"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Cicada Days
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👀 (credit to Kotorikun)
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The desolate summer sun beat down on her, but she wasn’t paying so much attention. She’d walked minutes, hours, between their home and Cochise, sweat visibly pasted the bodice of her shirt to her chest. Why the hell had she thought it would be a good idea to wear a black knit tee on a day this hot? Well. She’d done it. With an irate grunt she yanked the door of Diamondback half off it’s hinges. The only greeter they had on hand for her heat stroke ass was the friendly embrace of climate control.

Her body quickly cooled down from the dangerous levels of overheating, but honestly she failed to notice the difference. Every single block she’d walked on her way here had looked the same. Every droplet of sweat she had spilled like blood had felt the same. Felt like nothing.

She recklessly exhaled, then collapsed into the nearest chair. Her body briefly went ragdoll on her, and she only felt the impact of the seat rising up to meet her right in the hard of her tailbone.

Ben had been gone for almost four weeks now.

((Lana Fields continued from Losing Touch))

She tried to pay that fact no mind. They’d find him when they found him.

She inspected the veneer of her surroundings. Faux countertop, cheap plastic widgets, washed out bright lighting, termite-kissed wooden paneling, the framed photos from Sundae Challenge… um, fuck, it was all more or less exactly her childhood bottled up and sold at a reasonable price to her, pint by pint by plastic spoon. Lana remembered that when she’d been six her sole overriding ambition in life had been to see her picture up on that wall.

She’d gotten up on there, next to Ben. Actual recipient of the reward. He’d given her the certificate.

Dad and Mom had also been in the photos.

Dad’s hair had already been gone by then.

Lana anxiously glanced about, away from that slice of her own life pinned onto the wall. Marie was going to be late again, wasn’t she? Lana checked the text again real quick. Quarter past noon. Most important question was, who had decided going out at this hour of day when the sun was most threatening it’s red giant phase was a good idea? Second most important, Marie? Hellloooo? Went through the sweatshop of hell for you, so, show up?

Lana settled a bit, quietly. The store intercom was playing a news report, something innocuous about flash flood watches a few counties over. In one ear, out the other.
The Dies Before First Rolls Squad

The Nights
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From Here On Out · V6 Meanwhile...