SHILOH

Shiloh grunts, her right shoulder propped underneath Miles' left armpit, his left arm slung over the back of her neck, and across her left shoulder. She holds tight to his left wrist, fighting to stay upright. Her eyes are ahead, fixed on the metal door which leads back into the Cloister. They are in the interim, waiting for the cleansing process to clear, all the toxic air being pumped out through the vents.

This is the perfect time to betray someone. All you have to do is wait for the person to come back inside, then prevent the inner door from coming open. The room would slowly drain of oxygen. And so would the tanks. Shiloh, along with the rest of the rescue team, would be trapped here, with no way to renew their oxygen supply. They'd be as good as dead once the tanks ran out.

It's strange to think of her surroundings in these terms. Life and death. Cooperation and betrayal. But things have escalated so quickly in such a short time. The world, Shiloh's world, is different now. She'll likely never see things quite the same way again. For most of her life she was in a bubble, protected by the dangers of the outside world by the strong men and women in her life, her father included. Now, she's more or less on the front line, working to keep the danger at bay. Perhaps not in the literal sense, the way that Gavin and the Watch had put their own lives on the line; in some cases, losing them. She was no warrior. No soldier. But she would do what she could.

She had done what she could. And what a shame it was that Gavin hadn't listened. None of them had. They'd clung to his leadership, like a life raft in a storm. And they're going to do it again, Shiloh suspects. It is what they know, after all. Their Modus Operandi. Even though Gavin's decision-making has led them to this. Weak. Incapacitated. Being propped up and carried along, even though it's been several minutes since the emergency masks were administered. Nine injured Watch members. Two black, zipped-up body bags on stretchers. And then there's Gavin himself.

He's the only one who appears to be completely unharmed. Physically, at least. He hasn't said a word since the rescue team arrived. He started to help with one of the stretchers as Riley's bodybag was zipped-up and laid across it, but then he seemed to lose focus. He drifted away from the main group, heading back up the slope, meandering somewhat, looking lost, eyes low to the ground.

Now, as the rescue team waits for the air purification process to complete, Gavin is off to one side, away from everyone else, facing the side-wall at an odd angle.

Shiloh glances over at Liam, who has a near-unconscious Watch member literally hoisted onto his back, carrying him like a toddler. Beads of sweat cling his forehead and the side of his face like mites. He's panting hard from the climb. But he exchanges Shiloh's look with an somber expression of his own. She's known him long enough to know they're both thinking the same thing. For all they know, Gavin may never be the same again. And who will be the military leader, then? Who will take his place? Who will fill the power vacuum that remains?

An interesting problem to have, given how Shiloh normally feels about the man. She's thought about potential upsides of unseating Gavin as a political power before, but it seems she's failed to consider the downsides as well. Perhaps she never considered it as a legitimate possibility.

Easy, Shiloh. One world-ending crisis at a time.

There's a loud clunk from the door, reverberating in the space. Then a hiss. Then a metallic grinding, as the door eases open.

Shiloh watches the creeping progress of the door. She is tired, tense, and anxious. She's arrived at the last lap of this particular task, and will have to move on to new problems as soon as it's done. Though she's exhausted, and her back and shoulders ache, she fends off the temptation to pull ahead of the rest of the group and slip through the opening.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Beyond the door, just inside the hangar bay, a crowd of Cloister denizens are watching, waiting. Wondering.

As the door opens fully, Shiloh pushes forward. As her and rescue team cross the boundary, dozens break off from the crowd to help with the bodies and injured. It's a relief to feel the weight of Miles' body lifted up and away as he's escorted to the infirmary with the others.

Shiloh takes a second to lean back, stretching. She really needs to train more. Perhaps she wasn't the best candidate to head the rescue team, but it wasn't like anyone else had been volunteering. She was the first into the fray.

When she asked for volunteers to go with her, Liam was the first to raise his hand, his face trusting, if a bit grim. He'd already finished moving the electronics over to Mechanical, returning to the cargo bay area once the alarm sounded. His involvement may have helped sway everyone else. Despite the sensor readings and audio recordings of what was going on outside—hell, they could hear the explosions and gunshots from the Cargo Bay, even without the recordings—people seemed hesitant to acknowledge there was actually a problem, and that the Watch might fail. It's a possibility the main populace have not considered before. They don't want to believe it. The Watch are their heroes. Their Samsons, and Hercules', and Achilles'. Now, those same heroes are battered and bruised, being held and carried by the common people, tended to. There's a question, now, which Shiloh can plainly see on the face of every onlooker. If the Heroes have been defeated, what now?

Well, she needs to finally have that meeting with the Board, is what. This needs to be hashed out. She needs to tell them everything. She-

Something slams into her from the back. One second she is standing, stretching, wiping the sweat from her forehead and face with her forearm. The next, the world is being flipped on its side.

Shiloh catches herself on the smooth, concrete floor with her palms, with a sound akin to a slap. Her hands and fingers throb. Her hair dangles past her face and unspools onto the cold floor.

Heavy weight. Pressing in from on top of her. Hot breath in her ear.

"What the fuck did you do."

Shiloh pushes with her arms and hands, like she's trying to do a push-up. The hard point of something—an elbow, maybe—presses into the middle of her back.

"Answer me, you stupid bitch."

It's Gavin, she realizes. And that's when the fear really sets in. The panic.

He was dangerous, before. But now, he is chaos. Un-anchored. Confused about reality, and his own place in it. Unpredictable. Like a wounded animal she's turned her back to.

She rotates, trying to pivot her torso out from under him. The weight shifts, with Gavin's elbow sliding off Shiloh's body, hitting the floor.

She tries to roll. Instead, she finds her way blocked. She's on her back, face-to-face with Gavin, who's pressing down on her.

His expression is flat and placid. His eyes are indecipherable. It's as if something broke in him, out there. Something's gone dark. The drive, the motivation, is gone, but the body is autonomous. It keeps going.

He grabs one of her arms, pinning her.

"You and that Ruster, out there. You're in this together. Miles told me. I know what you were planning to do."

Time stops. The world stops. Gavin has her. And he won't let her pass. No answer she can give will be good enough. Nothing she can say will satisfy him. Nothing will penetrate those dim, unseeing eyes.

But then new pairs of arms appear, looping around Gavin's own arms, grabbing him by the shoulder. Time seems to start back up again as her aggressor is pulled back onto his feet.

One of the pairs of arms belongs to Liam, the other to Seamus. Seamus is yelling something as they pull Gavin back and away from Shiloh.

Shiloh gets back up onto her knees, then her feet, fighting a sudden onset of lightheadedness. There's a ringing in her ears, and the hangar bay swims in her vision.

Gavin writhes and thrashes, trying to extricate himself from Seamus and Liam's grip.

"It's all so convenient, isn't it!?" He yells. Not that he has to yell. The entire hangar has gone silent. Scores of eyes are on him, and on Shiloh. "It's just what you wanted. What you needed to happen. Tell me, are you glad? Is this worth it to you!?"

How do you answer a question like that? And yet, how can you not?

Gavin goes quiet. The people, the entire crowd, look on. To Shiloh. Waiting for a response.

She has to speak. She needs to speak. She needs to be the voice of reason. The person they can turn to.

She opens her mouth to respond. But the words...they won't come.

The question is plain enough. Would Shiloh have orchestrated this, if she could have, even knowing the cost? Were the lives of two people, and the uprooting of so many families from their homes, a favorable exchange? Does the possibility of being able to take the Cloister forward, into the future, rather than being stuck in the past, make it all worth it? The chance of survival? The chance of...saving the world?

She...doesn't know.