High-rise was a building that defied expectations on almost every front. Especially when pretaining to the notion that it was, evidently, one of the most populated places in all of Providence. What Mandy had been expecting when first it was explained to her what the settlement was, the picture that had developed in her mind had been—admittedly, skewed by old-world concepts. A tall building, maybe a skyscraper, with floors pushing the triple digits! Perhaps it was an old apartment building that had been retrofitted to defend against the undead. Or, an office space that had similarly been proofed from the ghouls. A place that was too high to really suffer from zombies attacking the upper floors, with narrow passages easily defended and an abundance of barricades acting as an independent fortress from which, the undead simply couldn't penetrate. Yet, what she got was something—moderately similar but decidedly not in line with her imagination.

High-rise was a somewhat squat tower that could merely be named as such due to the abundance of absent buildings of a similar nature around it. And, prior to the world collapsing, it had even been under early-stage construction. Each floor leading up to the roof which was open and bare to the sky, temporary guide ropes and safety barriers, all still visible and still acting as their intended purpose was envisioned. An entire community of bustling commerce, hanging gardens, drapes and tarps to protect against the wind and all manner of other accompanying accoutrements which turned the bulky and square building into a sort of vibrant bazaar! Heck! Mandy was able to hear the shouts and laughter on the breeze, even as they approached! To her eye, the exterior looked like some strange hippie commune… tie-dye, an abundance of plants, people living without fear of the undead breaking through some arbitrary nook in a chainlink fence… It was—spirited… enthusiastic… Filled with life and joy in a way that was—well, very rare to really encounter…

“Wow… you all certainly seem—happy…” She muttered, their small group all walking through the approaching streets that were absent of any ghouls once they’d moved through a sort of fortified township limit. There were still armed guards that were patrolling the area, most wielding makeshift spears with tough material or quilts wrapped around arms and legs. But, even here, people looked to have taken over the various small houses and plots of land for farming purposes or more shops…

“That’s what fresh food, fresh water and security can do for people.” Isabella offered, smiling faintly as Mandy’s head seemed affixed to a swivel, constantly looking back and forth without a moment's rest…

“We’ve got hydroelectric generators that pump up fresh water, sterilize it, then push out the waste down-river that keeps all the lights on and everyone, modestly smelling fresh.” King Peter explained, giving up trying to fly and simply stomping about in his heavy suit. “All Brainiac tech, of course. We’ve got quite a few scientists constantly working to improve life for everyone! And everyone has a function! From farming to fishing and cooking, cleaning, guard duty, maintenance…”

“Pretty far from the rather bleak outlook that Big Burt gave me, you're majesty.”

“Peter’s not a king.” Isabella chuckled, her voice filling with rye amusement. “And besides, Burtrom and his people just like to bundle us in with the likes of Issac Cruz and Archibald Strom, both of which do call themselves kings by-the-by.

“While I, am hardly much of anything around here these days…” The not king proclaimed, letting out a weary sigh that was as much appreciative as it was tinted with melancholy…

“People around here just call him governor because he’s the one everyone always looks up to. He’s on the council that truly runs the place these days, but he abdicated his authority when it formed.”

“So, you're a king who was the last of his line! A figurehead like the old queen of England!”

“Never was a king!” Peter countered, not seeming to engage with her further.

“That’s just the bias of the eastern settlements,” Will murmured, his deep and baritone voice coming off somewhere between aloof and the laid-back demeanour of someone who really didn't have to be scared of much in life. “They hate us 'cause they ain't us.”

“They hate us because Kirk Mason hasn't forgiven Peter for abandoning his little cartel across the river and taking most of their geniuses with him.”

“I'm pretty sure they said that they were a free coalition of trading communities.”

“But they didn't invite you inside that community, did they?” Peter chuckled, continuing when Amanda merely nodded at him. “They're not as bad as Cruz’s raiders or Strom’s—fascist bullshit he’s got going on, but the free settlements of East Providence do have a man who united them all by force, and that man is my cousin, Kirk Mason. He’s not a bad person, per se, but he certainly has something of a vision for his utopia that doesn't handle questions very well.”

“They wouldn't draw and quarter you for rasing you're hand and expressing concerns towards the grand plan, but they will drive you out of their front gates, leave you stranded, and wish you the best of luck.”

“That, and for a free settlement, nobody’s really free to do all that much…” Will grumbled aloud, kicking a pebble with surprising dexterity and sending the thing flying in a ponderous arch over all their heads. “I was part of their group for a while… and all I can say is that it's like a bloody homeowners association over there… Everything, and I mean everything, needs to be approved by the local government else they tear it down on you. And, sure, everyone is taken care of pretty well, but it's fairly socialist, leaning on the side of communism and not the good kind. On the one hand, you've got people who make all the decisions while telling everyone they're the best ones for the job of doing it, and on the other, you've got their enforcers that are making sure everyone is happy with their lives.”

“The biggest issue actually comes down to their way of handling their providers!” Peter added, picking up where Will left off. “It's why William here, along with many others, all tend to leave the settlements at one point or another. Supers, brainiacs, talented tradespeople. Only those at the very top are well taken care of, while everyone else just gets the same regardless of how hard they work. Their starving over there because most people have no idea what they're doing and have just been accepting the free meals on the backs of those that toil to get them.”

“Highrise isn't perfect either,” William shrugged, not sounding apologetic in the least for naysaying his home in front of one of its leaders, “but it definitely beats the hell out of spending all day fighting off ghouls and scavenging for food, only for everything you bring back to be taken away so it can be divided up and shared with everyone. Even all those people who haven't lifted so much as a finger towards hard work in an entire week… When the settlement I was in decided that the runners who were heading out to go find supplies wouldn't be allowed to keep anything they found anymore, like at all, that was when I pretty much jumped ship and got headhunted by someone here. The problem with those morons across the river is that they just keep losing the people doing all the work. So, those in charge are bitter towards anyone and everyone who isn't them. Last I heard, they were so hard up for scavenging teams actually willing to go out into the city that they were just giving up on Providence altogether, packaging up into some super caravan to head off for supposed greener pastures.” The large man snickered at that, Mandy watching him from the side of her gaze as he offered some genuine insight to the city's situation that she hadn't really expected.

Evidently, William, despite looking like a swilled-up gym-bro with huge shoulders, though still not nearly the size of Burtrom, was quite the introspective thinker, sharp-minded and intelligent in a way that could be often overlooked given his appearance. It was, perhaps, just society's fault that Mandy always associated the skinny and bespectacled individuals as smart, while anyone who could curl four plates a side was—at best, someone who thought the apex of enlightening conversation was, the best flavour of light beer. Not fair, but as she said, she blamed society for making her follow stereotypes.

“They still boast the largest population, by far.” Isabella intoned, voice almost annoyed at the prospect. “However, with all the competent people they’ve been losing recently as pressure mounts, they are nowhere near as dominant a force in the city as they were. To hear they're actually leaving is as much a shock as it is wonderful news, as they pretty much block all feasible access to many nearby towns we could expand our searches into! New Bedford, Fall River, Taunton…”

“Newport and the islands.” Peter added with a nod. “thus far, they keep everyone in providence away from those locals, hogging them to themselves, which is how they’ve managed to stay afloat for so long. But now, it's all beginning to crumble. A result, it seems, directly linked to rather poor leadership…”

“So, these—other two factions… are they as bad as they made them out to be?”

“Ehhhh…” Will chuckled, wiggling his hand in a clear gesture. “Strom’s people ain't so terrible when you meet them in the field. Belligerent, sure, but they’re not dumb and don't like to start fights, much as they try and throw around their weight. Mostly, they're focused on expanding through North Providence and sending out caravans to the surrounding area, bringing back people to join their voluntary workforce.”

“So—slaves…”

“I mean, they say they're going to release everyone and make them citizens of the New Providence Republic when their workers are no longer needed buuuut…”

“They're slaves.” Isabella nodded without hesitation. “Still, Strom's people make Cruz’s look almost civilized. If you could call the former a neo-roman cult that has already started worshiping more modern variants on what is essentially the Hellenic pantheon, their soldiers all calling themselves legionnaires, then the latter would be what happens when a bunch of meth-heads get together without supervision. It's just complete anarchy. No reasoning, no purpose beyond people simply doing as they please. And yet, it works for them because their king is sitting on a National Guard supply depot. They’ve got old-world goodies enough to last a lifetime with their current numbers and really only go out into the city while looking for drugs.”

“Makes dealing with them a crapshoot as, unless they actually have what they’re willing to trade with them, they're more liable to just try and take what they're after then piss off like a bunch of giggling school girls…”

“Great stuff when they actually follow through on things, but, for the most part, they all just fight each other in a thunder-dome-like deal while their king dispenses from his hoard of supplies as he deems fit.”

“So, why call them raiders?” Mandy asked, not really seeing the connection yet.

“Because, they're the only ones that don't respect anyone's boundaries—more than the usual degree of pushing things. They willingly go wherever they please and take whatever they can from anyone they cross paths with. The losers of their arena fights don't tend to be granted food or water, so eventually, they get desperate and set up blockades and traps throughout the city. They are dangerous and conniving. Usually very good fighters for obvious reasons and, more often than not, desperate, which, of course, makes them ruthless and, at times, unpredictable.”

“We’ve got teams dedicated to doing nothing but spotting their traps and hunting them down, but… there’s a lot of people in Issac’s camp who have fully embraced the mad-max style of living… And,” Peter continued, sighing as their group got to a large and heavily fortified gate at the base of the tower, “Issac pays his people to bring back prisoners to fight in his arena. Which makes his people motivated to do as Strom’s do—however, one is a decidedly more—brutal fate than the other…”

Mandy nodded at that, sensing the topic fall away as the rifleman at the gate called for the scrapyard amalgamation to be opened from the inside. There was a sound like a portcullis’s chain being pulled, and then, the large doors opened, revealing the interior of what would have one day been a very large parking lot that was filled to the brim with a shanty-like city of population that was, surprisingly, well thought out and neatly planned. Rows upon rows of buildings were sequestered into uniform areas while workshops and small industries were quite visible from a differing end of the thriving settlement. Large laneways big enough for vehicles and carts were reserved at the center of the divided sections, the area filled with so many multitudes of people that Mandy honestly had to blink. It was more than just people surviving here. There were clean bodies, fresh food being hawked at stalls, orginization and purpose. And smiles! People were happy here! The typically grim and exhausted looks she was used to seeing—were present without question, but the appearance was far from the norm!

“So, how does someone get a room in the tower itself?” She couldn't help but ask, ever one to stir the pot as her mind made the connection that space was evidently at a premium.

“Like I said.” Will grinned, waving one of his massive hands before the sheer mass of humanity before them. “It's not all perfect or fair here.”

“There’s no money involved if that’s what you're thinking…” Isabella commented easily. “But there is an understanding among those present. If you live in the tower, you pay a tax to the settlement far in excess of what everyone else does. So, it's much more a question of affordability so far as one's assets and productive abilities are concerned. The sick and infirm aren't required to break themselves just to survive, and that tax goes towards ensuring that they don't starve or lack a roof over their heads. Likewise, those who have more often times contribute more. Nobody cares what you bring back with you from the outside so long as you share at least some of it.”

“More if you live in the tower.” Will added with a big grin, “But if you just want to hoard all you're goodies and barter with them at you're own convenience, then you're perfectly allowed to stay down here and do that. But, the tower has running hot water, a big cafeteria with real food other than smoked fish, and a number of other benefits that make the price of living there worth paying for.”

“So then, what does count as money around here? Food and bullets?”

“Pretty much.” Will nodded in agreement. “Medical supplies are pretty in demand as well, but people generally just barter for what they need with favours or I owe you’s. There was an attempt to introduce tokens as a form of hard currency, but that never really picked up. You want to eat, learn to fish, or trade a person who does fish for a new pair of shoes you mended or offer to repair his gun. The only people who go hungry are the lazy ones…”

“That’s—not entirely true…” Peter began but was cut off by the larger man's waving hand.

“It's absolutely true! I mean, the guard is constantly looking for people to stand around on walls and hold a spear and rifle. You don't have to be brave or smart for something like that. Not with how well we’ve been clearing the area… And the settlement pays very well for any willing to join the official salvaging crews.”

“Actually, I agree with Will on this one,” Isabella said, looking almost apologetically at the metal man as she did so. “If you're not willing to work, then why should anyone else hold you're hand and feed you? Socialism only works when people can't exploit it.”

“I know!” Peter grumbled, clearly having had this argument before. “But you can't force people to do something they're not good at… what would be the point?”

“Nobody bad at everything. If you can't fight, then you can work with your hands. And if you're bad with your hands, you can work manual labour if you're dumb, and with the brainiacs if you're smart. Either way, you get to eat, a place to live and enough water for a shower every day. Beats everywhere else I’ve been.” Will stated, very matter of factly.

“And if you're a scrawny moron with shaky fingers who screams at the sight of ghouls?” Mandy asked with a too-sweet tone, grinning ear to ear.

“That’s what we’d call natural selection.”

“William!” Isabella chided, scolding the huge man who simply winked at Mandy as she chuckled.

“Enough about politics,” Peter demanded, sighing deeply as they began travelling towards the tower’s gates. “William, I believe you're still technically on guard duty, as is young Jason.” He curtly reminded the pair, both the large and very talkative brawler and the utterly silent and yet ghostly teen, seeming to almost snap to attention. “You’ll need to go and report to Captain Smith of Ian’s—death. Don't give him details, just explain that I or Isabella will be along some time to explain the—finer points…”

“Just say he got himself eaten by the undead doing something stupid. It fits, isn't a lie and will satisfy him for the time being.”

Will just scratched the back of his head, looking at Isabella with an expression between sheepish and uncertain. “Doubt Gregor and his boys will be too—thrilled about such a sparse explanation…”

“And they will get the full story when it is time, and we figure out how best to give it to them.”

“Fine, fine…” The big lug agreed, turning down an intersection as he called out, “C'mon kid! Day’s not over yet!”

The kid in question gave Mandy a still terrified look, his face betraying how utterly unsettling he found her before flying off after the large mutant hybrid while Mandy watched him go. She’d seen the like… and as much as the others seemed somewhat indifferent towards the speedster's death, the kid hadn't taken it nearly so well…

“I’ll give you a tour of the place.” Peter offered after a few moments had passed, “And we’ll set you up with a temporary apartment in the tower. Hot food, hot water, actually, maybe we’ll do the tour after…”

“Laundry services,” Isabella commented, spurring Mandy to lift one of her arms and give herself a thorough sniff. Yeah, it wasn't good—obviously, but that was just indicative of life on the road!”

“Once you're all settled in and comfortable. We can talk about you're—reward for not killing my wife and one of our best scavengers.”

“And Jason.” Isabella almost reminded her partner, who nodded, albeit somewhat cautiously…

“Then, we can get into speaking about hiring you for a job or two and the possibility of trade.”

“Brainiac trading?”

“If there can be a mutually agreed upon line we all can meet at.”

“That sounds like a good way of saying you're not interested in that sort of thing.”

Peter did wince at that, but it wasn't that much of a reaction that spoke towards duplicity, more, if she had the read on it, that he was—embarrassed…

“We're not so wealthy that we can trade what we barely have.” Isabella offered with an apologetic smile. “Most of our people aren't the sort you hear about in stories. We still need valuable components and refined parts. And most of that sort of thing we come across all goes towards building High-rise rather than whacky gadgets. Sure, some still work on their little side projects, but even then, most of it would hardly be of interest to you, just—tools meant to help them in their work…”

“Our engineering department is—hurting for usable resources… And with so many competing factions in the area, it's hard to just freely tinker… Were the smallest such community in Providence, perhaps the most well-off and defended it's true, but our area of influence is severely boxed in against the river. Good for food and water, bad for our scavenging teams…”

“But… would you be willing to take—commissions?” Mandy inquired, sensing an opportunity she’d been hoping to find for some time. Desperation and talent bred an increased willingness to work with her, as history had made a habit of proving.

“Normally, I’d say no to the requests I’ve no doubt you want to make…” Peter murmured softly…” However, extenuating circumstances and all that…”

“Exploding ammunition?” She hedged, tone soft and full of syrupy goodness.

Again, the brainiac winced… but he didn't say no, which made Mandy wonder if she shouldn't stick around here for longer than she was previously planning to…

The room that she’d been promised was—interesting. Far from the high-class five-star accommodations of a pre-collapse hotel, it was nevertheless a bizarre mashup of futuristic tech and more of what she’d seen in the parking lot… Everything was built from what she could only describe as beaten-out sheets of thin steel, reinforced by clean welds and functional supports, and even painted with a sort of powder-coating in a basic but appreciable light beige with hints of lighter accents. Swinging in with a mashed-up lovechild of a dystopian apartment and a ship’s crew quarters. The bed, for example, hung from metal wire bolted to one of the supports but was both very clean and apparently made out of some kind of memory foam that sank to the base of her knuckles when she tested it. There weren't any windows, probably because the floor it was located on was a massive residential nightmare of tightly packed rooms such as her own; however, there was a small radio built into the corner, a desk, comfortable looking chair, and even a small refrigerator and cooking nook. However, what really sold it all to her was the bathroom.

When Isabella had mentioned laundry services, what she had failed to share was that the place had its own built-in washer and dryer, of which, looked on the industrial side of power. Both machines were installed into the side of the humble chamber, which, from above and the sides, sported several nozzles for a near-spherical arc of jets. There was a soap dispenser that was touch-sensitive, one for conditioner, shampoo, and even a small closet labelled towels, along with a brief explanation that once used, a person was to simply place the used rag back into the closet where it would be laundered all it's own. To her, it looked like an over-engineered nightmare to get working. However, it was unquestionably the brainchild of someone who had gone to great lengths to automate as much as they were able. Semi self-sufficient pods that were luxurious by the standards of post-collapse life but lacking in a definitive—warmth that was, at times, a hallmark of how engineers liked to create things.

Still, she took the bribe she was being given in great strides! Pulling a cold beer from the fridge and guzzling it without remorse. The only time she got to drink the stuff when it wasn't warm was—when it was cold outside… She let out a satisfied breath before capping another, walking into the bathroom and stripping away all her various articles of clothing. Much of it, sticking to her flesh in a way that required her to peel it off. Once, she’d of found the very sight of such a thing repugnant in a way that might bring bile to her lips. However, these days, the sour and thick reek of herself was just par for the course. One couldn't reasonably be expected to be much better when there were more dead than living roaming the world.

Thankfully, there wasn't a grand mystical forrest down between the old legs. Mandy, having gone for a hair follicle treatment as most girls her age had, back when the brainiacs were still bringing revolutionary new technology to the world at a rate that mimicked a new industrial revolution! It hadn't been cheap. But her parents hadn't been poor, even if they’d forced her to get a part-time job for—experiance. And at the time, Mandy was what she’d of named a collegiate popular girl. It might have been her freshman year when the world started truly falling apart, but peer pressure from her friends had more or less seen her kill everything that had a root below her eyes.

The woman who had invented the machine that did the deed had assured the United States government that her procedure did not cause cancer. However, a surprising amount of people she’d met whilst the world was yet in the process of ending had displayed very cancerous symptoms who, as it happened, admitted to also getting the same treatment. The difference was that, if you were a mutant, the procedure didn't seem to be very damaging… but if you were a normal human, well… if the world had still been chugging along, Mandy suspected the over-night millionaire would have likely been faced with a massive class action lawsuit.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

As it happened, nobody these days really cared who and who didn't have what the poets called substantial bush, as personal hygiene typically died out at the apex of, ‘yeah, I took a bath a month or so ago.’ And, of course, what they really meant was that they had to cross a creek or a river at some point, and that was that. In a world where everyone was gross, it didn't matter if you had a Brazilian or not as humanity had swung right back into the more savage days of its historic past. That being said, Mandy wasn't above a good shampooing!

She spent what felt like hours in the shower's sweltering depths. Practically turning the room into a full-on sauna and, trying to remember why exactly it was she hadn't wanted to stay in the tower to begin with. So far as corruption went, her experience of being bought off by Peter and his wife was—quite enjoyable. And once her laundry was done, a process that took a very surprising lack of time, Mandy saw the opportunity to clean and oil all her guns for what it was. Taking to the work with a sort of cathartic focus, her mask placed off to the side, armour tossed haphazardly on the bed, clean as a whistle, all while she enjoyed the first semblance of security she’d felt for a long time. It was nice. But a double-edged sword. And she had to keep reminding herself that something like this, simply wasn't sustainable. Not meaning for the people here, but more, herself… Even if it all seemed great at that particular moment, eventually, she’d feel that itch to do something stupid and, it would be time to move on again…

A knock at the apartment door caused Mandy to snap back into the real world, her eyes blinking with lazy and slothful interest before she got up, cursing whoever had forgotten about heated floors, then opened the door, the barrier sliding into a hollow in the wall to reveal—Will.

“Huh…” The large brute muttered, staring at Mandy as she waited expectantly for what he wanted. “I thought you’d of been older…” He grumbled, head tilting to the side. “You're like my kid sister back before everything went to shit. And she was gearing up for university”

“I'm twenty three you know.”

“Ha! Could have fooled me!”

“I still have my old driver's license to prove it.” She frowned, crossing her arms with a slight pout.

“Suuure… I mean, I know those things were getting pretty hard to tell from the real ones but—”

“I’ll kick you.” She warned, eyes narrowing at the intruder to her personal time who merely started laughing at her.

“With what? You're kinder-surprise size feet? I'm pretty sure my balls are bigger than you're foot! And would stub you're toes if you tried for them!”

“I’ve got tits!” She complained, lifting one so said ta-ta with incredulous exasperation!”

“Yeah, and so did my sister. Funny thing that puberty business, but it still doesn't change the fact you barely look eighteen.”

Mandy just frowned, glaring at the asshole who was clearly having far too much fun at her expense. “And that’s why I always wear the mask.” She grumbled, knowing that her powers could really fuck with her physical forms flow of time. In reality, she was probably closer to twenty-six, given how much time she’d spent in her liminal space. Which, for a long time, had been decidedly more than she spent in the real world. Honestly, maybe she was even older than she thought she was… but it really didn't matter how old she felt as constantly swapping with her alternate selves had definitely slowed and even reversed the aging process for her. Somehow…

“Eh, Im just fucking with you. You look fine. Tons of supers don't really show their age. It's just—something that happens…”

“Oh yeah, how old are you?”

“Thirty.” Will merrily proclaimed, and, she had to admit, he looked much more like a guy in his early twenties… “Also, I'm here to play escort. Show you around, then, after that, bring you to meet a few of the council members to work out some kind of deal.”

“What happened to guard detail?” Mandy asked, waving the big guy in and grabbing them both a beer, which he happily obliged to take.

“Part of my tax for living here is spending a few days a week on patrol duty. It's, ugh, easy work, but necessary to have stronger supers always on call. Never know when a crazy person is gonna try to sneak into somewhere they really shouldn't.”

“I’d of been fine!”

“No way for us to know that.” He countered, though shrugged as though the incident didn't really bother him. “The whole point was less concern about you and more about releasing all the ghouls. But what’s done is done. And I’m still alive so…”

“Who cares?” Mandy finished, raising her bottle to join in Will’s salute as he upended it with clear relish.

“Hmph! They stopped stocking my fridge with these after a week or so! Now, I’ve gotta trade for 'em, same as everyone else.”

“Not a bad way to do it.” Mandy said, finishing her work on the guns while Will just picked a comfortable wall to lean on and, did so.

“Not bad at all. Beats the handful of other places I’ve stayed… But, to answer your previous question, I’ve been assigned as tour guide because Isabella is afraid someone is gonna grab you're ass and wind up with a bullet in their head!”

“I can play nice!”

“Again, could have fooled me. But regardless, nobody's gonna do anything stupid while I'm walking beside you, perverted or otherwise.”

“Again, I can play nice you know! And, It's been a while since I’ve had a good fuck! Maybe, I’d even appreciate the attention!”

“Yeah, but some people can get a little desperate, you know? And nobody is willing to hedge their bets on maybe you'll take it the right way. Your slim, curvy, and just small enough that some people might think they could get away with something—dumb. We’ve got laws to punish that sort of thing pretty harshly, but the ratio of men to women around here is nearly two to one. It's a right and proper sausage fest! Which means there’s a lot of dudes flying on a solo adventure and wishing it was a duo.”

“Why so few ladies?” Mandy asked, raising a brow with a quick glance his way while the action on one of her glocks snapped shut.

“A few reasons… Though nothing spectacular or ominous. Mostly, we just don't get that many people settling here. Either they get snapped up by one of the other communities that box us in, or they just never make it… And, the gender disparity can be chopped up to people managing to get away from Strom’s army. Women over there aren't used as mules for manual labour like the men are… not to say they have it much better, but there are more chances to escape while working outside. It's why there’s a pretty healthy hate for those that enslaved them over here.”

“And their—families are still over there?”

“Like I said, a healthy hate.” Will nodded solemnly as Mandy clicked her tongue. “Hey! I don't like that look on you're face young lady.”

“Suck my dick meat-head! And before you get all worried I'm gonna waltz over and start killing people, I'm not. I don't roll like that.”

“Unless someone paid you.” Will intoned, watching her quite carefully.

“I’d use my better judgment. Political wars aren't things I really like to get involved with. Sure, the way you’ve made it sound, this—Strom guy is a total villain! Buuuut—”

“Burtrom Kole said the exact same thing about us.”

“Right in one!” Mandy exclaimed, firing handguns at the big lug who simply shrugged with indifference.

“The water facilities are technically off-limits for anyone who isn't on the engineering team.” Will said a short while later as the pair sauntered through the heavy machinery, occasionally seeing the odd overall-clad mechanic who was inspecting the large and bulky contraptions and huge metal tanks with chalkboards rather than paper. “But, someone's really trying to sweet talk you here with sweet-nothings, so, yeah, take that knowledge as you will.”

“They really want those jets…” Mandy most likely correctly assumed, staring at the marvel of brainiac technology on display and trying to understand how it worked. The water was pumped from the river, somehow producing electricity in the process, then treated in the vats while more still was flushed away with the settlement's waste and, evidently, producing even more electricity in the process. Meanwhile, what was kept around was purified, heated or chilled, then distributed to the various sections of living space where it was available. If in the tower proper, every residence supposedly had indoor plumbing. If outside, well, there were things akin to public baths and washrooms that were—in theory, significantly better than not having any plumbing whatsoever. Like most brainiac tech, it didn't exactly make a whole lot of sense from a strictly mundane scientific outlook. But that was the thing about science within the realm of science fiction. Stuff that sounded like silly magical handwave nonsense was always only a step or two away from reality.

“They want the parts from the jets.” Will by offered by way of agreement. “Nobody wants to fuck off and leave like the eastern coalition. They like what we have right here. The problem is, the people who could make a thermal-nuclear grenade out of a handful of mud and worms are the stuff of stories. Normal brainiacs still need things like refined metal, carbon, gold, copper and plastic.”

“So… why not just try and take the airfield yourselves?”

“Ehh… now we're at the other end of the spectrum when dealing with a democracy or capitalistic society. That’s a pretty big ask for people when they won't see direct compensation for their efforts. It's one thing for a guy like myself to go scrounging through the city and entirely another to ask me to go try and fight off a damned legion of undead! I’ve got no idea how you managed it so well, but I’m one of High-rises best fighters, and I can guarantee I’d of been winded after the first hundred. Then what? We retreat utterly exhausted after putting in a tiny dent? We’d need to be at it every day without rest; all the while, they’d just keep replicating in there. Worse, if that Hulk had decided to come and play, then we’d be screwed. I’ve seen three people get smushed to paste by that thing since I’ve been here, and that more or less kills all the motivation for volunteers.”

“One of the issues with a free utopia indeed…”

“The moment I'm told to go run head first into the line of fire as a meatshield is the moment I'm no longer around to rely on. That’s how almost everyone here looks at things. The council might be in charge, but go ahead and try to tell someone to go do a suicide mission and see how long it takes for someone else to be running things.”

“So…” Mandy murmured after a few good moments of silence as she stared down over the ledge, watching dozens of people with nets constantly casting into the river. “Do you all just—accept that you're eating fish swimming in everyone's shit?”

“Ha! If you think that’s a problem, then don't ask what kind of fertilizer the plants are all growing in!”

Mandy grinned at that, turning away and heading back out of the pump level of the tower, confidant she’d satisfied her interest. The next stop was the rooftop. Not because it was the next stop in the technical order of floors, but because there really wasn't anything too much more to show her beyond what they’d already seen. And, it was very much like Will had eluded to… Mandy scrunching her face at the—pungent aromas surrounding her as happy settlers all moved about the rooftop gardens and those that were all attached to the side of the tower by welded scaffolding, more or less digging in shit all day.

“I'm amazed I didn't smell this beforehand…” Mandy muttered, not unused to the smell of refuse, but when it was all so close together like this…

“Most of the time, the wind blows from the west! That means the folks across the river get the worst of it!”

“No wonder they don't like you!” Mandy called back; one such mighty gust of airflow making the rooftop quite bearable for several long minutes.

“I find it quite pleasant to think about actually! I'm still kind of nursing a grudge against them, so I find great pleasure in the knowledge that every fat load my big ass drops is fermenting and wafting their way to settle in their homes with loving care.”

She couldn't help it. She snorted, laughing merrily alongside the big asshole beside her whose eyes sparkled with delight and mischief.

Some time later and Mandy had felt like she’d more or less seen it all. In truth, it was all very impressive. From the food processors that cleaned and diced the vegetables into reusable plastic containers for easy distribution to the genuine to god internal servers, the colony was using for a local network of computers so the brainiacs could all share files with each other while working on the same projects. It was—as close to the old world that Mandy had really seen to date… Not by an inconceivable or even huge margin but, admittedly, it was all very impressive. And though the eggheads that we're helping make it all happen weren't of the same calibre as those like Splice or the men and woman trying to combat him, they were making significant progress towards real civilization.

It was outstanding! And—honestly, happening in one of the last places she’d of expected it. Not to say that more—noteworthy places beyond Providence weren't achieving the same goals. Only that, she’d of expected this sort of success to be attached to some contingent of ex-military types… Not a rag-tag bunch of people held together by mutual self-interest and what essentially boiled down to a, ‘good thing.’

So, it was with a relatively good mood that she was led by William to a floor she hadn't yet visited. One where security was taken with a little less leniency.

“Any weapons must be removed and stored in a locker before you proceed further.” A clean-shaven and well-put-together security officer demanded. His weapon was holstered but well within reach, both he and his partner both wearing thick police riot gear and ballistic vests. Both men giving Mandy—more than a single once-over of a decidedly lecherous fashion as she shrugged at them, pulled out a Glock from her waistband and handed it over. She was her mother’s daughter, height notwithstanding… and that woman had, as priorly stated, been a true-to-life comic heroine, right down to the absurd bodily proportions and good looks.

“Reason for visiting the floor?” The other trooper asked, voice dull as it was bored.

“She cleared out half the airport on her own, and now the council wants to see her to ask if she’d be willing to clear out the rest.” Will offered, very nonchalant about his delivery.

“Ha! Ah, that actually managed a good chuckle.” The other guard barked, smiling as he met his counterpart's eye who was less amused and more exasperated. “Right… funny. You think this jobs a joke, Will? Seriously, take your new girlfriend and fuck off.”

“Not ugh… not lying actually…” Will replied, clearing his throat somewhat nervously as he did so. “She ugh… did it after kicking our asses and even managed to blow the shit out of the hulk out there.”

Both guards just looked at one another, the first like he still found the whole notion of it all amusing while the other looked more nonplussed. “You ugh… you know that doesn't—”

“Just call someone on the other side, Zach. Either Peter or Isabella or, I think it was Megan and Brian that were supposed to meet us?”

“Yeah… no…” The second guard intoned, folding his arms with clear stubbornness. “I'm not falling for this shit again with you. Leave, or I’ll be contacting the council about your antics. Then, hopefully, they revoke you're right to live in the tower and bump you back down with the rest of us lowly serfs.”

Will looked at Mandy, who looked at him back, one of her eyebrows raised in silent question. She knew how to play nice. She knew how to play nice... She was not going to shoot people because they were in her way. Yet.

“Look… would you just fucking call Norwood? I'm not joking here Zach, I know we like to have our fun—”

“Fun?” the man exclaimed, laughing in the larger man's face as he pointed with a thick and calloused finger. “You're a right shithead, and it will be a cold day in hell that I take your word at face value! Now piss off ‘fore I call more security.”

“Is this—normal between you two?” Melida murmured, not really sure how to proceed.

“If you count normal as this one bringing back every stray he finds wandering the city to give them a worldly tour of our settlement just so he can get in their pants! We’ve strict orders about you now, William, and it won't be me who's holding my dick and wanking it while everyone shouts what an igit I am!”

“Huh…” Will huffed, pulling himself to his full height and just staring at the two guards who refused to let him in. “I—really didn't see this coming… Maybe they should have sent Isabella…”

“She was an option?”

“Well, yeah… but I sort of volunteered in her place, saying there wasn't any need for her to overly tax herself on account of her age.”

Mandy narrowed her eyes on the large mutant, who simply gave her his best roguish grin. Unrepentant to the end, but this time, it seemed as though his usual antics had come back to bite him… “So that whole bit about protecting me against sexual predators?”

“Ha! Only predator of that kind in the room with us is that one right there!” Zach announced triumph in ruining his apparent nemesis date, swelling his chest with spiteful pride.

“Can't help it.” Will offered with a heavy-shouldered shrug, “Not my fault I'm so good-looking—and charismatic. My success with the ladies is merely a consequence of an inadequacy in their lives with all the rest of the men available to them.”

“Keep telling yourself that asshole. I can't wait until the wrong girl comes along and decides to slice off you're nards as foreplay.”

“Either way.” The other guard chirped, taking in a deep breath through his nose and handing back her weapon, “You have our apologies miss, but you've been the victim of a hooligans prank. No entry without a proper appointment.”

“But I—have an appointment…”

“Well then, I'm afraid to say it couldn't have been important as nobody informed us that you’d be coming by.”

“Kay…” Mandy nodded, glancing from guard to guard before ending on Will. “I guess—tell Isabella I’ll be heading down to Quonset if she wants to find me and… nice meeting you.” Then she gave them all a little wave before heading back towards her room. The little back and forth had been—interesting for a minute or so, but now it was just getting monotonous. She’d enjoyed the shower, free beer and company, but there were more interesting things to do than be sidelined by tweedle dee and tweedle dumb.

“You fucking mornons!” She heard Will growl as she walked down the corridor, “If she leaves, I shit you not, the council will fucking throw you out! Fun’s fun, but she is supposed to be the one getting us access to the airport!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing! Her and that little Glock she had in her pants? Against an army of undead?” Tweedle dee said.

“Just seems a little childish so far as you're schemes go…” Tweedle dumb added right as Mandy got to the stairs. Whatever words that transpired after, were lost in the greater din.

A few minutes later. she was in her room and strapping back up, making sure nobody had gone into her things—which, thank they’re lucky stars, nobody had because Mandy would burn this place to the ground searching for whoever had stolen from her. It was just a line that you didn't cross! Likewise, her weapons she’d found best still be where they’d stashed them, else Mandy would rain unholy hell upon this world! She took theft very seriously. And why shouldn't she? If someone was willing to steal from her, they obviously had no respect for her person. Thus, why should she waste time being the bigger person? Lead to the brain was a much easier compromise for her.

She got herself all suited up, strapped on her pack’s various buckles and belts, seated her mask back on her face and proceeded to head back down the main stairwell. It was busy, but Mandy made sure to punch the tit or dick of whichever hands tried for her things or herself. In frozen time of course. The girl smiling whenever the inevitable outcry of pain and suffering filled the air and soothed her dark and pitiless heart. She did, however, decide to go investigate the bazaar on ground level, knowing she’d be camping somewhere relatively nearby anyway at this point so, she was really only blowing the rest of the day.

She wandered through the crowds while looking at what people were trying to sell. Which, down here, largely amounted to lots of dried fish, clothes, the odd knick-knack or carved charm, and anything within the realm of a flea-market. Anything and everything that a person could get their hands on, was for sale in some quality or quantity. Mandy taking a stop by a few places that were selling shirts off of wracks, wondering if it wouldn't be worth picking something like a sweater up. It would be getting colder soon; well, it was already Autumn… And if she got one the right size, she could even just wear it right over her vest…

“Have anything warm that will fit over what I’ve got on?” She asked the wizened old woman who looked at her sideways, lips smacking and showing off a mouth absent most teeth as she cackled like a witch.

“Aye, I’ve clothes to fit ya girlie, but what of you? Anything interesting in that large bundle on you's back?”

“Mmmmhmm… I’ve—got a few things in mind… You interested in food, weapons or other?”

“Ah! Such a sweet youngin you are! Asking me what it is I want when marching up to my stall! How about you tell me what you're willing to offer for what it is ya want, and I’ll be tellin ya if it's worth my while.”

“Trade you a beretta for it.”

“Ammo?”

“Pfft! No!” Mandy laughed, shaking her head at the woman's audacity. “It's lightly used. Good condition, just stripped it down earlier. You can have the mag, without the ammo.”

Now, the old woman's eyes were sharp, her body shifting from her throne of beanbag and hanging beads to right herself as she spoke. “What good’s a gun without the bullets to shoot it?”

“What good is a shop full of clothes without people willing to buy them from you?”

“Sharp tongue on ya for a lass so young! Ten bullets.”

“Three.”

“Seven.”

“Five, and I get to chose what I'm paying for, no bullshit random crap you don't even bother showing off.”

“Six bullets and nothing from my premium stock.”

“Everything will be you're premium stock the moment I agree to that.”

The old woman scowled at her, spat a chunky wad of horribleness that looked thick enough to give gum a run for its money before she grunted. “Seven bullets, and I let you choose what it is you want, so long as I reserve the right to tell you to kick rocks.”

“Then I want the same.”

“Deal!” The old hag agreed, smiling again as she beckoned Mandy into her shack.

The place was stuffed with clothes. Like, piled high on one another to the point Mandy really couldn't tell what was what… The walls, the floors, even the ceiling were a seemingly good enough place to store the endless array of garments that filled the small interior to the point Will probably couldn't have fit.

“You know you're size girl?”

“Woman’s small, medium if it's a relaxed fit.”

“So you probably want a medium or large to actually fit over all that… anything else you want? Underwear, new pants?”

“Just a nice thick sweater for when it gets really cold out.”

“We can do that!” The old woman chuckled, seemingly digging into a pile at random and rearranging her maddened nonsense until she held up a large sweater that looked like it would dangle just below her waist. It was thick, it was cotton but dense, and on it, there was a small badge-like pawprint of a bear. Underneath, the fine writing that circled the sparse image read; ‘Bear and Bear’s, Alaskan tours, LLC.’

“Hmm… it's actually pretty nice…” Mandy admitted, taking it from the old woman and getting a feel for it. It wasn't her ideal color, but it was dark-red which did work well enough for her.

“I’ve a few others like that one… White—baby blue… beige…”

“No, It's good.” Mandy nodded, happy that once the haggling was over and done with, the old woman didn't seem too interested in screwing around. So, she set down her bag and pulled out the beretta she’d taken from the speedster earlier that day. Removing each bullet once she popped the magazine and chamber so the crone could count them and inspect the gun to make she she was happy with it.

With practiced ease, the proprites inspected every aspect of the weapon, checking the chamber herself before dry-firing it a few times, nodding with approval before Mandy handed her the ammo for it, and magazine, both of which weren't in the gun. It was poor practice to trade someone a loaded firearm, no matter how trustworthy they seemed. Doing that was just asking to be shot and have all your things stolen by the person you were doing business with!

“It's a nice gun…” She admitted, placing it on a nearby table with a satisfied smile.

“Any—recommendations for where I could buy some ammo?”

“Repacked or high-grade?”

“High grade.” Mandy instantly replied, and earned herself an appreciative nod for her prudence. “Will cost ya an arm and a leg for anything big, but there’s a man named Oliver two streets over; head to the furthest end on this one, make a right as if you were leaving the settlement, then another right back into the bazaar. He’s the fifth shop down the row. Easy to miss him since he doesn't leave anything that has a tendency to grow legs out in the open. But he’s got a sign… you—can read, right?”

“I was in college when it all happened.”

“Ay, only looking out for ya lass. Tell 'em Sarah sent you his way!”

“For a discount?”

“No!” She chuckled, already pushing Mandy out of her shop. “So I get a kickback. And, next time you need clothes, you come back, and I’ll do you better than you got today.”

Mandy just shook her head. Smiling at the cheek of it all before following in her directions. Only taking a moment to pack away her new sweater before setting off to the next shop.