CHAPTE 3
They walk to the gym, where Maya stops him at the threshold of the huge room.
“Wait.”
She waves and Adam, leader of the Panthers, whose eyes are on them from the moment they appear, waves them in with a smile directed pointedly toward Maya alone..
Maya nods. “That means we’re allowed to enter their territory.”
“You have to ask permission?”
“Everyone does,” Maya says. “Even you. They make allowances for newbies, but they might see a rival and then... I lose a spy.”
"Funny. My old producer used to tell me my audience was going to love me. You, ‘better be good or they are going to shiv you. I like your style better.”
They step inside the doorway and the gym's smell hits him like a body slam -- road stink; a musky assault of dampness and BO and the unwashed clothes of people who had been on the road too long to care much more than where their next meal is coming from, and avoiding becoming someone else's.. Despite the smell, the walls are clean. Even the bleachers are wiped down. And the gangs are all dressed and cleaned, shaven and ready.
Juan realizes the gangs aren’t just surviving. They’re thriving. Their little pocket of the world was safer now than the outside world, and they seemed to know this well. He had to remember they were well ahead of him, to be a journalist, not try to be a spy, a soldier… something he was not. He was a watcher.
The cons notice him first, as if a switch had gone off they almost all looked at him. Those who did not were guarding people.. Juan can’t help but notice and be slightly unnerved. The noise level drops at the sight of him, more out of curiosity rather than any respect. At the sight of a Celeb once handsome and now rugged a woman in the crowd wolf whistles at him. He ignores her a beat too long, before Maya can give him a loo, reminding him of his audience, his mission -- win over the audience. He easily falls into his mind even there and forgets he’s supposed to be a spy now, has to perform in real life, not just on holo. He had been through that humiliation in emergencies. Seething inside, he forces himself to smile and wave at he woman..
He almost walks over toward them and Maya takes his arm, shakes her head, ‘No,,’ and he remembers there are invisible borders drawn throughout the gym, territories drawn with postures and presence, and protected with shivs and fists. Maya explains each group. Panthers, Sons of Odin. Diablos. Mongrels. Jan sees criminals and thinks about leaving that night. He looks at Maya knowing she wouldn’t come and cares, surprising him.
They are in the Panther's zone, standing near their leader, Adam: tall and lean, a scholar's face and round glasses ance. His long hair braided tight and tied back. He watches Juan with a calm, assessing gaze, not exactly hostile, mores assessing than welcoming. He steps toward Juan, towering over him vertically by a good foot, horizontally a good three feet of muscles. His voice is that of a professor, “We have heard your broadcasts for years. Glad to hear someone is against that fucker, Koch. Racist bastard..”
Juan nods. “I can tell by your stance I should thank you for your service.”
Adam’s eyes narrow. “I got a chance of up’ing or jail. I ended up in a Military Jail. We heard you calling for soldiers. I hope to hell you do not plan on taking over this prison with your conscripts. We have our own plans for this. Some of us were soldiers. You are not in charge, and your degrees and whatever sure as hell does not make you better than us."
"I was just told to broadcast here and that you were going to be attacked. You're the soldier."
"You're a reporter. Let's keep that clear. Maya seems to have faith in you, which means something... until it don't mean shit. You try to take over, that fucker over there with the Odin beard and shit, I will fight beside that walking ignorance to hit back at Koch, even though I hate the sight of the man, and everything it projects."
"Yeah, I am just reporting on...."
"Who brings in, what you brought this morning?"
Maya jumps in, "Adam, you... no secrets are there? I told him to lie. You don't want to lie to Adam.. I obviously have no secrets. He is a reporter. I asked a favor of him, now I am going to call in a chit and ask a favor of you. I need your help. I need leaders. Koch wants your turf. He’ll eat you or enslave you. Some. You guys will probably get your brains washed into good little soldiers… but Juan wants to help you get to Chicago."
That seemed to appease him, though Juan believed he was hidng ten thoughts for every one he let loose. Maya went on, “Well, where there are Celeb's, they seem to need Ellison to protect them, then next thing you know you have a coup. Juan, here is how it is, you’re in my house. Over there is Odin’s house. Over there is the Diablos’ house. Theo is the same, don't let that goofy smile fool you. Respect the borders.”
Juan’s jaw tightens. “I’m a reporter. I’m not trying to take over, nor do I think I am better than you guys, as you seem to think..”
“You didn’t have to say it,” Adam replies."He is the murderer, the robber, the thief. In here we are more than that, just know, we are who we act like. Talk won't get ya far in here. With the exception of you Juan. A Celeb, I would expect all talk. You smell like a battlefield though. You don’t have some fancy van that you..."
Juan starts laughing. “You saw my truck. You can sleep in a fetal position in the front seat.”
Jake, leader of the Valkyries, somehow seems to hear every thing they are saying...
“You think I’m a monster, Juan? We listen to you all the time. You talk about racists? You say we have a phobia?”
Juan turns. “I’ve seen monsters. Eight or nine year old, the biggest ones. Most were smaller. Eating the last member the platoon I was embedded with. They nailed him to a wall and cut off slices while he screamed. I couldn’t give away my position, by shooting him. So I just laid there filming. They ate his legs first… he finally bled to death,. I’ll show you the holo later.”
Theo walks over to the Panthers and a lieutenant waves him in.
He steps up to Juan and declares, “I’m Theo. "
"Hey. How did he hear me?"
"Everyone here reads lips, amigo. You know who I am named after?” He looks at him proud and happy.
“Shit... no, really? I mean... okay, Van Gogh’s brother?” Juan asks.
Theo grins wider. “I knew you’d know. My dad played jazz. We keep the gangs from killing each other. No one wants to be banned from the sweat lodges.” He is small and wiry, huge muscles like the rest of leaders, and most of the gang bangers.
Juan nods. “Might need you after this.”
Theo laughs. "You got a friend here, but know, everyone ... everyone... follows the rules. Loved finally meeting you. You, you are real. We're called Mongrels because we take in the ones who are loners, like you."
When Theo finally let's him go, Maya takes him over to Jorge, and they shake hands; the leader of the Diablo's is obviously a fan, and claims him as South American for having parents whose grandparents moved to Florida from Cuba. Long before the troubles. Jorge tells him they know he is telling the truth and Koch is lying his ass off, like he always does. He had lied about them when they tried to revol. called iof
Next he is most wary of, Jake; his red hair is long and unkept looking long hair, muscles proving steroids were available at Trump, looking in a way that took hair cream. The leader of Sons, though, it turns out is also a fan evidently, despite being called a racist. "We protect our own, that is all, Juan, we are not afraid of the Panthers. See those stars on that guys arm? They represent what these do." He points out small tombstones on his neck
She turns on the holo screen mounted on the wall. “Listen, what you are about to hear, you can find the halos in the 6. Proven. So Koch is going to come back with a broadcast as mean, and as … troubling as ever. I know our government is not perfect, but we were able to get eleven sanctuaries out of these rich bastards before they decided they wanted it all.”
. Everyone watches. Everyone listens. No one speaks.
When Juan says “slaves,” someone sobs. At the mention of “pedophile,” a Kochite yells 'Fake News'.' then an intake of breath as someone takes a punch to the gut. No one reacts. No one else interrupts.
Juan watches them watch. The gangs remain stone faced, as if they all had the same orders. He was sure they were not working together so he could pretty much assume they were all thinking military. He could see Navy Seal tattoos on a few of the Sons. They react when he says slavery, some with murmers of disbelief, a few, who knew the situation all too well, broke out in tears… bringing silence until he said the word ‘Pedophile,’ which Koch had programmed his listeners to react ot with derison. As if on cue, a Kochite yells out, ‘Fake News,” Before he can finish a quick intake of breath says he has taken a hit to the stomach, and then mumbling sounds of someone trying to yell through covered lips fades away.
Juan see's a guy being given the bum rush and gives a quizzical look to Maya. She explains to him that Theo’s coalition quietly identifies predators among the refugees — men who stare too long at children, men whose histories are whispered. They vanish discreetly. No one asks questions. Maya sees Juan watching one removal.
Juan uses his practiced stage voice to command control of the gym, telling the weary refugees and they wary gangs and guards,
“Listen, I have known Maya since we went to university together. That long. She trusts me and a lot of you seem to trust her. She has kept you in food in the hardest times, when the prison was… a hub of food.”Maya tries to get him to shut up, and Juan realizes his mistake too late. Koch would have spies in the room. Adam steps up behind them, covers his lips subtly and says, “We’ll cover the perimeter and catch us a spy”
Maya tells the gym, “Now, this is how they are responding. Those of you who saw the slave camps, tell the others. Look at the holos, because they are going to… well, here it is. I would not recommend showing you like pedophiles in a prison.
She switches on Kosmic's 24/7 live Comedy broadcast, always on, always new dialog, his AI self so similar to his real self adiences couldn’t tell the difference, or even for that matter, if there was a Kosmic? Though they believed. Kosmic roastis Juan in front of an audience of A+ list celeb's, movie stars from all the major genres, porn, action, comedy. The celebs were anxious to live the high life offered by Koch, instead of out in the blackened tundra of the peasants; not that they had a clue, they were all nepos, third and fourth and with the Sandlers, even more, despite being reviled in his rime as a hack, by all but the genocidal Zionists, and their controlling interest in US propaganda. The Celebs had long ago lost any idea how the 99.9 lived and never would, they believed.
Kosmic dances out onto the stage, his shirt down, over sized nipple clamps on and he is fanning them, whispering in a stage voice, ”Too tight, too tight, God, I love them too tight. Helps me to “Cry‑Me‑A‑Rivera.”
The audience goes crazy, laughing hard, one gorgeous woman in red, with an elaborate yellow hairdoo five feet high above her head with her trademarked, live orange caged within, begins yelling over and over, 'Tell it Kosmo! Tell it Kosmo..."
“Alright Plumage, I can tell you are wet for this, settle down and I will tell.... on Juan, old cry me a River -a.... Now, I will not be accused of making fun of a sick man. But a conspiracy theorist is out there once again, working for the corrupt government, man.... and I do not have time for that on my schedule, and get my morning facials. You think I am two faced, but honey you have no idea how many facials I need..."
The audience in the background laughs as the tall, red haired host smiles and shakes his head in disbelief, "Can you believe what this conspiracy theorist is throwing out now? Well, folks, I hate to tell ya, but this red pompadour evidently hides horns. Yeah, I shave them down every morning. Started at puberty. Wish everything would keep growing like that.... drum roll, please!"
"I guess, he is saying that the workers people have been hiring, for high wages, and free apartments for life, are actually.... get this... oh, give me another drum roll..." Kosmic screams in a fake terrified voice, "Slaves!"
"My wife and hubbie have a slave, and that is once a week, and I barely cry... okay. Well, yeah, the neighbors do complain.. Ha... but, seriously, now, seriously.... Juan, dude, you need to chill. We offered you long ago a hospital unit where you can recover. Everyone is fan, man, really. You know we love everyone. Celeb's are special, we stick together. But these things you are saying about Koch, and little kids? That is really going too far. I mean, you may hate someone, but don't bring kids into, am I right? Not kids, Rivera. Or someone might just make you really, uh cry a Rivera... so, shutta utta uppa..."
A few people in the gym laugh, nervous, confused.
Jake shouts, "Shut the fuck up."
The other leaders look at him. There is some hostility. Then they share a reluctant nod.
Silence drops like a blade.
Maya shuts off the screen. “They’re trying to make you a joke out of you.”
Juan shrugs. “Let them.”
Adam steps closer. “Don't let them get in your head. They really are afraid of you. ” Adam begins laughing as he speaks, “Which means they have no idea what they are fucking with at all, because you ain't shit, little man.... " Still laughing, Adam repeated, “They’re afraid of you. We have been preparing for this for months, Juan. We are not fools. This is a food depot for the whole state. Maya didn’t tell you? We are in charge of the food and I am one hell of a quartermaster. We are the only chance these refugees have of excaping Koch. I am not going to be a slave. I sure as hell ain’t allowing my men to be captured and… none of that shit. I listen, I know you are telling the truth. Why I got my ass thrown out in nine months.””
Refugees gather in the gym, the gangs letting them have the area for the duration, crowded, and smelling, whispering, crying, hugging.
CENE — “THE FIRST NIGHT”
Sanctuary Six yard. Night. Refugees gathering for prayer.
The yard is lit by floodlamps that buzz like dying insects. Smoke from the day’s fires still hangs in the air, thin enough to breathe but thick enough to sting. Refugees kneel on blankets, tarps, scraps of cloth. Some pray. Some cry. Some stare at nothing.
Juan stands off to the side with Maya, watching the gangs spread out to keep order. Panthers walk the perimeter. Diablos help families settle. Mongrels keep the lines calm. Odin’s Sons stand like statues, arms crossed, eyes scanning.
A Panther — young, broad‑shouldered, quiet — steps away from the crowd and kneels. He pulls out a small folded prayer rug, lays it down carefully, smoothing the corners with reverence. He bows his head.
A white refugee man approaches him from behind — fast, nervous, clutching a blanket. He’s trying to ask something, trying to get help, trying to find a place to kneel. He reaches out to tap the Panther’s shoulder.
The Panther flinches.
He whips around, eyes wide, adrenaline firing. He sees a hand coming toward him in the dark. He sees a stranger. He sees danger. He sees the last twenty miles of hell.
He lunges.
The refugee yelps as the Panther tackles him, pinning him to the ground. The Panther’s fists come down once, twice — not controlled, not strategic, just raw fear exploding out of a body that’s been hunted for weeks.
“HEY!” “STOP!” “BACK OFF!”
Three Panthers grab him, dragging him off the man. A Mongrel jumps in, helping restrain him. A Diablo pulls the refugee away, shielding him with his own body.
The Panther is shaking, eyes wild, breath ragged. “He came at me,” he gasps. “He came at me.”
“He was asking for help,” a Mongrel says, calm but firm.
“He touched me,” the Panther snaps, still trembling. “I thought— I thought—”
Adam arrives.
He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t run. He just walks into the circle like gravity bends around him. The Panthers part for him instantly.
Adam looks at the refugee — terrified, bruised, clutching his blanket. Then he looks at the Panther — shaking, ashamed, still half in fight‑mode.
Adam kneels beside the refugee.
“You’re safe,” he says quietly. “No one here is going to hurt you.”
The refugee nods, trembling.
Adam stands, turns to the Panther, and his voice changes — sharp, commanding, cutting through the yard like a blade.
“Listen to me,” Adam says. “All of you.”
The yard goes silent.
Adam points at the refugee. “This man is here to pray. Same as you. Same as everyone.”
He points at the Panther. “And you — you let fear run your body. You let trauma make your decisions. You almost killed a man who came to you for help.”
The Panther bows his head, ashamed.
Adam’s voice softens — but only for a moment.
“You know what Malcolm said when he went to Mecca?” Adam asks. “He said he saw people of every color praying together. Eating together. Living together. He said it changed him. He said it showed him what humanity could be.”
Adam looks around the yard — at Panthers, Mongrels, Diablos, Odin’s Sons, refugees of every background.
“That’s what this place is now,” Adam says. “Sanctuary Six is Mecca tonight. And I do not have time to babysit your asses while you work out your trauma.”
A few Panthers nod. A few Mongrels smirk. Odin’s Sons stand straighter.
Adam turns back to the Panther who attacked.
“You’re running ten miles,” Adam says. “Now. Before bed.”
The Panther’s eyes widen. “Ten—”
“Ten,” Adam repeats. “You burn that fear out of your muscles. You burn it out of your lungs. You burn it out of your head. And tomorrow, you come back here and you pray next to whoever kneels beside you.”
The Panther nods, swallowing hard. “Yes, Commander.” “The rest of you, if you want to be with blacks, take that hill. I am not here to tell you how to think. I am here to tell you how to act. We live together. We fight, we win. Unless we fight each other. I ain’t gonna be a part of that, which is what Koch wants. So if that is your thing, and you are a Kochite, I would keep my fucking Make America Great Again hat hidden the fuck away.”
Adam steps back, raising his voice to the whole yard.
“Everyone spreads out,” he says. “No crowding. No surprises. You see someone praying, you give them space. You see someone approaching, you announce yourself. You keep your hands visible. You keep your voices calm. You keep your humanity intact.”
The yard shifts — refugees spreading out, gangs repositioning, order settling like dust after a storm.
The Panther jogs toward the track, already breathing hard. The refugee kneels again, shaking but safe. Adam walks away, already moving to the next crisis.
Juan watches him, impressed despite himself.
Maya whispers, “That’s why he’s the one who keeps this place alive.”
Juan nods slowly.
The next morning, the gangs meet in the yard — Adam, Jake, Jorge, Theo — with Maya and Juan standing beside them. Juan notices they keep their distance from each other. Some obviously hate each other. He wonders how many times they had fought in the prison walls before this war forced them to work on this. Maya, the spy, had told him she found out all the gang leaders were desperate for people to play scrabble with, arranged a game with them during their monthly meeting. Arranged by the warden to keep the peace years ago. Modified by Maya to use as she was ordered. The soldiers were another story. They all had their own bibles, and some really believed themselves better than others.
Adam was a true Muslim. He kneels in the dirt, drawing lines with a piece of rebar.
“Tanks come straight,” he says. “They rely on height and angle. We take that away.”
Jake nods. “We build hills.”
Juan frowns. “Hills?”
“You are a reporter. Interrupt me again and I will have you escorted out of here. Yes, hills. Artificial rises,” Adam says. “Force the tanks to climb. When they climb, their machine guns angle upward. Too high to hit us. Say whatever, man.”
Jorge grins.
Theo adds, “And when they’re blind, we move.”
The gangs get to work.
He is amazed by how well they work. Maya explains to him they had the had the plans, laid out long before Koch decided to assault the prison. They expected he would use the Guardian path if he decided to make an assault on Sanctuary 6. They were desperate for humans to build their underground fortresses. Evidently sabotage was the norm at their work sites, the people were treated so badly. Not here. Not in Chicago.
They haul dirt from the old baseball field, piling it into mounds. They reinforce the cores with scrap metal and broken concrete. They shape the slopes with shovels, boards, and sheer muscle.
Juan watches the hills rise — ugly, uneven, perfect.
Adam explains: “When the tanks crest these, their guns point at the sky. They can’t hit us. We advance under the blind spot. Fortified positions there, we stay until the next hill, then we advance again... soon enough we are tossing gasoline on those fucking half tracks and lighting them up. They have not seen an infantry charge up the middle... like hell cats.. in fifty years, with drones and ... shit, they will not expect this.”
The Diablos dig the trenches they will position themselves in while machine guns are level enough to fire. The whites are the most stand offish still. Juan realizes his being Cuban descent might have something to do with it, but he can tell his Celeb status counts for a lot with them. He has not tried to win them over. The Night Kings are setting up boards with all of the moves of the battle drawn out like a football game. Follow the moves and win the game. How easy this looked on there. Juan shakes his head as he remembers the battlefield. The smell of blood and shit and viscera.
The area around the prison walls transforms into a trap. Designed to capture the officers, and force a retreat.
Adam draws a square in the dirt.
“Officers ride in half‑tracks. They stay behind the tanks. When the tanks crest the hills, they’ll slow. Officers will move forward to see what’s happening.”
Jake's deep voice is excited, “That’s when we hit them. We light them up, they have to get out... we shoot them. Easy as hell.”
Jorge adds, “Kill the officers, the army retreats.”
Theo nods. “Ellison’s men won’t fight without orders.”
Juan thinks they have no idea what they are about to get into. He looks over at Adam with a rueful look he can't stop. Adam smiles at him for a reason Juan cannot fathom?
Bomb planting begins at dusk.
The gangs carry crates of homemade explosives — repurposed tank shells, chemical charges, pressure plates. They bury them in the field outside the prison, marking the ground with subtle scratches only they understand.
Juan helps carry crates. He feels useful for the first time in months.
Adam gathers everyone in the yard.
“Infantry charges don’t happen anymore,” he says. “That’s why they’ll work.”
Juan stares at him. “You’re serious.”
Adam nods. “We disable the tanks with the bombs. They rise over the hills. Their guns point too high. We rush under the blind spot. We overwhelm the officers. They retreat.”
Jake grins. “They won’t expect men to run at them.”
Jorge laughs. “They’ll shit themselves.”
Theo adds quietly, “We hold the peace. We hold the children. We hold the line.”
Juan looks at them — criminals, soldiers, leaders. He realizes something: They’re ready. They want this fight. They’ve been waiting for it.
At dusk, Maya gathers everyone in the gym.
She turns on the holo screen.
Juan’s broadcast plays first. Everyone watches. Everyone listens. No one speaks.
The holo camera blinks awake. Juan leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sharp, voice steady but carrying the weight of twenty years of war.
“This is Juan Rivera, reporting again from Pilet Prison.”
He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t perform.
He speaks like a man who has run out of time.
“I’m talking to every soldier still alive between here and the front. I’m talking to every civilian hiding in basements, barns, burned‑out houses. I’m talking to every family that ran from Koch’s forces and doesn’t know where to go next.”
He breathes once, slow.
“You are not deserting. You are not abandoning your country. Your country has already been taken. What remains is us — the people who refuse to kneel.”
He gestures toward the unseen yard.
“Pilet Prison is still ten miles inside territory Koch hasn’t taken yet. It’s the last organized refuge between the front and Chicago. We have food. We have shelter. We have defensive positions. And we have leadership.”
His voice tightens.
“We are going to Chicago. We are going to Sanctuary 6. And we are going to get there together.”
He leans closer, eyes burning.
“If you doubt what I’m saying — if you think I’m lying, or exaggerating, or losing my mind — check the Sanctuary 6 files. Every holo I’ve recorded is there. Impro‑stamped. Verified. Unedited.”
He raises a hand, fingers trembling with anger.
“You will see the camps. You will see the chains. You will see the bodies. You will see the underground cities Koch built for celebrities — theaters, spas, gardens — all powered by human beings treated like tools.”
He doesn’t blink.
“You will see the children.”
He lets the silence breathe.
“Koch’s forces are moving north. They will reach this area soon. We intend to meet them. We intend to stop them. And we intend to protect every civilian who makes it here.”
He leans in, whispering — the signature move that makes audiences lean closer.
“You have felt alone and hunted. Because you have been. But if you can hear my voice, you are no longer alone.”
He sits back, shoulders squared.
“Come to Pilet Prison. Bring your weapons. Bring your families. Bring anyone who needs protection. We are gathering here. We are holding here. And we will not surrender.”
A final whisper.
“We will get to Chicago. We will get to Sanctuary 6. And we will stay human.”
He ends the broadcast.
Maya plays the Koch rebuttal right away, this time Kosmic is joined by Plumage, with her Brand yellow hair and live orange bird hair do, approx. five feet three inches over her head. The neon lights, glossy surfaces, a studio audience dressed like they’re attending a fashion apocalypse. The crowd cheers as Kosmic struts onto the stage, tall, red‑haired, wearing a glittering jacket that looks like it was stitched together from broken mirrors.
He spreads his arms wide.
“People, people, people… gather ‘round! Because your favorite conspiracy theorist is back at it again. That’s right — Juan Cry‑Me‑A‑Rivera! You know, the world sucks. I don't need anybody to tell me that. I was born into this mess, too. That is why I became a comedian. I want to make people happy, and by golly that makes my but tingle.”
The audience howls.
"But some people are like, hey, did you notice the climate is fucked?'
Kosmic shakes his head in exaggerated disbelief.
“Juan’s out there telling everyone that Koch — the man who saved America, along with his friend, and our protectors, the Ellisons's— is secretly kidnapping folks to work on their underground cities.. they pay good money, and most of all, you get out of the burnt out hell you people are living in. I grew up inside, so... us nepo's will never have to suffer like Juan, but we offer you help. Come on, man. You are a Celeb. So stop this crying, cry baby.”
The crowd roars.
Kosmic leans toward the camera, whispering loudly.
“Juan, buddy… you need a spa day.”
He wipes fake tears from his eyes.
“And now he’s saying the workers Koch hired — you know, the ones getting high wages and free apartments — are actually slaves. Slaves! My wife is the only person I know who has a slave, and that’s once a week, and I barely cry!”
The audience shrieks with laughter.
Kosmic paces the stage like a preacher selling salvation.
“But wait, folks, it gets better. Juan says Koch is doing… oh, give me a drum roll…”
A cheesy drum roll plays.
Kosmic throws his hands up and screams in a fake terrified voice:
“PEDOPHILIA!”
The crowd explodes — laughing, clapping, stomping their feet.
Kosmic shakes his head, grinning.
“Juan, dude, you gotta chill. We offered you a hospital suite months ago. You could be relaxing right now, eating grapes, watching holo‑sports, getting a foot massage from a robot named Chad. But no — you’re out there telling people Koch is kidnapping kids.”
He points at the camera, wagging a finger.
“Don’t bring kids into it, man. That’s low. Even for you.”
He leans in, smirking.
“So here’s my advice: Cry me a Rivera… and shutta utta uppa.”
The audience erupts — cheering, whistling, clapping — as the camera pans across rows of brightly dressed celebs nodding along, their faces glowing with the smug certainty of people who think they’re untouchable.
The holo cuts out.
Maya shuts off the screen. “They’re trying to make you a joke.”
Juan shrugs. “Let them.”
Adam steps closer. “They’re afraid of you.”
Maya leads Juan to the Holo room. The bleach smell is stronger tonight.
The camera’s red eye blinks awake.
Juan sits. He doesn’t need Xanax. He feels something else — anger, purpose, clarity.
“This is Juan Rivera, reporting again from Pilet Prison.”
He tells the truth again. Sharper. Harder. More human.
He ends with the whisper.
“We’re holding the line.”
Maya watches him. “You’re back.”
Juan doesn’t answer.
The prison settles into a tense quiet.
Refugees sleep in the gym. Gang members sit in their territories, sharpening blades, checking rifles, whispering prayers.
Juan walks the perimeter with Maya. The air feels heavy. The sky feels wrong. The silence feels like a held breath.
“They’ll come at dawn,” Maya says.
Juan nods.
He knows.
"Come take a shower and get some clothes with less... blood and whatever. I'm gonna clean you all up."
"Yeah?"
They end up back at her room; make love. She feels his emptiness as they go through the motions. Cries afterward.
He ends up walking the halls. Looking into the cafeteria, everyone sleeping, mostly children was a calm gorgeous sight; reminds him of a line from Don DeLillo's White Noise about a Cathedral of Sleeping Children. They had both loved that book, laughed aloud as they read the absurdity that took place in a long ago, academic world they would never know.
The next morning, the gangs take their positions. The guards climb the towers. National Guardsman with old artillery hid in the thick black stumps of the burnt forest on either side of the road leading up to Pilet, to distract from the suicidal run up the middle.
The refugees huddle in the gym. The children sleep.Juan stands on the south wall, camera in hand. Adam stands beside him, calm as stone.“Three days of peace,” he says The horizon glows faintly.Dawn. And with it — the enemy.
Chapter 4
They knew when the tanks would arrive in the Dead Zone down to a minute but there was no preparing for war. They thought they were. Juan saw how confident the gangs were and seemed to his confidence seemed inverse. They were pumped up, drugged. Now they were going to learn. Even the strongest, meanest man who ever walked the earth cries out for his mother as he lays on a battlefield holding his guts dying.
The gangs were all in place. The refugees all in the gym. They were as ready as one can be. The gangs were letting Maya and Adam take point. Maya had forced him to take a gun, though he was running his Holo already. Ellison had Koch already saying they were liberating the prison and anyone could come out, that they did not want to fight at all. He would show them different, for what it might matter.
The first bomb is as an expected surprise.
Juan feels the ground tremble beneath his boots.
The gangs are moving silently, their orders already drilled into their heads. The Nighthawks are going up the middle. They are already outside the wall, waiting for the tanks to hit the hills.
Juan runs with Maya toward the yard to see what damage has been done. The shell has hit the far wall, near the gym, scaring the hell out of everyone. The sanctuary for the civilians, with a back exit.
The second shell hits the field outside the prison, sends a geyser of black dirt into the air. The explosion sounding like the sky has split open. Juan hears someone behind him shouting a prayer.
The tanks came up what they'd called the Dead Zone, (named after a Steven King book everyone there had read, the library being limited), a series explosives buried beneath the soil — tank shells, chemical charges, pressure plates — they tremble but hold.
Adam stands outside the south wall, rifle slung over his shoulder, calm as stone.
“Positions!” he shouts. They are about to run into a wall of tanks. Juan is now on top of the wall, the halo blasting the battle out in real time. Too loud to try to narrate. He lets explosions and machine guns and screams tell the tale.
The Valkyries climb the towers, loading rifles and checking scopes. They are shooting at the drones that are swarming around the tanks, and taking them out quick. Juan has never seen such shooting.
The only way they could have learned was gaming. "Damn," Juan says to himself.
The Diablos are spread across the yard, crouched behind welded scrap bunkers, prepared to take on the tanks if they breached the walls, or go out and attack if the tanks were disabled.
Theo’s coalition moves to the gym doors, guarding the civilians. The ones who were warriors had been loaned out to the gangs, mostly. Theo and enough others stayed behind, in case an emergency retreat needed to be tried... though they all knew if it came to that, they were, basically, fucked.
Juan films everything — the hills, the trenches, the shield walls, the gang formations. He was usually surrounded by a platoon of heavily armed soldiers intent on keeping him alive. Now he had four gangs.
The enemy crests the ridge — light brown, armored trucks, tanks, the half‑tracks carrying officers. Dust rises behind them like a storm. All bearing the black and blue and green flag of Ellison, Inc.
The tanks roll forward, heavy and confident.
They hit the bomb field.
The first pressure plate triggers.
A tank erupts, a column of fire shoots up the middle, incinerates those inside, flips the monster sideways like a toy.
The second tank hits a chemical charge, pink goo spews out and over — its treads melt, the metal sagging like wax. The third tank rolls over a buried shell — the explosion tears its undercarriage apart.
The enemy formation stutters.
Juan lowers the camera for a moment, stunned.
Adam raises his hand.
The surviving tanks push forward, climbing the artificial hills the gangs built.
As they rise, their machine guns angle upward — too high to hit the defenders.
Adam nods once.
“Blind spot.”
The Night Kings surge forward, moving under the tanks’ useless guns. The Valkyries continue fire from the towers, now trying to damage the weapons on the half-tracks and tanks enough to drive the humans out. A Night Hawk gets close enough to douse the tank in gasoline from underneath with a Maltov cocktail... he has no time to get out before the tank comes back down over the artificial hill... the first casualty Juan had seen. He looks around the battle field then and see's other Nighthawks, and Diablos, had died in the charge. T
The officers in the half‑tracks panic when the tanks stall on the hills. They accelerate forward to see what’s happening. Exactly as planned. Ellison had to always be worried about deserters.
Adam shouts:
“NOW!”
The National Guard lets loose with old fashioned artillery, doing more damage than any of them would have believed. One of the half-tracks is disabled enough the Diablos can ignite the outside, forcing the officers out. The gangs converge on the half‑tracks from three sides, giving them no quarter.
Jake’s Valkyries slam into the left flank, swinging pipes and firing rifles. Most have gallons of gas, and lard... covering the half tracks with fire. The officers fall quickly — some shot, some dragged out, some stabbed. Juan films one officer trying to crawl away before a Night King kicks him back down.
The half‑tracks burn.
The enemy line collapses.
5
5
(present tense, third‑person)
THE AFTERMATH
Smoke still hangs over the ridge. The tanks still burn. The bodies still lie where they fell.
Inside the prison, the gangs move with quiet efficiency, tending to the wounded. Night Kings carry injured fighters to the infirmary. Valkyries haul crates of medical supplies. Diablos mop blood from the gym floor without being asked.
Juan walks through the chaos, filming everything — the triage stations, the makeshift stretchers, the whispered prayers. He expected disorder. Instead, he sees discipline.
Adam stands over a table covered in notebooks, tally sheets, and ration logs.
Juan stops.
“You keep records?”
Adam doesn’t look up. “We keep everything.”
Jake approaches with a clipboard. “We’ve got food for six days if we stretch it.”
Jorge adds, “Seven if we cut portions.”
Theo flips through a binder. “We can feed everyone, but we’ll need three trucks for transport. Four if we want room for wounded.”
Juan stares at them — the precision, the organization, the calm.
“You know exactly how many trucks you need,” he says.
Adam nods. “We’ve been planning for this since the fires.”
Juan films the table — the neat handwriting, the careful math, the ration charts.
He feels something he can’t name.
Respect? Admiration? Fear?
He doesn’t know.
Maya sees the look on his face and smirks.
“Hard not to respect them,” she says. “But don’t kid yourself — some of them will slit your throat for looking at them wrong.”
Juan looks at her seriously and nods.
She laughs.
“You are too easy. You’re a celeb, a radical. They love you, a lot. Don’t drop the soap.”
Juan snorts despite himself.
THE PREPARATION
The gangs begin loading trucks.
Night Kings handle weapons. Valkyries load food. Diablos pack blankets, water, medical kits. Theo’s coalition organizes the refugees by family groups.
They stay apart — territories intact, grudges intact — but they work together like gears in a machine.
Juan films it all.
Maya walks beside him.
“They may hate each other,” she says, “but they want to live.”
Juan nods.
He feels the truth of it.
THE NEW PROPAGANDA
At noon, the holo screens flicker on.
Kosmic appears — glittering jacket, smug grin, studio audience roaring behind him.
“Breaking news!” he shouts. “Koch’s forces attempted to liberate refugees trapped inside Pilet Prison — refugees who were being eaten by the inmates!”
The gym erupts in shouts.
Kosmic continues, voice dripping with false concern.
“The prisoners have run out of food. They’re starving. They’re desperate. They’re taking refugees for meat. Koch’s men tried to save them, but it was too late.”
He leans toward the camera.
“Do not go to Pilet Prison. Stay away. It is a slaughterhouse.”
The holo cuts out.
Silence follows.
Then panic.
“My sister was coming here!” “They’ll turn back!” “They think we’re monsters!” “They won’t come now!”
Adam whistles — sharp, commanding. Jake slams his fist into a wall. Jorge cracks his knuckles. Theo raises both hands.
The gym falls silent.
Adam steps forward.
“You all saw what happened,” he says. “We fought for you. We protected you. We didn’t eat anyone.”
Jake growls, “Koch is scared. That’s why he’s lying.”
Jorge adds, “They lost. They’re trying to make you run.”
Theo finishes, calm and steady:
“Truth is stronger than fear. Stand with us.”
The refugees breathe. They steady themselves. They rally.
Around the gangs. Around Maya. Around Juan.
Around the truth.
JUAN’S COUNTER‑BROADCAST
Maya grabs Juan’s arm.
“You need to talk to them,” she says. “Now.”
They run to the Holo room. The bleach smell hits him like a slap. The camera’s red eye blinks awake.
Juan sits. He doesn’t hesitate.
“This is Juan Rivera, reporting from Pilet Prison.”
He leans forward.
“Koch is lying to you. His forces attacked us. We defended ourselves. We protected the refugees. We protected the children. We protected each other.”
He breathes once.
“He says we’re eating people. We’re not. He says we’re starving. We’re not. He says he tried to liberate us. He didn’t.”
He gestures toward the unseen yard.
“We won. And because we won, he’s coming back.”
His voice tightens.
“We’re leaving Pilet Prison. We’re heading north. We’re going to Chicago. We’re going to Sanctuary 6.”
He leans closer.
“If you doubt me — check the Sanctuary 6 files. Every holo I’ve recorded is there. Impro‑stamped. Verified. Unedited. You will see the camps. You will see the chains. You will see the underground cities Koch built for celebrities.”
He doesn’t blink.
“You will see the children.”
He ends with the whisper.
“Stay alive. Stay moving. Stay human.”
He shuts the holo off.
THE DESERTERS
That night, deserters arrive — gaunt, starving, terrified.
They stumble into the yard, hands raised, begging for water.
Adam’s men search them, then bring them inside.
One soldier collapses at Juan’s feet.
“They’re starving us,” he whispers. “Ellison’s troops… they’re eating rats. Dogs. People.”
Another soldier sobs.
“Koch keeps slaves. Underground. Children. Women. Men. They make us guard them.”
Juan films their testimonies.
Maya listens, jaw clenched.
Theo murmurs a prayer.
Jake looks ready to kill someone.
Jorge already has his knife out.
Adam says quietly:
“Ellison will be here in five days.”
THE DECISION
Maya gathers everyone in the gym.
“We leave in two days,” she says. “We can’t defend this place again. Not against Ellison.”
Adam nods. Jake nods. Jorge nods. Theo nods.
Juan looks at the refugees — exhausted, terrified, determined.
He looks at the gangs — disciplined, dangerous, united.
He looks at Maya — the spine of the operation.
He feels a stir of hope... laughs at himself under his breath, whispers, "Cynical as ever."
6
Juan films it all, walking slowly, capturing the rhythm of survival.
Then he hears shouting.
Two groups stand facing each other near the north wall — a cluster of white gang members on one side, a group of Black Muslims on the other. The tension is sharp enough to cut.
A white gang member spits on the ground.
“You don’t pray here.”
A Muslim man steps forward, calm but firm.
“We pray five times a day. We pray wherever we stand.”
Another white man snarls, “Not with us. Not next to us.”
The Muslims stand their ground.
Juan lowers the camera. Maya mutters, “Here we go.”
Adam walks toward the conflict, slow and deliberate. Everyone quiets as he approaches.
He looks at the white gang members first.
“What’s the problem?”
One of them gestures angrily. “They’re trying to pray with us. We don’t do that.”
Adam nods once, then turns to the Muslims.
“You’re trying to pray with them?”
The Muslim man shakes his head.
7
CHAPTER SEVEN — THE BROTHER
The caravan moved north through the ruins of southern Illinois, a long, uneven line of vehicles and people stretching across the broken road like a scar. The morning sun was weak, filtered through smoke and haze, but it was enough to make the world look almost gentle.
Almost.
Juan drove the lead vehicle, Maya beside him, Adam standing in the back with a rifle across his chest. The gang fighters walked alongside the trucks, scanning the horizon. Refugees huddled in the beds of pickups, in the backs of vans, on makeshift benches strapped to flatbeds.
Everyone was moving toward Chicago.
Everyone believed Chicago was still standing.
Everyone believed Chicago still mattered.
The Confrontation
They stopped near a collapsed grain silo to rest. The air smelled like dust and old corn. People climbed out of the vehicles, stretching, drinking water, checking supplies. Gang fighters formed a perimeter.
That was when the shouting started.
A white supremacist gang leader — broad‑shouldered, braided beard, sling still on his arm from the prison battle — froze as a man stormed toward him from the crowd.
His brother.
Thin, angry, eyes wild with fear and betrayal.
“You’re working with them?” the brother shouted, pointing at Adam, at the Mexican gang, at the Native coalition. “With them? You’re fighting beside them?”
The gang leader didn’t flinch. “We’re keeping people alive.”
His brother spat on the ground. “You’re a traitor.”
The brother’s wife stood behind him, arms crossed, face twisted with disgust. “You disgust me,” she said. “You’re not a man anymore.”
The gang leader’s jaw tightened. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“No,” the brother said. “You’re doing what they tell you.”
He pointed at Adam again. “You’re following a Black man’s orders.”
Adam didn’t react. He didn’t need to.
The gang leader said quietly, “I’m following the right orders.”
His brother shook his head, trembling with rage. “We’re leaving.”
The wife grabbed his arm. “Come on.”
They walked away from the caravan, heading toward the treeline.
The gang leader didn’t stop them.
He didn’t call after them.
He didn’t defend himself.
He just stood there, breathing hard, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Juan filmed the whole thing.
The Silence
The caravan moved on.
The gang leader walked alone beside the second truck, shoulders stiff, face blank. His men didn’t speak to him. They didn’t know what to say. The other gangs didn’t mock him. They understood too well what it meant to lose family.
Adam walked beside Juan’s truck for a while, watching the gang leader from a distance.
“He did the right thing,” Adam said.
Juan didn’t respond.
Adam looked at him. “You know that, right?”
Juan kept driving.
The Rescue
They found the brother two hours later.
The caravan rounded a bend in the road and saw a burned‑out sedan in the ditch. The brother lay beside it, bleeding from a laser wound in his shoulder. His wife lay a few feet away, her body twisted unnaturally, her clothes burned into her skin.
Koch’s conscripts had passed through recently.
The gang leader ran to his brother, dropping to his knees. “Hey,” he said softly. “Hey. I’m here.”
His brother looked up at him, eyes wide with pain and disbelief. “You came.”
The gang leader nodded. “Of course I came.”
His brother swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t think…”
“I know,” the gang leader said. “It’s okay.”
He lifted his brother carefully, cradling him like a child. He didn’t look at the wife’s body. He didn’t need to. The grief was already in his eyes.
Adam approached quietly. “We’ll bury her.”
The gang leader nodded once, jaw clenched.
Juan filmed the scene — the tenderness, the grief, the forgiveness, the quiet dignity of a man who had been insulted, abandoned, and still chose to save the person who hurt him.
He felt nothing.
But he understood something.
The Burial
They buried the wife under a dead oak tree. The Native coalition dug the grave. The Mexican gang gathered stones. The white supremacist leader placed a hand on the mound of earth when it was done.
No one spoke.
No one needed to.
The brother sat beside the grave, leaning against his sibling, shaking with silent sobs.
The gang leader held him, steady and patient.
Adam stood beside Juan. “Not everyone who suffers becomes corrupted.”
Juan didn’t answer.
Adam looked at him. “You should put that in your broadcast.”
Juan lowered the camera. “Maybe.”
The caravan moved on.
The gang leader walked beside the second truck again, his brother leaning on him, wounded but alive.
The other gangs nodded at him now — not out of pity, but out of respect.
The Native leader said quietly, “He did the right thing.”
The Mexican leader added, “He’s a good man.”
Adam said, “He’s proof.”
Juan asked, “Proof of what?”
Adam looked at him. “Proof that suffering doesn’t have to turn you into a monster.”
Juan didn’t respond.
He didn’t know how.
He kept driving.
The caravan rolled north.
— The Road to Chicago, after the caravan fracture and before Juan’s road speech. JAKES BROTHER TELLS THEM OF A SLAVE CAMP HE WAS WORKING AT. HIS WIFE IS STILL THERE.. THOUGH THEY FIND HER DEAD, A FAILED ESCAPE TRYING TO FOLLOW HER BROTHER. They find out these guys are secretly advance scouts for Koch, which is why they are so well armed. Juan wants to torture them. Jake talks about his time in Military Intelligence, which none of them knew about not even his gang who trust him less, and says torture does not work. He then interrogates the man, has him crying and confessing to his sins in ten minutes, after hiding his tattoos, changing his beard, putting on glasses, and suddenly coming off as an astute detective. They get them to tell them everything, especially, as he planned, one notices a tiny tattoo on his finger saying he is a white supremist, like Koch and Elisberg. Then they go on and on thinking he is one of them, keep saying as a white guy he will understand why they killed the blacks even under the government, and got away with it. Back then the whites were worried about blacks in the USA becoming equal population wise in the states. a stupid non concern made up for propaganda.
The caravan had been moving for hours when the rumors reached them — whispered first by children, then by mothers, then by men who had seen too much.
A camp up ahead. A camp that slaughtered refugees. A camp that sold their meat to other refugees passing through.
Juan didn’t believe it at first. He didn’t want to. Selling meat of refugees to refugees and acting like friendly butchers. A few benzo's and it made sense in the insanity of the asylum he had been born into.
That night he could hear so much laughter during Koch's Kosmo's Celeb Talkie Talkie, even though they were being attacked. They react to the rythm of a joke, the surprise ending, a formula that worked. Like their fiction and movies, all action and fiction with cliche characters. Independent film making had long gone so far underground a filmmaker was lucky if he did not get arrested. No one really tried anymore. An art consumed by the industry of propaganda, like all of them... he remembered Hitler did something like that with art? Trump, or the Pedo, as he was popularly called, tried to emulate his hero and failed badly with something called the Kennedy center. He isn't sure. He used to think history mattered but this was not history repeating itself. This was all new with the climate. End of the world, Desperate attempts to live in luxury holes in the ground. The public managing to get Sanctuary materials, self printing apartments, etcetera, self running robots, all before Ellison launched his coup.
Juan in his ignorance wants to torture them... so does Elias, the devil whispering in his ear.
They capture the men selling meat and hear they are Koch spies ...But the gangs did believe in torture.
Adam, Jake, Jorge, Theo — they all heard the same thing. They all reacted the same way.
They surrounded the group of refugees who brought the story, forming a loose ring around them. Not threatening. Not yet. Just present. Jorge askes, "Which of you were the butchers. They can't hurt you now. Not that we can't tell who is well fed. Slaves over there."
"She's not one of us," a refugee says in a terrified voice as a woman tries to disappear among the tattered and terrified.
Juan steps forward, confused.
“You think they’re Koch?” he asked.
Adam shook his head.
“No. Just local warlords. Koch doesn’t need to do this. He has factories.”
The refugees trembled. One woman clutched her child so tightly the kid whimpered.
“They… they said it was food,” she whispered. “They said it was just meat.”
Jorge says in a pissed voice, "You knew what it was."
"My wife and kids were starving. I traded this arm for food. I think they fucking fed it back to us."
"Fair enough."
One of the slavers starts laughing. "Yeah, we did, asshole."
Juan turned to Adam.
“Keep them tied up.”
Adam looks at him like he’s asked the dumbest question in the world.
“We have no place to keep them.”
Adam takes Juan’s arm — gently, almost kindly — and guides him away from the circle.
“Come on,” Adam said. “You don’t need to see this.”
They walk twenty yards into the brush. The night is quiet.
Then the noises started.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… human.
A muffled cry. A struggle. A choked scream. A wet, strangled sound — a man trying to breathe through a throat that no longer worked.
Juan froze.
Adam didn’t.
He stood still, listening, his face carved from stone.
“They can’t be around my kids,” Adam said softly. “They can’t be around any kids.”
Juan swallowed hard.
Adam continued, voice low, steady, almost gentle:
“You can butcher little kids, you can do anything. Seen it before inside.”
Juan felt something inside him twist — not pity, not horror, but a cold, rising hatred that felt like Elias’s voice inside his skull.
He turned.
Elias was standing behind them, watching the brush, eyes hollow.
He didn’t flinch at the sounds. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.
Juan whispered, “You knew.”
Elias nodded once. “Well, I’ve seen worse.”
Adam let go of Juan’s arm.
The noises stopped.
Silence settled over the road like a scream. Beyond the screams he couldn't help but hear in his mind, the gangs return, calm, quiet, efficient. No matter how many muscles or tat's they were kids who had just killed. He knew how shitty that really felt. Not like Koch's movie, where a thumbs up and the hero forgets the blood on his hands. Juan has had to kill to survive. Most have who travel like he does. Ruby was one hell of a monster when he let her loose on soldiers.
Maya approached Juan, her face unreadable.
“You can’t save everyone,” she said.
Juan didn’t answer for a long beat, then, his anger in the undertones, "You planned this. What is it, team building exercise?"
"Know what I learned? Elias is right. Even about you. A spy now, manipulating everyone around you. Including me. I don't give a damn, mind you. I will help you stop Koch, but stop bullshitting or I will take that bullet that wants to get me the hell out of this fucking world, thank him and fire."
Elias was the part of him that wanted to burn the world down.
Adam was the part of him that knew how. And Maya… Maya was the part of him that wanted to save something, anything, even if it meant sacrificing him.
The caravan moved on.
Juan walked beside Elias.
Neither spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Chapter 8
The convoy rolls to a stop on the ridge overlooking the celebrity shelter.
The place looks peaceful from a distance — white walls, mirrored towers, artificial gardens glowing under fake suns. But everyone in the caravan knows what’s inside.
Slaves. Family. People they recognize from Koch’s broadcasts.
The refugees gather around Juan, begging him to help.
“My sister is in there.” “My cousin.” “My father.” “My daughter.” “They’re in the camps. Please.”
Juan looks at the gangs.
Adam stands with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Jake leans against Ruby, shaking his head. Jorge stares at the shelter with a cold, distant expression. Theo watches the refugees, sympathy in his eyes, but no movement in his body.
The gangs don’t want this.
Not today. Not ever.
THE PREJUDICE
Most of the refugees are white. Most of the gangs are Black.
And the old wounds — the ones the world never healed — flare up instantly.
Jake mutters, “We ain’t dying for people who wouldn’t spit on us last year.”
A white refugee snaps back, “You think we want you here? My brother’s in that camp!”
Jorge steps forward, voice low. “Watch your mouth.”
The refugee backs down — but the tension hangs in the air like smoke.
Adam shakes his head. “We’re not doing this. We’re not getting dragged into their mess. We get to Chicago. That’s it.”
Theo nods. “Let Ellison handle his own people.”
Juan looks at the shelter. "This is where a bunch of Celebs lives. Koch has a wing here where he... you know what he fucking he does." He sees the guards. He sees the drones. He sees the slaves moving in lines like shadows.
He feels something break inside him
The massive shelter below them, nestled in a valley, was Koch’s sanctuary — a sprawling underground complex with a single massive entrance, guarded by armored vehicles and laser turrets. The hillside was carved into terraces, each one lined with solar panels and ventilation shafts.
It looked like a palace built for people who believed they were gods. Golden Calves.
Juan felt something cold and sharp inside him.
Not anger. Not righteousness. Something worse.
Adam stood beside him. “We avoid it.”
Juan didn’t respond.
Jake stood apart from them all, doing push ups. He didn't add anything.
Jorge nodded. “We don’t have the numbers.”
Theo added, “We don’t have the time. I already have a woman to think about, maybe two, soon three.”
Maya stood behind them, arms crossed, eyes hard. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
Juan stepped forward. “We destroy it.
He climbs up on Ruby’s hood with a sniper rifle locked and loaded.
Adam raises his hands and looks huge as he steps forward half yelling,. “Juan. Don’t.”
He sights the rifle and squeezes the trigger. A guard drops — not graphic, just a clean, distant fall.
Jake: “What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?"
Juan fires again. Another guard falls.
The shelter erupts.
Sirens. Shouts. Drones rising. Guards scrambling.
Adam goes into soldier mode, gathering his troops, now armed to the tooth, wearing body armor...
Juan shouts, “They’re going to kill your caravan”
Theo sighs. “Guess we’re doing this.”
Jake spits. “Damn you, Juan.”
Jorge cracks his knuckles. “Let’s go.”
The gangs are surprised to find out Adam had been a quartermaster in the army, and had been gathering guns and body armor all along the route, getting anything he could from deserters who were too damaged to fight again. They suited up hard and ready.
THE BREACH
Adam cuts the fence power. Jake rushes the first guard, knocking him out cold with a round house that seemed to cave his head in. Jorge takes down another with a single punch to the throat, leaving a man choking to death with a crushed larynx. Theo and his group work with deserters who know the shelters to disable the alarm grid with a hack access cards.
Juan films everything — not the violence, but the truth:
· slaves running
·
· guards panicking
·
· celebrities screaming
·
· drones malfunctioning
·
· the artificial suns flickering
·
The gangs push forward, room by luxurious room. Juan had forgotten such places existed. Other celebs never left places like this. They were nepos who never even saw the charcoal ground or the fucked sky with the glimmer of a sun and the occasionally blood red moon. They are vandalizing, more than killing. Anyone who gets in their way they hurt or kill. They are not lingering, or reveling. Juan forced their hand.
But they do damage.
They come to the area Koch lives in, where the perversions were rumored to be... there the double reinforced steel stops them, and they just move on.
They smash the spa systems Plumage loves. They destroy Kosmic’s filming drones. They break the machines that keep the slaves compliant. They shut down the artificial suns. They tear through the infrastructure like a storm.
The shelter goes dark.
THE TURNING POINT
Slaves are grabbing whatever they can, and running out the buildings — confused, terrified, hopeful.
Refugees rush forward to help them.
A white man grabs Jorge’s arm. “My sister — she’s inside — thank you — thank you—”
Jorge pulls away, uncomfortable, but he nods.
Theo helps a child climb over the rubble. Jake guides a group toward an army transport truck with room for a few more. Adam directs the flow of people like a general.
Juan films Plumage screaming at the top of her lungs:
“Do you know who I am?!”
Jake laughs. “Yeah. A problem.”
They load the freed slaves into the convoy trucks, drive away. The shelter burns — not in flames, but in failure.
Lights flicker. Systems collapse. Guards retreat. Celebrities scream for help.
Juan films everything.
That night, .Ellison replied with his pet press. Calling Juan's Holo 'Terrorist propaganda." The gangs and the caravan criminals, proven by their senseless attack on workers at a celeb sanctuary.
“ “Terrorist propaganda.” “You will pay for this.”
Koch broadcasts:
“The gangs kidnapped workers.” “They are cannibals.” “They want to take over Chicago.”
The gangs sit around the fire, exhausted. Listening to the Koch holo go on and on about them, lying all night long.
Adam stares into the flames. “We should’ve kept going.”
Jake mutters, “We’re screwed.”
Jorge says nothing. Theo looks at Juan.
“You forced us,” he says softly. “But you were right.”
Juan doesn’t answer.
He knows what he’s done.
He knows what comes next.
The attack on the celebrity shelter
They breach the compound. They free slaves. They destroy equipment. Juan films everything.
10. Ellisberg’s rage
He calls Juan a terrorist. Koch claims the gangs “hurt celebrities.” Propaganda intensifies.
THE FOLLOWING NEEDS INTEGRATED INTO SAVE THE CAT WITH THE ABOVE PROSE. THE ABOVE PROSE SOME IS MINE, SOME IS AI AND NEEDS WORK, OR TOSSED AND CONSIDERED NOTES....
11. Juan snaps
After freeing the slaves, Juan sees Koch’s broadcasts twisting everything. He sees Chicago beginning to doubt them. He sees Ellisberg preparing to march.
Juan’s misanthropy spikes. He decides humanity will never choose truth.
12. Juan decides to nuke Koch’s compound
The gangs say no. Adam says, “We’re not murderers.” Theo says, “This isn’t justice.” Jake says, “You’ll damn us all.” Jorge says nothing — but stands against Juan.
Juan ignores them.
13. Juan launches the nuke
He destroys Koch’s compound. A massive blast. No graphic detail — just destruction.
14. Propaganda flips instantly
Koch Media (the surviving branch) broadcasts:
· “Juan murdered civilians.”
·
· “Juan is unstable.”
·
· “Juan is a terrorist.”
·
· “The gangs are dangerous.”
·
· “Ellison Security must intervene.”
·
Juan releases the footage of Koch’s crimes — but only with a warning:
“This contains adult material. That’s all you need to know.”
He refuses to show the details. He refuses to exploit victims.
But the world doesn’t care.
They call him a murderer.
⭐ ACT III — ELLISBERG MARCHES ON CHICAGO
15. Arrival in Chicago
The caravan reaches the city. They are welcomed — briefly.
16. Chicago turns
Koch’s propaganda spreads. Ellisberg claims Juan nuked “innocent celebrities.” The elders panic.
17. Ellisberg approaches
His army camps outside Chicago. He demands Juan’s surrender. He demands the gangs be expelled. He demands control of the city.
18. The Council of Six meets
They debate:
· Juan’s attack
·
· Koch’s death
·
· The footage Juan released
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· Ellisberg’s demands
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· Chicago’s safety
·
They decide to negotiate.
⭐ ACT III — NEW ENDING: JUAN’S SACRIFICE
19. Negotiations with the Six
Ellisberg demands Juan be handed over. He demands the gangs be disarmed. He demands Chicago open its gates.
Juan realizes:
· Ellisberg will enslave Chicago
·
· The gangs will be executed
·
· The refugees will be imprisoned
·
· The truth will die
·
He decides to sacrifice himself.
20. Juan prepares the last nuke
He tells the gangs to stay behind. They refuse. He insists.
They finally agree — reluctantly.
21. Juan detonates the final nuke
He destroys Ellisberg’s army. He saves Chicago. He dies.
22. The gangs die with him
They refuse to abandon him. They stand beside him. They die laughing — Theo’s final joke echoing.
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