POV : FAITH SETTLEMENT

The aftermath of Nadir's coup swept through the Faith Settlement like a sandstorm, stripping away any illusion of peace. The settlement, once united under a common purpose, was now cracking at the seams, leaving its inhabitants lost in a swirl of confusion and fear. The sudden arrival of refugees had already shaken the community, but now, with Nadir’s forceful takeover, the divide widened into an uncrossable chasm.

Nadir's loyalists were the first to assert themselves. They moved through the settlement with a swagger, emboldened by their newfound power. Two men stood near the camp’s fence, looking out at the refugees with hard eyes.

“Finally,” one muttered, his lips curling in disgust, “these refugees won’t keep draining our resources. We fought hard for this place, and they just show up expecting handouts like they own it.”

His companion sneered, the tension in his jaw betraying his deeper frustration. “Right. And some of them? They’re not even converting like they were supposed to. Parasites, the lot of them. Infidels, thinking they can come here and do whatever they want.”

Behind their sneering words was the bitter undercurrent of resentment. They had struggled, fought tooth and nail to survive in this wasteland, and these newcomers, who hadn’t seen the same trials, dared to act as if they belonged.

In the fenced area, a group of refugees was huddled together, their faces pale with disbelief. Doctors, nurses, business executives—people who had once commanded respect in their world—were now reduced to second-class citizens. One of Nadir’s men, his face twisted with the power he now held, stormed over to them and shoved them back toward the enclosure.

“You stay in here,” he snarled, his eyes gleaming with an ugly satisfaction as the men stumbled. “You’ll get food when we say. Not before.”

The refugees stared at him in shock. Their whole lives, they had been treated with deference. Now, stripped of everything familiar, they were treated like cattle. A former security guard, hardened by years on the job, shook his head in disbelief.

“This is some serious Mad Max shit,” he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief and fear. His eyes darted nervously around the camp, trying to gauge if anyone would stand up to this insanity, but no one dared. Not yet.

***

In another part of the settlement, Nadir gathered his inner circle, his face calm, but his eyes burning with intensity. The weight of his actions was clear to him, but there was no hesitation. He had made his choice.

“We need order,” he began, his voice low but steady, “and we need power. Kumar’s methods weren’t cutting it. He was soft, too focused on the ideas of charity and inclusion.”

There was a murmur of agreement, though not all sounded convinced. Some of Kumar’s old followers shifted uneasily, their eyes darting to the ground. They had seen how swiftly Nadir had taken care of Kumar, and they knew that dissent wouldn’t be tolerated. Still, the shadow of doubt lingered.

Nadir paced, his movements sharp and purposeful. “These refugees bring problems. They threaten everything we’ve built. We can’t let it disrupt our mission. They will stay where we tell them, work when we tell them, and eat what we give them. If they don’t like it, they can leave.”

The bluntness of his words sent a chill through the room. It wasn’t just the refugees that were on edge now. Even among his supporters, there was fear—fear that if they misstepped, they could be next.

At the back of the room, Tala, one of the settlement’s oldest members, stepped forward. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raised her voice, her hands trembling slightly.

“Nadir…” she began softly, her voice cracking under the weight of what she was about to say. “The refugees… they’re still people. They didn’t choose to come here. They were portaled in, just like us.”

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Nadir’s eyes snapped to her, and the force of his glare silenced her before she could continue. His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. “Yes, the Prophet preaches charity. But we will do it on our terms, not theirs. These sand-lice-infested refugees will take what we give, nothing more.”

The words stung. Tala felt the wind knocked out of her, her courage retreating as quickly as it had come. She stepped back, her heart heavy with the weight of her silenced protest. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that Nadir would remember their shared past, their faith, and show mercy. But mercy had no place here.

***

Back in the refugee camp, the tension had reached a boiling point. A group of men huddled together, whispers of rebellion on their lips.

“We should revolt,” one man urged, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and hope. “They don’t have that many guards. We could overpower them.”

A doctor looked at the security guard with disbelief etched across his face, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he spoke, “And what are we going to take over this camp with? I’ve got a stethoscope, and you have what? Your gun?”

The security guard shifted uncomfortably, his bravado quickly crumbling under the doctor’s pointed gaze. His eyes flicked to the ground before he mumbled, “Actually, they took that away... I don’t even have it anymore.” His voice was quieter now, almost embarrassed, admitting to his own helplessness in the face of their dire situation.

The nurse who had been quietly listening finally spoke up, her voice strained with worry. “We might have the numbers, but none of us know the wasteland. These people have been here for weeks. They know this world better than we do. What chance do we really have?”

One of the business execs, trying to seize control of the conversation, raised his chin. “I’ve led men before, entire companies. This little camp is nothing compared to that. I can lead us. It’s just a matter of taking the right steps.”

But another refugee, one who had tried to follow the faith despite being cast aside, spat in disgust. “I’m a believer, just like them, and look where it’s gotten me—shut in here with the rest of you.” She spat on the floor.

***

Tension rippled through the camp like wildfire, spreading from one anxious face to another. They were angry, scared, but above all, they were lost—caught between a world they no longer recognized and a future that offered them no solace.

Back in the settlement, Nadir stood on a raised platform, looking down at the people he now ruled with an iron fist. His voice rang out over the crowd, steady and unwavering.

“This is just the beginning. We will be stronger. Our faith will spread throughout the wasteland, and those who stand with us will thrive. The rest will fall.”

The crowd cheered, though the sound was uneven. Some clapped out of loyalty, others out of fear, their eyes casting furtive glances toward Nadir’s guards. For the refugees, watching from their fenced enclosure, it was clear: they were not equals here. Their future, under Nadir’s rule, was filled with uncertainty, and the storm had only just begun.

‘‘‘

POV : BELIEF SETTLEMENT

The Belief Settlement had transformed into a well-oiled machine under Major Cromwell's military rule. What had once been a scattered group of survivors were now a disciplined military base, with tents lined in perfect rows and patrols running like clockwork. Oliver had been instrumental in the transition, guiding the original settlers while Major Cromwell took charge of integrating his soldiers, the previous POW’s and the newer refugees into an organized fighting force. Ranks were assigned, duties delegated, and every corner of the camp buzzed with the kind of energy that came from order and purpose.

Hope flickered in the hearts of the settlers, a sharp contrast to the unorganized mess of the past weeks. But what truly lifted spirits was the moment Major Cromwell spotted something in the sky that made his usually stern face crack with satisfaction.

“There it is,” Major Cromwell said, his voice sharp and controlled as ever. His eyes glinted as he pointed toward the horizon. Oliver turned to follow his gaze, just in time to see three brilliant blue flares burst against the dawn.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

"Finally," Cromwell muttered under his breath, his fists clenching behind his back. "Another settlement near us has been secured." His eyes tracked the flare's trajectory, calculating the distance. Fifty kilometers. Two days, perhaps less if they pushed hard. He nodded to himself, already formulating a plan.

Without taking his eyes off the sky, Cromwell spoke, his tone clipped and authoritative. "Oliver, we’ll proceed with the operational plans. Get your men ready to move. We leave by noon. I expect full readiness and supply checks within the hour. No mistakes, no deviations."

Oliver nodded, already moving to relay the orders. “Understood, Major. We’ll be prepared.”

Major Cromwell’s gaze returned to the horizon, his chest swelling with the sense of order he had craved since this woke thing had began. Finally, the wasteland was falling into place—his place. His orders from Earth could now be completed.

"Time to link up," Cromwell said, more to himself than to anyone else. "And bring this wasteland under control."