The Question

[survivors_of_new_york]

In the old days, the James Farley Post Office was the beating heart of New York City's postal services. Now it's the beating heart of a very different system. Day in and day out, the fight to reclaim the city goes on from within it. Patrols go out. Civilians stagger in. Supplies flow in and out like the mail trucks used to do.

It isn't built for holding prisoners like the NYPD's facilities are. But there are enough rooms deep in the bowels of the building that can be adapted for that. A few armed JTF officers stand guard in a constant rotation. No one's risking the prisoners inside getting loose and wreaking havoc. One guard is drumming his fingers nervously on the stock of his rifle.

In one cell: Martinez sits at a table with his head in his hands. He doesn't get up except to pace. He's stayed quiet this entire time, barely even acknowledging the personnel outside. (He asks once, just once, for 'Eric'.) The model prisoner.

In the next cell over: Keller is the opposite. He rages. Slams his fists against the walls until his knuckles bleed and leave streaks. He presses his face against the glass in the door and hurls insults at the guard outside. He knows what's waiting for him on the streets. LaRae doesn't give second chances.

In the last cell: Torch yells over Keller's racket to 'shut it man, we ain't telling them shit'. He doesn't snarl like a caged animal. He doesn't posture at the guard outside. He merely keeps winding Keller up more and more. No sense in starting a fight. He didn't get a chance.

And up at the top of the stairs, Lindianne Parker rolls her eyes. "Jesus. What a racket."

Comments

[mr_clean]

Lindianne's aim is true - Ferro grunts as the first round hits him in the chest, staggering him. A red blotch starts to spread over the suit just in time for the second round to hit, stopping him in his tracks.

He wavers on his feet, issuing one last wheezing breath as he fixes his gaze on Lindianne, fingers slackening on the flamethrower. The shaded lenses on his gas mask hide his eyes, and so it's hard to tell what's going through his mind. Is it regret? Is it remorse?

Maybe, just maybe - it's relief that it's over for him.

The last 7.62 round fired by the PSL tears through the HAZMAT suit like tissue paper and sends Ferro crumpling to the ground like a marionette that's just gotten its strings cut.

All is quiet along the avenue. The surviving Cleaners stare in abject shock and horror as Mother and the other SEALs round the bend.

There's a scuffle, some shouting - then one by one, the Cleaners drop their weapons. One by one, their hands go up.

"Mother, Faye. Mike Charlie. Ferro K.I.A." A soft sigh into the radio. "Good shooting, Parker."

[divisionary]

No response.

Lindianne is a statue down at the other end of the street. The only sign of life is her breathing and an occasional blink of the eyes. There's a nasty second-degree burn up her firing arm in an angry red stripe. Her hair is burned short on one side. Soot speckles her shoulders. Her hands are steady.

She didn't even think about it. She gunned him down like a wounded animal. Like he was something to be put out of his misery.

Still no response on the radio from her. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she takes a few steps towards Ferro's body. Pauses. Takes a few more.

Kneels down next to him.

Then, with only a faint trembling to her hands, she reaches over to peel the mask off of his face. She presses two fingers to the arteries in his neck, a vain attempt at finding a pulse. But there's nothing. He's dead.

"...Confirmed. Ferro is KIA." No emotion. She clicks her radio off.

She doesn't even look up as the other Cleaners start surrendering. Not even as a few peel off and flee the scene. She kneels there. Staring down at Ferro's body.

[boston_bruiser]

Even with such a quick skirmish as this one there's things to take care of after the dust settles - weapons to disable, prisoners to guard and separate. Faye and Mother are talking it out over the radio as Preacher and Rabbit watch the surrendered Cleaners like hawks.

Ferro's not the only dead one - Voodoo's a quick shot. The fallen need to be searched for intel, for whatever good it'll do them - the Cleaners are practically done, now that their leader's gone. The smarter among them will realize what this means - that the JTF is growing in influence and that surrender is quickly becoming their only real option. But there's no telling how quickly they'll kowtow. Could take an hour, could take the rest of the week.

It's a little while before he circles back around to Parker, tucking some scavenged cigarette packs into his vest. (He doesn't partake, but they make good bartering material.)

He clears his throat, squats down next to Ferro to glance over his fallen form.

Then he looks at Lindianne, finger pointing down to Ferro.

"You gave him a chance. Everything that happened after that is on him."

[divisionary]

It's true.

It doesn't make it feel any less... sad, though.

Lindianne looks up from where she's kneeling, looking at Voodoo with an oddly doe-eyed expression. "Yeah. I know. He made his choice." He brought this on himself at the end of the day. But it won't change a thing.

He doesn't have anything in the gear on his HAZMAT suit. Nothing but a picture of a woman. The edges are worn and crinkled with time. She hesitates, holding it gingerly in her good hand, before she tucks it back next to his heart.

The rest of her movements are mechanical. Slice the fuel line. Disassemble the flamethrower. It isn't until the last piece is laid out in front of her that she dares look up again.

"I still kind of hoped, you know."

[boston_bruiser]

"Yeah."

A beat.

"Me, too."

He looks back up the street. Mother's still talking with Faye over the radio. Even now, something in the air is...different. The Cleaners still under guard are still as stone, half staring at their feet and the other half staring at Ferro.

Voodoo looks back to Lindianne, eyes drifting towards the burn on her arm. He nods to it.

"That'll scar."

He reaches up to his shoulder to unhook what looks like a CamelBak tube from his vest.

"Want water on it?"

[divisionary]

Mutely, she holds out her arm. It's definitely going to scar. Yet another mark for her to carry as a reminder. She tries to crack a smile. "So much for t-shirts." Her heart's not really in it.

She looks over Voodoo's shoulder at the knot of Cleaners. Half are staring at Ferro- at her- like they expect this to all be a bad dream. The other half have their eyes fixed on the ground. She doesn't meet any of their eyes. She ducks her head back around Voodoo for cover.

"Cold water?" Anything else isn't going to help. Already the pain is radiating up her arm. It hurts to bend her elbow. It hurts to move it too much. Kandel, no doubt, is going to be thrilled to have to deal with Lindianne getting hurt again.

At least it's not a head injury this time.

"...Something feels different. You know?" It's a victory. Bitter? Yes. Not easy to reach? Definitely. But it's a decisive moment. Something's changed.

[boston_bruiser]

"Cold-ish."

(You wouldn't think it, what with all the snow on the ground, but ice is in rather short supply right now.)

Gingerly, he takes hold of the closest unburned skin as he lets water pour out from the nozzle onto the burn. It's far from any kind of steady, consistent stream, but it's better than nothing.

"Yeah," he says. "Like we turned a corner, right?"

It's then that Mother walks up to them, and Voodoo nods in greeting. "What's the deal, Mother?"

"We're packing it up, taking these guys back to the post office. They say the Cleaners are already talking about Ferro."

"No shit?"

"No shit." Mother glances back at the captured Cleaners. "Faye's sending a negotiator in with an escort. We'll see if the rest of them want to pack it in. After the yards, the apartments, and now this - I can't imagine they've got much of a stomach for fighting us left."

After a beat, he nods, then looks back to Voodoo and Lindianne. "They're almost done clearing the bridges onto the island from Jersey City and Brooklyn. We'll be getting resupplied and reinforced after that."

[divisionary]

The water helps, if just enough to cut the pain down to manageable levels. It still earns a sharp inhale from Lindianne. "Thanks, Voodoo." There's a brief, genuine smile. Then Mother comes over and it's all business once more.

"No kidding? We're getting help?" So Brooklyn hasn't fallen after she left. They've held on despite nearly losing the police station by the Hudson River. That's as big a morale boost as taking down the Cleaners.

But if the way back is open...

"Mother." A beat. "You're not... I mean, you're not heading back, right? You guys are still linked up with JTF, right?" Because the thought of going back to doing this alone is still in the back of her mind.

And she doesn't want it. They're doing this together or not at all.

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo looks at Mother, awaiting his response - which comes with a half-hearted shrug.

"We're staying until I hear otherwise from JSOC. Probably until the island's secure. This's the biggest city in the country. Washington wants it brought back into line as fast as we do."

Voodoo smiles, clapping Lindianne on the shoulder as Mother nods towards the surrendered Cleaners. "C'mon. Let's get these guys off the streets. Voodoo, you're on point."

"You got it, Mom." With a grunt, he stands, sparing one last look at Ferro before offering Parker a hand up.

[divisionary]

For a moment, Lindianne remains where she is. Then, with a quiet little sigh, she reaches up to grab Voodoo's hand and pull herself up.

Her knees are aching. Constantly running and roping out of helicopters has done a number on her legs and feet over the course of the day. She winces as she stands. "I'm good," she says with a harsh little chuckle at the end. "I'll be right behind you, Voodoo."

She doesn't look down at Ferro. Another time, at somewhere that isn't in the middle of the street, she'll stop and try to process through the entire string of events. As it stands, all she feels is numb. Weary.

But a little hopeful, too. It's the first concrete victory the JTF has had. And it's thanks to them. All of them.

It's a start, at least.