Sheriff's Office.

"Alright, in you go!" Davey said as he shoved in an elf dressed in clothes that had seen better days. He joined about two dozen assorted others as they filled the jailcell.

"What'd you bring him in for Davey?" Sheriff Steinburg asked over a warm, though poor tasting, cup of coffee.

"Loiterin'." Davey stated.

The Sheriff sighed and gazed at the many faces within the cell.

"How many of them have you arrested for loitierin'?"

"..."

"Well numbnuts?!" Marc snapped.

"I'm countin'!"

"Please don't tell me that everyone in that cell are loiterers." Miles muttered.

"No... just most of 'em are." Davey stated.

The room went quiet save for the banter of the "criminals". It was Marc that spoke up eventually.

"Good God, Davey. I didn't think you could be any fuckin' dumber!"

"They were breakin' the law!"

"Where the fuck are they supposed to go dipshit?! In case you haven't noticed we don't exactly have enough room around town for everyone! What're we supposed to do?! Round up everyone huddled up on the damn corner?!" Marc snapped.

Miles just groaned and rubbed his face as the two bickered with one another. This wasn't going well at all, he thought. He had tried to reach the Governor's office but has been getting nothing but the go around since his first call for help. Other than the Blackhawk flying by a few days ago he's had nothing but redirects, holds, and outright voicemails since.

"We're still officers of the law Marc and we are supposed to do our duty!" Davey yelled.

"And where are we supposed to put murderers and rapists?! Cause we sure as shit can't put them in there anymore now can we?!"

The Sheriff was about to snap at the two before he heard the sound of his phone ringing from his office. So he left them to bicker and throw paperclips at one another as he retreated to his office and answered the phone.

"Sheriff's Office?"

"Sheriff Steinburg?" Came a gruff male voice over the phone.

"That's right."

"This is Major General Colm MacHenry. United States Armed Forces. Commanding Military Officer of the National Guard of West Virginia."

Miles couldn't hold back a breath of relief at those words.

"General MacHenry! I can't tell you how glad I am to hear from you!"

"I imagine. I'm calling to inform you that we have several birds loaded up and in the air and are currently en route with supplies and prefab shelters."

As good as that news was, he could hear a BUT coming.

"But, that will be all we can send at the moment."

"May I ask why, General?"

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"I won't mince meat. We aren't Texas, Florida, New York, or California. We don't get any natural disasters around here other than the occasional forest fire or particularly cold winters, and we sure don't receive the same amount of funding. We don't have a fleet of birds and warehouses full of supplies ready at the drop of a hat. And as frustrated as you are with being stonewalled by the Governor's office. We aren't any better in trying to secure aid from anywhere else. State or Federal."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means. You'll have to stretch these supplies thin until we can get more in the meantime."

"What about troops? Anything would help! We're HEAVILY outmanned here!"

"And I am sorry Sheriff. Truly I am. But without proper supplies and a secure supply line available our men would only worsen the situation."

"So we're on our own still?"

"I'm afraid so Sheriff. I wish I could do more. But that's the nature of things as of right now. I am sorry." The General stated before hanging up the line.

Sheriff Steinburg felt cold as he hung up the phone. Sure the supplies they were getting would help. But it just wasn't enough. The town needed a shot, not a thimble! But he shouldn't be mad at what he isn't getting, he knew that. He should be glad he was getting anything at all with how alone they've felt.

He walked out of his office and was met with the sound of his two deputies still going at it, though they moved on from paperclips to paper creamer cups. Marc paused long enough to figure something was wrong with the Sheriff. Also long enough for a creamer cup to bounce harmlessly off his head. Davey stopped mid throw and glanced at the Sheriff as well.

"What's the news boss?"

"Good news is, we have some supplies comin' our way." Miles stated with a bit less cheer than he should.

"But?"

"But that is all we're gettin' for quite some time. No troops. No more supplies."

"But we NEED help!" Marc snapped.

"And we are gettin' it. Just... not as much as we hoped for." Miles said in an effort to placate his deputies.

He walked over to the increasingly crowded cell.

"Folks! I understand that you may not have been entirely willing in coming here. Most of you are free to go. Our laws take a bit to sort themselves out in some cases. Those of you who have had the pleasure of being escorted here by Deputy Davey are free to leave. However, you are free to stay. It's warmer than outside, and we have... some food. We wish we had more to offer you, but we are working with what we have, which right now isn't much unfortunately."

Davey fumbled forwards towards the Sheriff.

"But Sheriff?!"

"No buts Davey. Focus on people that are causing actual problems and not on people just trying to figure things out." Miles declared, much to the snickering of Marc.

"Told you numbnuts!"

"How was I supposed to know?!"

"Maybe by usin' your peabrain?"

As the two bickered once more, Sheriff Steinburg walked over and opened the cell for those that wanted to leave. It was no surprise that most didn't feel like staying in the cell, even if it was slightly warmer than outside. He had to kick out the few drunks that were sleeping off their woes as well. By the end of it all there weren't anymore within the cell, save for a scarred man wearing boiled leather.

"Sounds like you're in a bit of a tuff ain't you?"

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, but as I said, you don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

"Not to worry about it! If anything I might be able to help."

"Help how?" Miles asked as he observed the man that was more than likely here for anything other than loitering.

"Well, not ME exactly, but my boss." The man said as he stretched and sauntered out of the cell.

"And whos your boss?"

The man split a smile at the Sheriff.

"Barnaby. He stays in one of the apartments in town. Ask for him, and we'll see about doing you a favor with your manpower problem."

"Who says I have a manpower problem?" The Sheriff asked skeptically.

The man gestured to the two, still fighting, deputies.

"I would think it pretty obvious, wouldn't you? That isn't the only thing Barnaby could help you with."

With that the scarred man smiled and whistled a nameless tune as he strut out of the cell and out of the station. Miles went over and pulled Davey from his bickering.

"Who was that and why was he in here?"

"Who?"

"The man that just walked out piss for brains!" Marc snapped.

"Oh... loiterin'"

"That's it?!" Came the joint response from Marc and Miles.

"Yup. He was loiterin' around the apartments lookin' fishy. So I cuff him and bring him in."

"Lord Almighty, Davey! You really are-"

"Which apartment?" Miles asked before Marc could finish his cursing.

-----

Don't-Tell Motel

"Get all that?" Agent O'Doyle asked as he turned to Agent Smith.

"Yeah. This is becoming a bigger fustercluck than we thought." Smith stated as he paced around the room turned headquarters.

Since the arrival of their reinforcements, they've been busy turning this, and the connecting room to the left of them, into an adequate base of operations. Which wouldn't look out of place in an old spy movie as pieces of modern(ish) equipment were set up around both rooms with papers and files placed and piled here and there with corkboards and whiteboards around with scribbles and photos of various people of interest and their connection to one another and who they were.

"So what's the next step boss?" O'Doyle asked.

Smith sighed and turned to Agent Doe.

"What do you think we do in a moment like this?"

Johnathan looked at Smith, then at the assembled group of agents as he now found himself the center of attention.

"Well-"

"That's right Agent Doe. We move to Phase 3."

"What-"

"Is Phase 3? He really is new." O'Doyle said as he tried to suppress a snicker.

"Phase 3 is when shit sufficiently hits the fan and we are forced to come out of the shadows, at least to a degree. That means mobilizing a significant percentage of HQ to see to the situation at hand. Which would require the full force of our R&D department being relegated to shelters and civil engineering. While we will pull out vast stores of food, supplies, and cash to give this place the economic shot to the heart it is in desperate need of. We will also be mobilizing a significantly greater degree of agents to provide sufficient safety and security."

"But-"

"Why? Because if the town goes under then all these people will be shipped off elsewhere, and thus the scenarios I told you about become far more likely to happen. So for the sake of our greater mission, we will have to take a step out of the shadows."

"Why-"

"Why haven't we done this already? Procedure. Scenarios like this rarely happen and not to this degree. On top of that, we are still operating under Phase 2 parameters. So while we would've liked to have helped out, we are ordered not to for the sake of the mission under the guidelines set out by Phase 2."

"What-"

"Is Phase 2? That would be the arrival of local authorities onto a situation that most definitely is NOT in their paygrade. Thus the need to send more agents to help provide enough of a heavy hand that the locals leave it to us believing that things are being taken care of."

"Which they are not." O'Doyle stated as he returned to observing the various monitors.

"Thus, Phase 3."