Ready, in this case, meant going over her apartment with a fine-toothed comb. Because as much as her cohort had a reason to worry about the Light? The ever-present fear that one of the locals was spying on them was a far more pressing concern. If they were lucky, it'd just be one of the alphabet agencies conducting a routine search; the U.S. government tended to be pretty hands off and often preferred to monitor any security threats they happened to stumble across. Meanwhile, the crackpots who realized they'd discovered an actual alien invasion were much more inclined to get their gun. Since one of these groups was easier to live with than the other, it led to an odd list of precautions.

For example? Photograph everything. The easiest way to see if someone had rummaged through her apartment was to know how everything had been laid out. This sort of defense was rarely good enough to catch a professional investigator; however, if Sarah was merely dealing with a couple of local hoodlums, then it could still prove fairly effective. Amanda Tada had proven that conclusively after she'd discovered two intruders within a three-year period. Sure, one of them had only been her building manager, trying to steal her laptop, but it's not like she'd have been any less screwed if he'd noticed anything amiss.

Personally, Sarah was determined to be thorough. She made sure to document her shelves, her cabinets and even the drag lines on her rug before she closed the apartment door behind her. If anyone had a suspicion that she wasn't Sarah Fields, then the blonde wanted to know about it. So far, no one had ever accused her of anything nefarious. She intended to keep it that way.

"Fucking voyeurs. This had better be worth it, Simon."

The curly-haired artist didn't answer. He was too far away for their internal relays to pass the message along. As it was, she'd have to pick up the phone or meet with him in person if she wanted to voice her concerns. After breathing out the tension that was writhing between her ribs, she resolved to do the latter, once their chat with Kennedy wound down.

At least, the drive to the meeting proved uneventful. The governor of Massachusetts had issued a curfew, following the Light of the World's arrival; however, the deadline wasn't for another few hours, and Sarah had her doubts whether anyone would heed it. The current administration had simply taken too harsh a beating for most people to be willing to comply. Between all of the fear mongering and misinformation that had cropped up during Covid, institutional confidence was at an all-time low. The lack of a massive death toll didn't help matters. Later on, once the integration was fully underway, the public's attitude might shift, but for now most people were content to bury their head in the sand until this entire nightmare had passed.

Sarah envied them and their delusions. It'd be nice if she could be so comfortably blasé. Instead, she found herself skulking through Cutler Park, so she could make contact with a dozen saboteurs in what was essentially a concrete bunker.

"Fields," one of the agents in question greeted her after she'd stepped off the winding trail. Leaning against a plastic garbage can while he slowly caught his breath, O'neal Rogers didn't look like much at first blush. Your impression also didn't really change after you took a second glance. He was too small, and too frail, to inspire significant fear or concern. Sarah knew a couple of women who'd take exception to his dour bearing; however, one look at his lame shoulder would force them to write him off as a threat. And their dismissal would be fair: Rogers wasn't the type to go around winning many fist fights. Once, before he'd fallen from the Catskill Mountains, he might have been more of a contender; these days, though, it'd take a king's ransom in Merit just for him to lose the limp.

...Merit like he'd receive from killing turncoats and traitors. "Rogers," Sarah muttered while she eyed his long, metal cane. "You seem upset. Care to explain?"

The parasite remained silent for a moment and then reached up to touch his face. He must not have realized what expression he was making because he had to visibly force himself to drop his sour grimace. "I suppose it's just the times," he explained, his fingers slipping free from his chin. "Meeting like this sits poorly with me. A single lapse could put us all at risk. Getting caught in the act..." He shook his head. "That would be one thing. It's another to be discovered before we've even begun."

Sarah refused to flinch at the reminder of their upcoming activities. "You're that eager to get started?"

Rogers shrugged, the motion complicated by his weak left side. "I'll admit, the pain's been getting to me. I'm not like Hayes - I can't throw my life away every time it gets too hard. Some of us value what we've built."

'But not so much that you're unwilling to risk it.' The criticism was sitting on the tip of her tongue for all that Sarah kept the scorn trapped behind her teeth. Unlike Rogers, she still had the option of selecting a new host; the parasite standing across from her wasn't quite so lucky. Not after his flesh had healed around his host's broken spine. Now, his choices were to either molt or die, and the second wasn't really an option.

Sarah turned her gaze away from his acrimonious scowl. She focused on the pavilion sinking into the earth behind him. "What about Dillinger?" she asked. "Does 'Little Miss Fuck-it-all' feel the same way?"

Rogers scoffed. "I can't say I know Samantha's opinion on the matter. It's not like the two of us formed a club when we learned the other had gotten hurt."

Sarah ignored the reflexive stab of embarrassment, which rushed towards her cheeks. "You don't talk?"

"I'm not sure she talks to anyone. Since that's what we're supposed to be doing, I can't say I disapprove."

Sarah couldn't hide the wince his admonishment elicited. She knew the redhead was right, but she'd never been able to follow through with his prescribed resolution. For all the discomfort her peers had caused, it was easier to be miserable together than marginally less wretched alone. Heck, it was the reason why she and Amanda had gotten along so well until the two of them had finally broken up. "I think I'm going to risk it," she told him, unwilling to argue the point. "Are you going to be okay out here? All by yourself?"

The parasite waved her away. "I'll stagger along after I catch my breath. Tell Marcus I said hello."

Sarah didn't think she'd see him inside but nodded, anyway. Then, after taking a telling step into the grass, Sarah swung around Rogers and entered the rundown building.

The hallway was dark. Claustrophobic. Ostensibly, the pavilion had been erected to keep picknickers dry from the rain; however, it was hard to imagine a less inviting refuge when the walls were bare concrete. Even the homeless tended to give this place a wide berth; there was a much nicer shelter downtown, and those bunks had in-door plumbing. Unless someone truly curious stopped by, there was no good reason for their meeting to be interrupted.

Naturally, this meant Sarah was inundated with suspicion before she could cross the threshold. "Knock it off!" she snarled at the cacophonous trill from her companions. "You lot know it's me!"

The sub-vocal clamor died down. "Sorry," Kennedy apologized on the rest of the room's behalf. "Some people thought it would be wise to get back into the habit."

"But not you?" Sarah asked him irritably.

The stocky, blonde warspawn shook his head. "I think there are better ways for us to begin. Besides, you're not the only one who's particular about using the relays."

Nikki Pesh came to mind. Melinda Pullberry too. There were a few others who'd prefer to keep quiet when using the internal channels; however, Pullberry was the only one who categorically refused to get involved. Apparently, she was worried about the transmissions being intercepted by an outside party. Whether that was reasonable or not, Sarah couldn't say. Her paranoia suited the blonde's prerogatives, though, so she was willing to play along with the excuse.

A wordless grunt left her lips as Sarah approached the wide, plastic table. Like most of their meetings, it was currently setup in the center of the floor, where it wouldn't disturb the noxious mold overlaying the pink graffiti. Behind her, near the southern corner, there were a couple of extra chairs stacked beneath a ragged corkboard. No one really thought they'd need them, though, so they'd been left to rot while a dozen more were strewn about in wait.

Sarah decided to take the open seat next to Rachel Hayes. The strung-out parasite shot her a hostile glare, when she saw where Sarah was headed, but her glower proved less than effective. "Who else are we waiting on?" Hayes spat after turning away with a scowl. "I've got things I need to get back to if I'm going to pay my rent."

Kennedy lifted his hand in a silent plea for patience. The request went largely unheeded by the other occupants of the room. "We're just waiting on the kids," he informed her at a far more reasonable volume. "Some of our younger cousins had to walk."

"Why?" Amanda asked him with an edge of growing suspicion. "Were they discovered?"

It was a fair question from the petite infiltrator. As two of the Sea's newest arrivals, Nickolas Townsend and Barkley 'No-last-name' were a lot less careful than those who'd been on Earth for several years. William Mannly was a bit better about it, since he'd really lucked out on his host; however, even he was willing to take risks that would've caused his older peers to balk.

Kennedy just grimaced and fought the urge to hide his face. "...Jason?" Amanda hissed before bracing herself against the table. "What happened?"

Kennedy refused to answer. Dillinger spoke up in his stead. "Townsend off-ed his fucking parents the other night. Mannly told me the stupid cunt shot them, using the gun they kept in their closet. Apparently, he was trying to kick things off early to 'earn a little Merit.' Personally, I think he just caved into peer pressure: Barkley's been eager enough to run his mouth whenever he thinks they're alone."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Amanda covered her lips, torn between horror and disgust. "That's not how it works! That's not how any of this works! The Sea isn't going to reward him just because he went on a killing spree!"

Dillinger shrugged prosaically. "Do I look like I share his opinion? He's the one who said it; argue with him if you're that eager to waste your time."

"Blythe," Sarah called out, causing the sullen teen to briefly flinch. "Did you know about this?"

Fiona shook her head. As one of the younger members of their fractious cabal, she was closer to Townsend's generation than Sarah's, which left her guilty by association, even if she was telling the truth.

Simon groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Damn it all. At least, tell me the little shit's going to put in an appearance."

"Would you?" Pullberry countered sarcastically, her foot jittering beneath the table. The parasite noticed the atonal rapping and planted her heel against the floor. "The question is: what are we going to do about it?"

"It's his business," Dillinger argued with a degree of heartless zeal. "I say we keep it that way until his problems become our own. Have they?" Her ponytail bobbed up and down as she glanced between her peers. When no one chose to speak up, she nodded decisively. "Then, I say we sit on it. If it becomes an issue, we can always cut our losses."

"So, you're saying we should shoot him," Simon drawled. "Not right away, but... eventually."

Dillinger sneered at his mocking reply. "Is that supposed to be an objection?"

"No, no," Simon hastened to reassure her. "I just want to make things clear."

"No one's shooting anybody," Kennedy cut in, his soft tones doing more to arrest their argument than the spite of the two's repartee. "At the very least, we should give Nickolas the chance to tell us his side of the story. The kid has a right to defend himself."

"Does he?" Dillinger asked archly, but the question was rhetorical at best; she didn't expect an answer.

Kennedy gave her one, anyway. "He does. I know the folks back home are fond of wanton callousness, but there's no reason we have to put up with it, now that we're out from under their thumb. While we're here on Earth, we have an opportunity to make our own choices - to live a life guided by our own principles. I'm not sure about you, but I know I'd appreciate a little more sympathy than the nobility were inclined to grant us."

He glanced around the plastic table. "I was hoping to save this conversation for when we had all settled in. Events are going to start moving pretty quickly, and the last few years have already been too damned fast. You all deserve a chance to contemplate what I'm about to say with a clear head; especially, if you haven't been on Earth for more than a couple of years. I know Hayes and I have had our issues, but even we can agree that the situation you're about to face is tragic. You shouldn't have to make a decision in a fraction of the time we've been allotted. Nevertheless, it needs to be said."

"Are we going to war?" Kennedy asked them with an air of grim disbelief. "For a kingdom that has never had our back? For a species that has only ever offered us a serial number and a chance at a hole in the ground? Because I've gotta say, I'm of a mind to tell them, 'Hell no.'"

For a moment, Sarah's stomach rolled as Kennedy actually said it. He didn't prevaricate - he didn't dance around the issue - he seriously posed the question to a room full of people, who should've killed him for voicing the notion. It was madness. Insane. Sarah agreed with his argument, and even she was thinking about where to hide his body. Kennedy could do a lot of damage if he didn't like their response.

The blonde glanced down at her shaking hands and the flecks of green acrylic coating her half-bitten nails. All it would take was one word to the right doctor for Kennedy to start another witch hunt. The second they took him in for an x-ray, his real body would be revealed, clear as day. If he was feeling ambitious, he could even direct the outrage by throwing around a few accusations.

That wasn't the worst part, though. The one which really rattled her was the Offal Sea would let him get away with it. All of this obfuscation had only ever been for their benefit - to ensure the first four Waves might somehow survive their insertion. If they were forced to work in the open, Earth's paranoia would serve just as well. After all, it's not like the nobility had tried to save the Moscow cell, when the KGB had begun to root them out. Her superiors hadn't even plugged the leak. Once the spooks were done playing their fucked-up game, the aliens had simply written off the dead and sent the Second Wave to take their place. More meat for the grinder.

Sarah shivered as Dillinger cleared her throat. "And then?" the latter asked him, her neck tense and her lips pressed together in disgust. "After we've managed to piss off our only allies? What's our next move? Do we ask the locals for asylum? Should we try to jump ship once one of the Dominionists charts a course off-planet?"

"If we have to," Kennedy said, his hands spread beseechingly. "I'm not saying this is the best solution. I'm not even going to pretend to have the answers to all of your questions. I just think it's stupid to put ourselves in a position where most of us are liable to get shot. Hasn't that always been our MO? To keep our heads down while we wait things out?"

Amanda nodded, her shoulders canted forward. Simon also seemed convinced, but the consensus didn't travel much farther than them. Dillinger, for instance, was content to remain silent and Pullberry was visibly pissed. As for Blythe, the young teen was glancing between the two camps, uncertain where she should land.

Hayes was her typical, cantankerous self. "There's a difference between inaction and desertion," she insisted, her matted hair framing her face. "Dillinger's right, you're setting us up for failure."

"...But we've had that conversation," she continued, reluctantly chewing on her tongue. "And truth be told, I can't say I give a shit about being on the losing team. I'm used to that. I've grown familiar with fumbling around while struggling to make ends meet. No, my question is much more pointed, and we both know it's what you're really arguing for without over-complicating the issue. Do you want me to spit it out, or should I just put you on the spot?"

Kennedy looked like every one of his forty odd years had decided to kick him in the nuts. "If you think it's important, then don't hold back."

"Fine. I guess I'll clarify for everyone who's been too busy jerking it to pay attention. Jason, why the hell are you trying to convince us to take a stand with the humans? Because of your kids?" Hayes scoffed. "Fuck your kids. Your daughter hates you, and your son barely knows you. You've been lying to them since the day they were born, and even your wife is oblivious, despite hardly being a package deal. At least, Tada had the balls to tell her girlfriend before she decided to cut them off. Rather than giving us this day-camp, kumbaya bullshit, why don't you grow a pair and own up to what this is really about. You just don't want to let your family down one last fucking time."

Kennedy's shoulders slumped the longer Hayes spoke. He was tired - too tired, perhaps, to respond to her accusations properly. What's more, he seemed disinclined to waste his energy by retreading old ground. "Are you done?" he asked her, once she had settled back into her chair.

Hayes didn't get a chance to respond. Instead, there was a faint squeak as the pavilion's door was suddenly flung towards the wall. Rogers walked in. Mannly and Townsend followed behind him, disappointed by the lack of a bang. Barkley tried to bring up the rear, but he lost control of his host's instincts at the last second. The heavy Doberman bound around the room, excited by all the strange smells. His barks were particularly grating after Hayes' caustic rebuttal. Mannly's smirk hardly helped matters as he claimed his usual seat.

"I feel like we're interrupting," he confessed while Rogers pushed his chair in. "Please, continue." Mannly folded his hands into a delicate bridge and pasted an angelic guise across his pudgy face.

Dillinger rolled her eyes, refusing to take the bait. "How long have you been listening at the door?"

"I think we arrived halfway through Kenney's ode to treason." The youth glanced at Townsend, who offered a nod in return. "So yes, you can consider us largely caught up."

"And your thoughts?" Kennedy muttered, despite knowing where the four of them stood. "I won't recant what I've said. If you have a point, then raise it. If you have concerns, then you should feel comfortable letting us know. This isn't a democracy, but it's close enough: consider the floor yours."

Mannly raised an eyebrow and peered at the moldy concrete. His posh expression had a bit of a dry twist. "That's alright, it suits you more. If I might poke a hole in your argument, though?" Kennedy motioned for him to continue. "Isn't this all a bit moot? Whether or not we protest our orders, there are others who get to have their say. For example, what happens if our peers remain unconvinced by this grand declaration of neutrality?"

Kennedy frowned. "I'd like to think we know each other well enough to have moved beyond issues of mistrust."

Mannly allowed his lips to quirk with sardonic amusement. "I was referring to our compatriots in Hartford, but if you want to focus on the home front then I can assure you that we've very much not. Isn't that right, Ms. Fields?"

Sarah tried to keep her opinion to herself.

"Have you considered it?" he asked her, his eyes narrowed in thought. "What it will mean if there's a permanent division in our ranks? I imagine you must have. You've always struck me as the begrudging type and paranoid to boot."

"Lay off," Amanda ordered, nearly rattling the beams with her voice. "Let's not make this personal."

"It's already personal," Mannly countered before eyeing Kennedy and Hayes. "And like our would-be leader admitted earlier, it needs to be said. There's a reason why Marcus has always kept us at arm's length. As much as our circle has tried to foster a sense of community, kinship doesn't come easily to us. Not by nature and not by design. We're traitors. Betrayers. Saboteurs and spies. It's practically in our name. I won't deny that there's poetry in turning our skills against our oppressors; however, there's no guarantee that our comrades won't turn their cloaks twice. I'd like a bit of reassurance."

Kennedy's face was blank. "Did you have something in mind?"

Mannly spread his hands in a perversion of his colleague's earnestness. "No, and that's quite the predicament. Do you?" When Kennedy didn't answer, the curly-haired youth let the pretense slip off his countenance like a coat. "Then, I'm afraid I'm just not interested in postponing the coming slaughter."

"Same," Townsend grunted, his body obscured by the table's lip.

Amanda growled. "You can shut the fuck up. We've already heard what you've been up to, and any opinion with your vote behind it strikes me as immediately suspect."

Rogers was more charitable. "I think we can weigh the merits of Mannly's objection without being biased by Townsend's judgement. I certainly have my own feelings on the matter, and they have very little to do with either suspicion or mistrust." The lame redhead turned towards their eldest member. "I'm sorry, Jason - but I cannot assent to this scheme. There's no coda where it ends well for me."

Kennedy accepted the news with quiet dignity. "I understand. I never really thought I'd be able to convince you otherwise. Not after the accident. Can we at least agree to stay out of each other's way? A gentleman's agreement shouldn't put you out of sorts."

Rogers didn't need to think about the offer for very long. "That seems fair. I'm certainly not inclined to pick more of a fight than I have to."

"Then maybe that's your answer," Kennedy told Mannly. "Are you willing to agree to the same?"

Mannly's teeth were on display, though it was hard to call his expression a smile. "Sure, what are friends for."

"Right," the blond grunted skeptically. "Then, I suppose we should put it to a vote? Who here thinks we should turn our backs on the war? I'll leave siding with the humans off the table, even if that's what Hayes thinks this will all come down to."

Five hands went up, Sarah's reluctantly among them. "Opposed?" Townsend's refusal was obvious and Mannly raised his own arm with a lazy disregard. Barkley also raised his paw, once he'd managed to compel his host. Rogers thought about joining the protest but kept his hands in his lap. "I'll assume the rest of you abstain."

Kennedy glanced around the room. "Five to three isn't a majority, so I'm not going to push for anything more at the moment. There are elements we could discuss - plans, logistics and the like - but I think you'll understand if I don't want to get into the details while a couple of our comrades are in the room. How about we agree to take a break for now and meet again in a week or so? I'll get in touch with everyone privately and by then things might have changed enough that some of you feel a bit differently."

Hayes snorted at his optimism. "Sure, Jason. In the meantime, I'll keep wishing with my left hand: you can feel free to shit in the right."