to try and reach his gun. His hand was at an awkward angle inside though making it difficult to pull his pistol out.

Meanwhile, Adem swung the blade in his left hand wildly, attempting to stab the guy that had tackled him to the ground.

Hunter, the brute who had tackled the scout, winced heavily as the knife bit hard into his shoulder blade, twice in rapid succession. Naturally, he let go of his quarry and rolled away before another knife struck him. Lewis, the youngest of the group, suddenly surged forwards, his gun pointed at the scout's head, his footsteps loud and anxious. Beside the scout, Jared swung another meaty fist, aimed at the Scout's gun hand as it whirled towards his head, looking to get a quick shot, he assumed.

Thatcher himself began to saunter towards the fight, his own revolver drawn and glinting off of the weakening strands of moonlight. In his belt was a silver hatchet, dulled just enough to make what he planned drawn out, and painful. Sending a message.

Adem couldn't help but smirk as he got in a couple of gashes with his knife into one of the attackers. His glory didn't last long though as in quick succession - as he was trying to shoot the man that had tried to punch him before, who now hit the gun from his hand - a gun was put to his head by yet another attacker. Three now. This was an ambush now. He knew he'd been followed.

He'd lost. That was certain now. He was on the ground, a gun to his head. The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter as did the gun. He knew it was time to give in now. Especially when he saw a fourth man with a what looked like an axe attached to his belt and a revolver in his hand.

Thatcher stepped in front of the man's nose, turning his face with the toe of his boot to meet his eyes. His face was hard and stoic, a mask of utter seriousness that permeated every pore of the air around him. His men had the scout wrapped up; one on his back, one on his legs, and one pinning his arms. The leader of the south leaned down, holding the Westerner's head at the correct angle. "I see that you've stabbed my man," he said, through clenched teeth. "We can't have that, I'm afraid."

He dropped the young man's face into the dirt, and turned towards Hunter. "Patch yourself up, and then grab the documents." He said, in as kind a voice as the figurehead could manage. He walked a short distance, towards a thick log that had fallen in the clearing. He stepped on it, putting weight on it in small incriments, testing how durable it was as his soldier pulled out a bottle of whiskey and dumped it on his wound. When Thatcher was satisfied, he turned towards the three men, slowly pulling his hatchet from his belt, rubbing his thumb against it absently. "Over the log."

The soldiers began dragging the scout towards the log, as Thatcher waited, tapping a brown, dusty boot against the earth.

Adem clenched his teeth as the person who seemed to be the leader of this ambush forced him to look him in the eyes as he commented about stabbing his man. From the man's tone, he was pretty sure he was about to be executed on the spot. There was so much he had to tell his leader about what he'd found... The documents. The man had told his men to collect them. If they killed him now then he wouldn't get back West to tell Twitch and give them an advantage to finding this 'Key'.

His attention was soon called back to what was going on around him and panic soon set in as he watched the leader pull the axe from the belt and ordered his men to haul him over the log. This was going to be painful and messy and Adem was pretty sure he was going to be fighting a losing battle as the men dragged him towards the log and Adem struggled, trying with all his might to break free from their grip. It didn't work though. They had him in a tight hold and now, as they got over to the leader, all Adem could imagine happening was a long painful beheading ensuing.

"You won't get away with this!" He called out, not that it mattered what he said or did as he struggled. "The West will find me, and serve out punishment to you all!" He threatened, despite knowing that such men wouldn't care about an empty threat. The West might find him, but they'd have no way of finding his killers.

Adem was screwed.

The men paused when Adem yelled out his threat, threats of the West, the most elusive of the four gangs on the map. Everyone, including Thatcher, was silent.

Then Hunter began to laugh. Suddenly, all four men were howling with laughter as they brought their captive towards the log, as if he had told them the most hilarious joke they had ever heard. As they laughed, Jared grabbed the man's right wrist, hauled it over the log, and stepped on his hand with all his weight, pinning it in place. Hunter, having collected all of the stray pieces of paper, took over holding the gun to the back of the now-kneeling scout's head. The other two southerners stood back, one of them holding the man's other arm tight behind him, and Lewis watched passively, marveling at the sweat that dripped down Adem's neck.

Thatcher came into the scout's view, then, unhurried and unruffled, as if this entire thing was taking place over a calm walk in the woods. Putting his hands on his knees, he leaned forwards, his eyes meeting Adem's with darkness in them. His eyebrows, from this close up, were bushy; the deep crow's feet around the corners of the leader's eyes were filled with grime and dust, from a lifetime of little water and even less time to bathe. The serious, unchanging, stony expression still surrounded him.

"You stabbed one of my men." He said, flatly, slowly revealing his hatchet. "And we can't have that."

In a flash, and with a nimbleness that few knew he posessed, Thatcher leapt over the log, having it situated between his legs as he aimed carefully with his eyes. The axe came down, biting deep into the man's flesh and bone, severing the skin in a jagged, dusty gash.

"It's cute, how you think your west will protect you." Another axe fall, biting deep into bone, the crunch sickening, satisfying. Jared and Hunter looked away, the smile on their lips becoming bigger as they watched the mutilation. Lewis still watched, fascinated, his eyes boring into the back of the scout's skull.

"It's cute, how you think that they'll avenge you." The axe came down again. Again, the sound of rending flesh and snapping bone met the ears of the assailants, dealing out the punishment for the one true crime in their fearless and bloody leader's mind; hurting anyone in the south.

"It's cute, how you think they care about you." His arm was a blur with each statement, and this one cut through bone. Only a patch, one small strip of skin, remained on the scout's hand, the scout who so bravely stood against his attackers, the scout who had done nothing but been born on the wrong side of their little world. This thought was heavy on Thatcher's mind, but he didn't listen. Not today. Today, he had an example to keep.

"It's cute. But naive." With one final swing, the hand was severed, dropping to the forest floor with a wet thump. Thatcher stooped, picking up the hand, and facing the barely-conscious soldier, his expression still stony, still unflinching.

With a quick, jarring action, he slapped the man with the severed limb, before tossing it into the woods behind him. "Cauterize the wound. We'll take him with us."

Lewis moved forwards, a blowtorch in his grasp. Thatcher slipped the blood soaked instrument back into his belt, examining the gore on his hands and face with disinterest. "I'm going to find a stream. Keep him awake, until I get back."

He turned, and headed into the forest, as the sounds of sizzling wood and the smell of burning flesh traveled into the night sky.

Laughter.

They were laughing at him, mocking him for his idle threats. It had been worth a shot and he'd renewed his attempts to break free in a hope that he'd catch them at a weak moment and offguard. It wasn't to happen though.The firmly got him to their leader and ready to position him.

It was only with his hand being pinned by the foot of a soldier, did Adem truly realise that he wasn't going to be dying. Not now, and not execution style. He wasn't going to be spared with a quick and painless death. He was going to be tortured. Adem hadn't given in with his struggles until someone was behind him, holding his hand firmly behind his back and the man he had stabbed was pointing a firearm at his head.

Adem returned Thatcher's look with one of pure determination and strength. Something within his eyes telling them that they wouldn't crush him with whatever they had planned. He'd be strong and get through it.

That was until the first bite of the axe had hit his wrist. Adem's whole body spasmed as he let out an ear-piercing scream. Agony rippled up his arm as blood spurted out from the wound. Adem felt nauseous and with the second cut into the bone, Adem had been sick through the scream. Whatever Thatcher was saying, Adem wasn't listening, his body in too much pain as the axe drove to cut through his bone, severing his hand.

His body was going into shock with the fourth cut through the bone and his hand hanging off. He was barely conscious and the previous screams had turned into painful grunts as his body spasmed and struggled against the pain. There was no point in trying to fight back. Finally, his hand fell to the ground. Adem wasn't upright anymore, only managing it because of the position the soldier behind him had forced him into as his hand was severed.

He barely registered the hand slapping his sweat covered face before being thrown away for the ravenous wildlife to maul. He just wanted to collapse to the ground and be swallowed up by the darkness threatening to consume him. He wasn't even granted that though. His eyes opening wide as searing heat burned the wound that had been created only seconds ago. Another set of screams escaped his mouth as he struggled against the captors in a bid to end the pain and suffering.

He was granted no mercy.

All his strength and determination had left him and he was now a wounded mess, unable to take the severe punishment that was being given out to him by the men.

And as his body continued to go into shock, but refused to let him slip into an unconscious state, he heard the sizzling of the wood and the smelt his flesh burning.

Andrew. The Keep. Headquarters building. 1 hour before the arrival of Eve's forces.

Andrew was in his office, relaying orders faster then he could think of them. He had maybe at best, an hour to prepare, worst case scenario was ten minutes.

"I want the hospital evacuated as fast as possible, use whatever trucks or CAV's we have in order to carry those who can't walk. Launch all vehicles in order to escort the convoy to the river outpost, and tell the Outpost to scramble the zodiacs down the river in a search pattern."
He flung papers around as he searched through the archaic defense plans put in place before him, the former Captains must've been out of their minds...

"Recall everyone outside the Keep and have them regroup on Pennsylvania avenue in the ruins." There were about four hundred to five hundred Knights outside of the East's territory, it would be impossible for them to beat Eve's troops here, but Andrew had a plan for these scouts.

When he recieved the confirmation that the order would be followed Andrew walked to the door and locked it tightly. He wiped a hand over his face and threw himself into his chair, messing with the radio's frequency.

As the number read 113.5, a pop of static was heard.

"Challenge: Lance."

Andrew waited for the proper response to come, the response that only one other knew.

Thatcher.

As the radio crackled, a familiar voice came over the airwaves. "Challenge accepted, Ivory Tower. Stand by."

After another minute, a rough, deep voice, a voice that sounded far too old for the body that housed it, came from the speaker.

"I just heard, Ivory Tower. You calling in the deal?"

"Screw the deal right now." Andrew responded. "I got something better for you, like the Northern assault force."

He sighed.

"Eve's decided to make her move. I guess she's on her period or something but the bitch has completely lost all sense of reason. I'm expecting her forces outside my walls within the hour. You know what happens when there's a firefight of this magnitude? Both sides wind up hurt, but I can assure you, she will suffer more loses then I. I can't make a promise on POWs, but if you ever needed a window of opportunity for your attack on the North, well, it doesn't get much better than this."

A pause.

"When has Eve had any sort of reason? She's as rotten as her father." Another long pause. "But I appreciate the call, Ivory. As soon as I recover something of mine, I'll be in a position to fully assault the Disciples. And believe me - that time will come very soon. Is there anything you need from me? Evac, passage - anything?"

"Just keep an eye out on the outpost by the river, there aren't as many soldiers there, it's mostly sick, wounded, children, and pregnant women heading there, about 700 non combatants to be guarded by 450 soldiers. If Eve hits there with any force it'll be a bloodbath."

Andrew sighed.

"Oh and Twitch has decided to dissolve the East-West treaty....have fun with him all you want. But you wouldn't happen to know anything about a missing scout of theirs would you? I had to go through a rather unplesant accusation."

Thatcher's grin came through the speaker, loud and clear. "I'll keep the buzzards off of your fresh meat, Ivory, don't worry. As for some missing scout - I fail to see how it's any of my business that Twitch can't keep track of his own men. Though, it's interesting that you believe one's so far down here. Interesting indeed."

There was a pause, and then Thatcher spoke again.

"Good luck, Ivory." His tone was gentle; clearly genuine. He didn't want to see his ally go up in flames.

"I was only speculating, perhaps it was Eve's troops that got him, who knows, but Twitch is content on blaming me for it, so I'm content with not warning him of a southern convoy walking towards his doorstep, should the occasion arrive."

He almost laughed.

"Well, Lance, here's hoping this isn't the last time we speak. I'll contact you with a status report on Eve's forces after the battle." He waited a moment before switching the frequency of the radio back to his operating channel.

"Jacobs, you read me?"

"A bit hard over all the other orders, radio is a damn mess, but I can hear you sir." That was Jacobs all right.

"Bring the package to the Wall, I want to have something to show Eve's troops when they arrive."
..............
Andrew and Preston. The Keep. Western Flank's Wall. Moment's after Eve's demands.

There was a long silence as Eve's speech came to a close. Needless to say every man on the wall gave each other a glance. Andrew stared silently at the ranks of the children, only tilting his head to his side when John approached him.

"Sir...when Tyler and I showed up at the Medical building....the girl you sent us to gather wasn't there....when we asked around....well....it seems Twitch took her...."

"And the gunfire from earlier?" Andrew's face had an unnatural calm, even for him.

"Twitch and his men tried to escape using the humvee...they crashed outside the minefield near one of the checkpoints and the Knights there were able to take a woman into custody, but...Twitch and the others got away."

"How many men did we loose?"

"Well..." John was beginning to become unnerved at Andrew's silence, he'd notice how well he got along with that girl....he would've thought he'd show some emotion. "About twelve wounded."

"I see." His radio crackled to life and he pulled it off his belt, telling John to fetch him a bullhorn. "Go ahead." He said into the device.

"Sir, It's Liza. Mike and I were setting up our mortar near the med bay when we were approached by that merchant friend of yours. He said he and that eye-patch girl wanted to help with the fighting. Mike thought you'd allow it and got them a couple rifles and some armor."

"Mike was right, let Matthias know that I'm grateful." In truth he had his reservations about letting Jessie fight, what with her being an asset. "At the first sign of a breach, I want them heading to the Outpost though. No excuses."

"I'll let them know." He heard the click of Liza turning off her radio and turned to Jacobs, who stood by his side, holding a certain someone by the arm.

"Jacobs....do you think I've done what a good leader should do?" He asked.

Jacobs was taken aback, even at the act of evil that they were faced with, Jacobs never expected this kind of question from the Captain.

"Of course I do sir."

"Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

"Good..." Andrew nodded as he took the bullhorn from John. He sighed a deep breath as he brought the speaker to his mouth.

"Evelyn Roan....I just want you to know that what I'm about to say is not for you." His voice echoed through the silence that took hold of both forces.

"I am speaking to your soldiers, and to mine. Men and women who are loyal enough to follow the orders of people like you and I, people who will burn in hell for the atrocities of this war."

He paused for a moment.

"This conflict isn't about us. For us, it's already too late. This war we fight is not for ourselves, but for them."

He jerked a finger to the ranks of children standing in front of a live minefield.

"It's to make sure, the the next generation does not have to see evil deeds like this. We are fighting to protect our children, and our children's children. We, are the last, best, hope for humanity, and I remind you I am not only speaking of the men and women with me on this wall, and within it but I am speaking to those that stand in front of us as well. I am speaking to you Disciples just as much as I am speaking to my Knights. Our lives, have already been decided, we have already failed our children, we failed when they lined up in between two armies. Our only hope of redeeming ourselves, of making it up to them, is to live, and to ensure that something like this never happens again."

He paused once more, giving a nod to Jacobs who pulled Preston forward.

"To the Disciples who are ready to give their lives attacking this place, I ask that you think about what I am saying, but I am aware that some of you bear a hatred of myself that will deafen your ears to my plea. And so I will present you with one of your own. Now I will not lie, he was interrogated, as we live in a time of war, but ask yourself, if the roles were reversed, would a Knight even be alive still?"

He handed Preston the bullhorn. "Go on, speak, your brother is out there isn't he? I know you are not like Eve, you have a conscious, think about what will happen if we fight here, do you really want to watch all those children die?"

Preston sat in the corner of a dark room shivering. His fingers bloody and mangled, distorted into unfamiliar shapes. The blood had stopped pouring out of his mouth, but the pain was still there. He couldn't eat or sleep. He couldn't even find a comfortable place on the cold concrete.

He'd no idea how long he'd been here and in pain now. Night and day were blended together now that he was in complete darkness. Time dragged by giving him no relief. The Knights didn't come by to check on him much. They just checked to see if he was alive. He couldn't escape even if he wanted to. He was too weak.
After what seemed like the pain and darkness would never end, the door opened and someone came inside, dragging the young boy to his feet and out into the light. Now it was time to die.

The light hurt his eyes and the person who'd grabbed him practically had to drag him. He was pathetic and useless. When he saw Andrew, he realized that everyone was surrounding them. There was utter silence. What was going on? The only thing Preston could think of was that they were going to make an example of him.

And then Andrew started speaking and Preston took a good look, horrified at what was happening. He was even more horrified when Andrew pushed the bullhorn into his hands. He yelped in pain, dropping it.

Through tear stained eyes, Preston waited until it was picked up again and pressed. "Wyatt." He paused in pain. "Get. Me. Out. Of. Here. Too. Please." He managed to say in pain. Andrew had tortured him for no reason. Eve wouldn't listen to someone like him. So he hoped that the only lifeline he ever threw to his brother would be taken. If they were attacking, hopefully Wyatt would feel sorry for him and come and grab him too.

"I'm willing to let you go to them." Andrew said, causing Jacobs to give him a questioning look. "Just, try and convince them not to do this, I don't mean Eve, I mean the others. You are one of them, maybe they'll listen to you. I'm aware that you may hate me, and I accept that, surely one day I will pay for my sins, but those children are innocent. Listen to me Preston, are you really going to let them walk across a live minefield?"

Preston stared at Andrew. Either way he was going to die. If he went back to Eve he was sure that she'd kill him for just being here. Heck, he was sure that Wyatt would kill him, if he bothered to try and rescue him. Then again, brothers meant nothing to Wyatt. Preston had only ever been an annoyance.
But he knew Andrew was right. The man that had allowed the torture of a fourteen-year-old boy now wanted that same boy to stop hundreds of deaths. Why would they listen to him? What power or authority did he have that would make them listen to him? If he stopped them, Eve would definitely kill him when he was back there.

The spike impaled in his mouth still was going to make this painful and drawn out. "They." A few deep breaths between each word. "Won't listen to me." It took him a while just to get one sentence out. Preston took a deep breath. "I can't just say stop. And going back will get me killed." He took another painful breath and looked at Andrew. He knew that he'd be screwed now. Nothing was going to save him from this. He'd either die at the hands of Andrew, or Eve.

"Well Preston..." Andrew sighed. He was really considering off'ing this guy in front of Eve's forces, REALLY considering it. But that would only enrage them. "It seems you're unwilling to even try and save those kids' lives, I have misjudged you, and so you will watch what is going to happen just as we have to be the one's to do it."

Andrew pulled the bullhorn out of his hands and brought it to his mouth once more.

"To my Knights and to you children, I am truly sorry and will be haunted by the memory of this day for the rest of my life. Knights, you are following a direct order from your Knight Captain, I do hope that offers some of you solace."

He paused, contemplating what he was about to say.

"Evelyn Roan, my response to you is this; Open fire."

And the guns of the East would deliver the message in turn.