"I know, right?" Anna says with haughty conviction. "The government lies more than it tells the truth, that's for damn certain. I knew there wasn't anything to their claims. I bet they know we're listening to their frequencies. They must have planted this information to confuse us!"
You bite your lip. It's starting to sound like Anna might not be completely in her right mind, at least when it comes to the topic of her own activism. A healthy dose of skepticism can be a good thing, but she might be going overboard.
There is a brief pause, and you hear the crinkling of what might be paper. "We have a plan on how to deal with the government's footage. Can you tell us w—?"
A burst of static screeches through the tinny speakers of the radio, and you toss it away. Unaccustomed to radio technology as you are from your lifetime in Haven, you were already feeling uncomfortable using the thing, but now you've got a splitting headache on top of it.
"Hell—" BUZZ. "Hello?" BUZZ, CRACKLE. The radio dies, and you pick it up, shaking the thing in frustration. "Hello? Are you there?"
No response.
"Damn," you say aloud to the room. I hope it's just interference and the thing isn't broken.
You put the radio back in its drawer and head out to the drudgery of another day's labor. You almost wish that something exciting would happen, but you strike the thought from your mind before you can finish thinking it. Lately "excitement" has been synonymous with death and hardship, and your cup is already overflowing with the bitter taste of that particular brew.
Next
Work passes by, slow and uneventful, and you find yourself longing for something with more meaning, even if that significance is chased by the twin hounds of menace and violence. When will you learn to be careful what you wish for?
You're out on your last break of the day, enjoying the fresh air outside the shop when Jolon runs up to you, skin slick with sweat and panting with exertion. He pulls you aside, and you follow quickly. Whatever it is that has Jolon so worked up must be important for him to abandon his artful persona in favor of panicked immediacy.
"You've gotta come with me," he pants. "Now."
Jolon blinks several times as though he can't believe what he's hearing. "Are you fucking serious? She needs our help!"
"Bly's resourceful, and with your help, I'm sure she'll be fine. But I can't be party to something like this. Assassinations, Jolon? Is that really what we've come to? How can we take the moral high ground now? We might lose everything because of her!"
"I honestly thought you were a better person than this, Decaarr. I guess I was wrong. I won't make that mistake again." He shakes his head. "I don't have time to debate this with you. If you're not going to help, I'll just have to go without you."
Jolon is off like a shot, bounding down the street and around a corner in the direction of the Snarl. You close your eyes and breathe deep.
Damn it, Bly. There's no fixing things now.
Next
Daylight wanes, and the sun sets on the day's troubled events.
A part of you wishes you'd gone after Bly, if only to watch Jolon's back, but upon reflection you know you've chosen the best out of a laundry list of bad options. Still though, it gnaws at you. How could Bly have been so reckless? Could she still be under the influence that affected the pack so recently during the Hunter's Moon?
The question rattles you. If Bly was acting under the influence of an outside agent, you may have abandoned her at a time of greatest need. Or perhaps her predilection toward hotheadedness had simply overtaken her better sense. Yes. Occam's razor. The simplest explanation is typically the correct one.
Sleep eventually, inevitably, overtakes you, and what dreams do come serve to remind you of better times.
A Peaceful Slumber