Author's Note

God delights in the odd number.

(Virgil)

Fourth Interview: Federal Question

SM: Who the hell--

FC: Pull that gun out and you die. Move your hand. Move it!

SM: The hell? You! You’re the fuckin’ blackshirt!

FC: Well that’s a bit rude, isn’t it?

SM: Fuck, you’re exactly as I pictured you. Butcher with a smile.

FC: Yeah, yeah. I get it. You hate me, et cetra. Let’s move on.

SM: The hell do you want?

FC: Just a little talk? How you like that?

SM: I’d rather dip my face in bleach, so take that as you will, fascist.

FC: You are a real treat, sweetheart. But I’m not here to banter with you. I’m here to tell you what you’re going to do, and then you’re gonna do it, see? Easy. Simple. And you get to walk. Hell, maybe if you do a good enough job I might can get a word in Earthside. Special Division pays good. We got a few Couriers with us.

SM: If they started working with you then they were never really Couriers.

FC: Cute. I know about the geezer.

SM: Not that old.

FC: Will you… shut the fuck up already?

The sound of a gun being cocked.

FC: Jesus! People just won’t stop talking! Shut up, got it? Good. I know about him. I know you’ve talked to him, and I know he’s probably given you some way to talk to him. I also know you haven’t used it. Know how I know that? Now you can talk.

SM: No, I don’t.

FC: Yeah, well, that’s why you’re a Courier, bitch. I’ve been monitoring everything. He hasn’t sent a single damn signal, and I’ve tracked down two of his beacons. Didn’t touch ‘em, of course, because I’m not stupid. Unlike the one who showed up in no armor with a handgun. Nice thinking, there. And no, you don’t get to answer, so shut your mouth. Lemme continue: the Federal Union knows all about you, Samantha Marshall. Can I call you Sam? I’m gonna call you Sam, it’s a good name. Good job on that one, if it’s your real name, which I bet it isn’t. Where’s the country fried asshole?

SM: No idea.

FC: I swear to god, just try and lie to me. Just do it. I’ll make you dance.

SM: I’m not lying. He picked a direction, I picked a direction. I don’t know where his camp is--I didn’t want to know.

FC: That’s just fuckin’ bullshit.

SM: You’re the one with the gun, so I ain’t in any position to lie. Do you think I would? I don’t owe that guy anything. He annoys me and he makes me nervous. I just wanted him to leave, so I didn’t tail him.

FC: Fine. But he gave you something.

SM: Yeah, a transmitter. Don’t know how it works.

FC: Yeah, well, doesn’t matter. I’m going to be watching. Always. I’ve got a Mark IX Stealth Suit going, you hear that? All the time. You’ll never see me. You’re gonna do something for me.

SM: All ears.

FC: Good, good. See, I knew you’d be up for it. I read what we got out of the prisoners from the facility, and I knew you were a good type of bitch--the kind who can kick ass if she wants but knows when to lie down and take it. I like that. You’re smart. I’ll let you in on a secret: I like the Couriers. Think they’re full of shit, but individual ones? Always grab the recruits for the Division who rode with those sadsacks. They’ve got brains and they’ve got reflexes and they know when to go in full-auto and when to keep their fuckin’ mouths shut and stay still. And I like that about them. Smart. You? I figured you would find the winning side, and now that we got it clear that that side is me, I’m gonna let you walk out of this.

SM: That’s it? You just wanted to intimidate me? I don’t believe it. What do you want?

FC: Did I sound like I was finished.

SM: Jesus, can you put the gun down?

FC: Maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought. Just listen, okay? Good. I know about all those traps you’ve been settin’. Saw you let the alien go--don’t know why the hell you did it, guess its a little too creepy to eat, huh? Don’t care. Look, I know you can make those things and probably some really nasty ones. I know how backwoods badlands fucks like you operate.

SM: Let me guess. You want me to call him to the castle and get him to walk over like, what, a spike pit or something?

FC: Hey, if you wanna finish him off yourself, I won’t stop you. I might wanna take a few pictures…

SM: Jesus.

FC: It’s a joke, stupid. I don’t care how you do it, I just want you to do it. Once he’s dead, we’ll talk. Right now, you’re officially an enemy combatant and there’s nowhere to run. Even if you get back, the Union’s gonna hunt you down even if you go all the way out to California. You could go to what’s left of China or go live in a tent in the middle of fucking nowhere Siberia and we’d find you. Might even let you think you were safe awhile, just for the hell of it, and then BAM.

He laughs.

FC: Deader than disco.

SM: I hear you.

FC: Great! Glad we had this talk. You can even say you ran into me and barely escaped! Tell him anything you want! You tell him I told you to kill him and I’ll mow you down and shoot your dead body full of holes and then do things to it. We crystal? Solid?

SM: I hear you.

FC: What a girl. Awesome. Now, you touch that gun and I shoot you! Just remember that, got it? Yeah, I see you thinking in that little head of yours. I’m faster. Trust me. Augments in every limb. I’ve got a reinforced skeleton and the stealth suit has some pretty great armor, so unless you’re at point blank, you aren’t getting through. And you’ll get a shot only if I let you. I move faster. Period. I’m gonna go ghost, and you’re gonna be still.

SM: Just go, will you? I’ll do it. Just… I’ll do it.

FC: Aw, all those moral compunctions. Cry me a river and build a bridge over it, Garfunkel. Remember, I’m watching. Give it a day or three. Don’t forget.