daisy chains, lazy days & lemonade &&open

[CHLOË LAFFERTY]

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Sometimes, it was hard to remember that not very long ago, life had been normal. Chloë had been Special Agent Lafferty of the FBI, one of the fastest risers through the ranks from her class at Quantico and on track for another promotion by next year with a possible relocation to Washington D.C.; the world had been sane, buildings had been intact, food and drink were readily available and nobody had even heard of Rossum or imprinting technologies; people had been themselves, instead of being mind-raped and turned into someone else. There had been more than just a handful of people who remembered who they were, and nobody had been scared of technology or butchers. It was a whole lifetime ago; it was strange how quickly you adapted to situations that you never imagined finding yourself into. Apocalypses had been stories for television or movies, which depicted worlds were a few people struggled to survive when the world had been destroyed by radiation or aliens, all buildings looted and ruined, and nobody could trust the water supply. The truth was surprisingly similar; Chloë had been back to her apartment once, and it had made her cry – and she was someone who could take a lot of punches before she broke. She’d taken as much as she could of the stuff that was salvageable, but she’d still left things behind; maybe she’d have to go back someday soon, but she wasn’t relishing the idea.

Nobody she knew was still alive, and even having joined the other actuals who were congregating at the base camp, Chloë felt more alone than she had ever done in her life, and she’d never been one to commit to other people; her career had always been more important – the career that she didn’t even have, anymore. Without her job, Chloë was lost. And she imagined that it wouldn’t be long before they ran out of food and drink, too; they couldn’t trust the water in case the butchers were devious enough to poison it, and so they’d been eating out of tins and packets, and had taken to looting shops for things to eat. Even the law enforcer in Chloë, who’d cringed at stealing at first, couldn’t argue with that anymore. It wasn’t like there were any laws anymore, anyway, and they needed to eat; if she wanted to survive – which she damn well did – then some of her morals were going to have to be put aside. It wasn’t like they were hurting anyone, since the store keepers had probably been imprinted along with the rest of the population. The world as they knew it had gone, but sometimes it took Chloë a while to catch up. Other times, it seemed as though things had always been this way, and the memory of another life was nothing more than a dream.

It certainly wasn’t unusual for Chloë to take what had once been merchandise from abandoned shops now. She still felt bad about it, but they had to eat; she wasn’t here officially today, but even Chloë couldn’t pass up the chance to have something nice for a change. Usually they focussed their recon missions on supermarkets, but she’d been passing some small stores, out on a scouting mission (which Chloë always volunteered for, as there was a limit to how long she could spend in the camp and she didn’t feel any less safe out here; she was always armed, after all), and the idea of getting some perishables that weren’t basic necessities had suddenly become very appealing. It would certainly win her some favours with the other people if she brought back chocolate and candy. She’d filled her bag with foods that they’d normally have passed over – not just candy, but chips and biscuits and even some gum – but then she’d not been able to resist a bottle of lemonade that she’d seen sitting on the shelf. Chloë sat on the doorstep of the shop, her bag by her feet, and twisted open the top; it was warm and flat, but she didn’t care. She smiled, looking down the empty street; she’d stay here a while, she thought. There was no-one to bother her but she could be ready to defend herself in a flash, and it was nice to be on her own for a change. Just Chloë and warm lemonade. It could have been worse, given that this was the apocalypse.

[MAG]

Spending every waking moment surrounded by people she barely knew had begun to take a toll on Mag. She was starting to feel like there were no places she could sneak off to and have some time to herself, some time to process everything that had happened since the day her life changed forever. She’d been out in the ruins with a handful of fellow resistance fighters on a scavenger run, but the others were still raiding a department store for clothes and Mag managed to slip outside to take a look around.

The parking lot was like something out of a Stephen King novel, not that Mag was unfamiliar with these chaotic still lifes constructed haphazardly through the carnage that came along with Butchers tearing into unsuspecting Actuals. These shopping centers were probably some of the first areas to be hit hard by blanket signals. Mag looked up toward the sky, hoping it might rain. At least when it rained she could pretend things were on their way back to normal. She could close her eyes and listen to the familiar sound, imagining herself to be anywhere.

The sky was cloudy, but the clouds didn’t look like the type that would bring rain. She walked over to an overturned shopping cart and took a seat on it, tying the laces on her boot. She’d learned the hard way the importance of always keeping her boots tied tightly. Just down the way she could see someone sitting on the front step of a smaller shop. Mag looked back toward the department store’s row of glass doors. No one from her group was in sight. They were probably making their way toward the back of the building by now, maybe even checking out the back room. She made her first steps toward the woman, her gun in hand but not raised, and called out from a distance so as not to alarm her.

“Hi! I’m Mag Wheeler,” she called out, waving her hand in the air, going through the process she used each time she came upon someone new. “What’s your name?”

[CHLOË LAFFERTY]

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A part of Chloë didn’t want to go back to the camp; she could survive perfectly well on her own. Taking provisions would be easier when she only had to get enough for one, and it would make her search for Gemma easier; she could drop in on Alpha if she was feeling lonely or needed some advice, but otherwise, she could go it alone. It would be simpler, not having to spend her whole time with people she barely knew and could tolerate even less. Being on her own, she could scout further afield, and maybe she’d find clues to the location of the Dollhouse – at which point, she’d let someone at the camp know – or if not, she’d feel like she was actually getting somewhere in her search for her sister. The more tied she felt to the other actuals, the less likely it seemed to her that she was going to find her sister in a state where she was still herself; Chloë would never forgive herself if she turned up in the right place at last, and Gemma was already a dumbshow. Of course, that was the part of Chloë that could dream; the rest of her knew that there was no way she could leave. She had to stay with these people, because they were potentially the only remnants of humanity as they knew it, and they needed someone who could take charge to make sure they were safe. She wasn’t going to nominate herself as leader, because God, that appealed less than eating cold beans out of a tin for the rest of her life did, but if she was with them then she could help. Leaving them behind would be abandoning the mission she’d given herself, and Chloë couldn’t do that; they were safer as a group. People had to stick together, even if it meant that she had to live with a bunch of strangers. Perhaps she’d ask Alpha to help look for her sister; he wasn’t tied to a group like she was (he was an enigma, in fact, because he seemed to express no desire to be with any other people besides her, and Chloë was determined to figure him out, one way or another), and he seemed pretty knowledgeable about things. That way, she wouldn’t feel like she was abandoning Gemma; whether she stayed or left, Chloë knew that she’d feel she was abandoning someone. And these people were alive; she had no idea if her sister was.

She felt horrible about it, though. There had to be a way she could do both; they were just sitting ducks in the actual camp, after all. They went out on missions for food and other essentials, but Chloë didn’t feel that they were really making a huge effort to find the Dollhouse—and she completely believed that they needed to. If the rumours were true – and finally, finally she willing to believe the rumours about the Dollhouse, where she’d thought Agent Ballard was mad so many years ago – then it was the only safe place in the entire world; from there they could find Safe Haven, and they wouldn’t have to worry about being wiped ever again. It would be great, but they had to go one step at a time; step one was to ascertain where it was. Underground, probably, because that was still the safest place to be (which meant that Chloë, sitting in broad daylight on a street, was pretty vulnerable…but she could hold her own against butchers), but that was as far as Chloë had come to figuring it out. And she wanted to find out if there were other people in the world who were still alive, although she had no idea how to do that since they couldn’t even use radios anymore, for fear of being remotely wiped. Bastards at Rossum. If they’d wanted destruction of the world, they’d sure as hell achieved that. Chloë snorted into her lemonade; of course they’d wanted it. Why else would they have wiped the whole world? She couldn’t see the logic in it, but she guessed that if she could, she’d have been working for them, and she was perfectly happy not being evil, thank you very much.

“Hi! I’m Mag Wheeler. What’s your name?”

Chloë looked up from her drink, hand instinctively going to her gun, but seeing that the woman was alone, she didn’t bother to get up just yet; she could always do so, if necessary, but she was talking, and butchers tended not to do that unless they were extremely well-programmed ones. The rest just tried to kill you; they didn’t gain your trust first. “Chloë Lafferty,” she replied, raising a hand in return. She nodded at the woman, trying to place her; she seemed familiar, and it wasn’t hard to do, since there was only one place she saw people that were still people nowadays. “Hey, I’ve seen you round the camp, haven’t I?” she asked, phrasing the question as ambiguously as possible in case Ms. Wheeler turned out to be a butcher after all; it was entirely likely that they’d never met. Chloë tended to keep to herself as much as possible, as the few people she had got to know had tended to be the most irritating people alive, and the camp itself was big enough to not have to meet everyone, even if its inhabitants were only a small number.

[MAG]

Mag, ever cautious yet uncompromisingly hopeful, approached Chloë without making any quick movements. She saw that the other woman had reached for her gun and saw this as a sign that she was most likely safe to be around. There was talk among Actuals of sleeper Butchers, programmed to deceive at first, then integrate, and then kill entire groups of Actuals, but in broad daylight with backup close enough that she could shout, Mag felt comfortable enough. For a moment she was overcome with a realization that she had no idea what to say, now that she’d approached Chloë and initiated conversation. It wasn’t like bumping into someone on campus between classes or making small talk in the check out line at the grocery store. Much to Mag’s relief, Chloë spoke up again.

“Hey, I’ve seen you round the camp, haven’t I?”

Again, Mag’s optimism overpowered her paranoia enough to sound civil without coming off as an untrusting outlander. “Could be, but I don’t spend much time at camp. I’m usually on runs with a small group. They’re very nearby,” Mag added, the paranoia slowly seeping into her mind as she realized how unlikely it would be for anyone from her party to hear her shout and arrive on the scene in time to keep her from taking a bullet or being printed. She hated how black and white things had to be, living in this wasteland. She’d never put down a Dumbshow, but the guys she traveled with had a mercy kill policy. She clearly wasn’t in league with any bleeding hearts these days. Butchers were another story. They required a shoot first, ask questions later approach. But even other Actuals weren’t always trustworthy. Their group had run up against a bunch of guys who used to be military a while back. It had gone badly, with all their supplies being taken and two people getting killed. Still, Mag had to believe that there were people out here that could be trusted. Otherwise, this world wasn’t one she wanted to be a part of.

“You out here by yourself? she asked, squinting to look into the dimly lit store behind Chloë. Light cascaded inside from broken windows and reflected off glass cases in such a way that peering inside was like trying to see around a solar eclipse. There was no reason not to believe what Chloë Lafferty said to be true except that there was every reason to believe that nothing anyone said was true. Ever since the tech destroyed civilization, it was like the Cold War and 9/11 combined with hints of Hiroshima. No one Mag had talked to knew who had attacked or why, and if anyone did have a theory it conflicted with four other accounts from people who swore they knew the truth. Mag was always in search of answers, even when the rest of her group was more interested in finding food and clean clothes.

[CHLOË LAFFERTY]

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As Mag came towards her, Chloë screwed the lid on her lemonade and stood up, hand still hovering by her gun in case this was one of those butchers who’d befriend you and then attack you – Chloë had never met one, but there were stories. She tended not to believe them, because rumours never led to anyone being caught, and even when the world had ended, there were still people around who liked fear mongering, just for kicks, but you could never be too careful, even with a rumour. There were people who’d gone out and never returned, and Chloë was determined that she wasn’t going to be one of them. After all, she’d been through Quantico, had spent years working her way up through the FBI, catching some of the worst criminals in the area; she could hold her own against a few people who’d been made into killers. It would have been easier if she’d known that they were killers, but Chloë couldn’t quite shake the fact that the butchers had been people like her, once. What if her sister was one of them? No, that wasn’t even a possibility; Gemma was fine. Chloë just needed to find her, but her sister was not a butcher. It would be worse than knowing she’d died. She was pretty sure that Mag was an actual, though; she had to display some elements of trust, or she’d be isolated forever. It wouldn’t be wholly a bad thing – it appeared to have worked extremely well for Alpha – but then her conscience would be constantly picking at her to go and help people; Chloë needed a mission, and though she’d not been given the orders from anyone, staying here was her job. She might not always like it, but that was what walks to find long-life treats and warm lemonade were for. She needed time to herself, but she wasn’t going to abandon these people…and she didn’t want to be alone, either. Not when there was literally no-one else in the world.

“Could be, but I don’t spend much time at camp. I’m usually on runs with a small group. They’re very nearby,”

“Need anyone else in that group?” Chloë asked; maybe it would be better, if she spent more times doing runs. She’d still be helping, but she’d not feel like she was just sitting around waiting for something to happen, and it would utilise her skills far better than what she was doing at the moment, not to mention the fact that it would make it easier for her to seek out the elusive Dollhouse. She was sure that if they went on salvage missions through the entire city, eventually they’d find a clue leading to its whereabouts, and then the search for a cure would begin; they’d always be searching, but each time would bring them closer to finding out who had done this and how they could be stopped—for good. That was what Chloë’s aim was, and she was sure that many of the actuals agreed. Surviving on what was left wasn’t enough; they had to change the future. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a future. “Staying at camp most of the time is killing me.” Chloë was a woman of action; she always would be. If she found leads, she needed to chase them up, and even though there weren’t any leads just yet, she could go and seek some out. It was a self-perpetuating cycle, really. It was nice to have a base, sure, but it wasn’t home; home was destroyed, or at least not habitable (she’d not been back recently to see), and there was a limit to how much waiting she could do before she got the urge to shoot her allies. She could understand Mag’s defensiveness, though; you could never be quite sure that your allies wouldn’t turn out to be your enemies. Chloë moved her hand away from her gun in a peace-offering gesture, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m sure they are.”

“You out here by yourself?”

Chloë nodded; it was unusual for those who’d met the rest of the group that seemed to be the main actual base in LA to go out alone, but she’d not yet clicked with anyone there. “I needed some air – I’m not used to sitting on my ass unable to do anything except scavenge,” she said, deciding that sharing a little about herself was the best way to convince Mag that she was a friend—and to find out if the other woman really was who she said she was; it was almost like being the old Chloë just for a little while. Finding the best way to approach people – suspects, witnesses, victims and their families – was what she’d been good at. Well, she’d been good at her whole job, really; Chloë knew it probably wasn’t the most modest thing to think, but it wasn’t like there was anyone who could contradict her now, and she’d always had the most glowing feedback from her performance reviews. “Thought I’d bring back some luxuries that aren’t stored in a tin.” She remembered the days when a bar of chocolate or a packet of crisps had been something to avoid for fear of an unhealthy diet, but now she knew people who’d probably kill for one. Lots of people seemed to kill any dumbshow they came across, just because they weren’t an actual. But they weren’t the same as a butcher; Chloë thought those who’d been wiped could probably get their minds back, if they found a cure. She wasn’t so sure about those who’d become completely different people altogether.