The morning dew tinged with the bright orange of the rising sun. Sounds of chirping, sounds of creaking, and the silent whispers of the breeze softly seeped into the Watson household. Americans everywhere began rousing awake from their slumber, hankering down for just another five, no, thirty minutes of sleep, and Watson certainly was one to conform. The warm bed was simply too alluring- as comfortable as a woman’s embrace, his grandfather would say. Not that he would know.

But suddenly, a hand crawled up, snuggling itself right along his body. Warm. Who could it belong to? Many exciting possibilities entered Watson’s mind as it slowly rose and rose, nestling itself comfortably around Watson’s neck. He smiled, but not for too long, as the grip began tightening. Frantically, he reached for it, finding it coming loose on its own volition.

“Ah!” Watson croaked, gasping for air. His vision cleared to find Jones standing next to him.

Jones was dressed in All-American gear. Well, All-Chinese, if going by producer. Wearing a cheap black leather jacket, a Harley-Davidson-Fanclub bandana and a pair of gloves with the fingertips cut off, he stared at Watson in irritation.

“Finally.” Jones muttered discontently. “I was thinking about leaving you behind.”

“Leaving me behind for what?” Watson complained, still coughing. He noticed a rather stuffed backpack lying on the floor.

“Weren’t you listening last night?” Jones sighed.

“You spiked my drink with moonshine!” Watson yelled, having regained his voice. “You told me it was some bitter herbal extract!”

“Ack, it wasn’t even that strong. It was just a small cupfull or two, you pansy.” Jones replied, rolling his eyes. “So you don’t remember anything, huh?”

“Well, I’m hoping these aren’t memories, but dreams.” Watson replied, still haughty about the situation. “Um, I didn’t actually clog my toilet, did I?”

“Bad news for you. But don’t bother with it right now.” Jones dismissed. “I’ll cut it short. We’re going to go find the resistance.”

“The- resistance?” Watson gasped. “But you told me we only know that they work around the Nevada region, that’s huge!”

“True, true.” Jones accepted. “The lizards have trouble with em’, that’s for sure. But you see, I’ve got an idea.”

“What would that be?”

“Well, I understand revolutionaries. They’re a well-studied species.” Jones replied quickly. “And most types are drawn to this magical leaf like flies to shit.”

Jones pulled out a large bag of weed.

“Uh, Jones?” Watson said, staring at the bulging package. “Where did you find that?”

“Well, remember that Hot Topic clerk who gave you his number?” Jones explained proudly. “I called em’ up. He sold me this for cheap when I gave him your shower pictures.”

“What shower pictures?” Watson asked innocently.

“Don’t worry about that.” Jones changed the topic. “Anyways, I was originally going to burn some Bob Marley disks and print out a Che Guevara poster, but they don’t exist here.”

“What’s that?”

“Basically their Jesus...es. If Jesus smoked weed and shot commie AK’s, that is.” Jones replied. “A-ny-ways. Let’s get back on the topic. Get dressed, Watson, we’re leaving before the wageslaves get going.”

“Um… Can you look away?” Watson mumbled shamefully.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m in my underwear.” Watson fidgeted around.

“Watson, I’ve seen the pictures. It’s not impressive, but don’t be shy.” Jones sighed.

“Um… Do you guys over there also have, uh, Morning-?” Watson said, before being cut short.

“Alright, stop. I’m going.” Jones answered, quickly turning around. “I overestimated you. Forget unimpressive. I’m sorry.”

Jones heard Watson yell, “Sorry for what?”, as he walked down the stairs into the living room.

The living room was cluttered to hell with objects of all kinds and origins. Knives were laid on the ground, with measurements written in some kind of hierarchy. Boxes and drawers had been plundered, and Watson found quite a few very familiar items ripped and torn.

“Jones!” Watson shouted. “What is this?”

“I’ve been packing, I told you.” Jones lazily replied, playing with his old lego set.

“You… For one bag?” Watson uttered in disbelief.

“No, two bags.” Jones answered, throwing Watson a Dora the Explorer bag. “Dora, really? Watson, at least watch Pokémon.”

“What is this?” Watson asked, flabbergasted. “This is my bag from elementary.”

“Yeah, and now it’s your travel bag.” Jones stated.

“Why?”

“Well, nobody’s going to search a Dora the Explorer bag for weed.” Jones answered. “Besides, I kinda… Uh, ripped your other good one while trying to fit in my machete.”

“What mache- wait, is that why my lawnmower was disassembled yesterday?” Watson questioned.

“I thought you wouldn’t notice. But yeah.” Jones sighed. “But hey, good news, I’ve made one for you too!”

“Yeah, I noticed. “ Watson said, pointing at the sharp object ripping through the side of the bag.

“Don’t be so mad about this, Watson.” Jones lousily demanded. “Look, if all goes well, we won’t even have to come back!”

“I don’t want to leave my home!” Watson yelled.

“Well, I won’t have to come back. You happy?” Jones yielded with a tiny hint of disappointment.

“You think- You know what? Alright, fine.” Watson agreed, holding back. “Let’s go, then.”

“Wait a sec.” Jones said, holding out an admittedly well-made piece of leather craftwork. “Take this.”

“What is this?” Watson asked, surprised by the gesture.

“It’s a holster. Here, for your gun.” Jones awkwardly shuffled out the Colt. “Well, your grandfather’s. I polished it up a bit and oiled the chamber.”

“I thought you said there weren’t any bullets.” Watson replied, slightly touched by the gesture.

“There’re a lot more reasons to have a gun than just shoot.” Jones replied, standing up. “Now get dressed. Practical is best. I’ve put in some spares in your bag, so don’t worry about it. Your trunk’s loaded up with everything else we need.”

Watson complied silently, not bothering to ask where Jones got his car keys.

The journey had been uneventful. Watson’s new (used) British Leyland car got a couple insults out of Jones, but all in all- they simply spent the hours-long journey arguing about music, turning the radio from station to station to find some middle ground. Nothing special.

It was when they arrived at a small, unassuming town, bordering close to the desert, that any excitement was to be found.

“So, uh, Jones?” Watson asked nervously. “How’s this going to work out?”

“Watch and learn.” Jones explained. “I’m going to peddle some weed.”

“You know…” Watson questioned. “Will you explain someday how you know how to do… All of this stuff? From car repairs, to leather working, and now drug dealing?”

“I lived alone for a while, Watson, I told you.” Jones dismissed.

“You always say that…” Watson trailed off, as he eyes Jones stepping out of the car. “Where’re you going?”

“I’m going to sell this to highschool kids.” Jones smiled.

“Uh, you sure that’s… Well, right?” Watson fidgeted. “I don’t think…”

“Trust me, Watson, they’ll be huffing glue if not weed.” Jones explained. “Either that or Jenkem. Don’t worry too much. There’s a reason for this.”

“And that would be?” Watson asked.

“You start with the highschoolers.” Jones laid out. “Then they’ll spread the info like a wildfire. We just gotta stay in a motel for about two days, and we’ll be able to find someone in the know.”

“...Alright. So, you’ll come back to the inn we agreed upon?” Watson questioned.

“Yeah. Sure. Make sure the minibar’s stocked. This time, I can actually pay back.” Jones replied, holding up the Dora the Explorer bag. “Wish me luck. See ya later.”

“Good luck.” Watson replied, rolling his window down and driving off.

Watching Jones grow smaller in the distance, he began feeling for his chest pocket, where an unassuming grey pen was slotted. It had been a gift, delivered to him by mail. He breathed heavily, uncomfortably, as he felt very faint electronic vibrations coming off of the pen.

Three days had passed since Jones put his plan into motion. Watson had to hand it to him- the man did do his work rather efficiently. It was just the approach, the method, the materials- well, the everything, besides the efficiency, that irked him a bit. Especially since that involved a heavily tattooed, blue mohawked scrawny kid, gagged and bound, shuffling in his back seat, as he drove off into the desert.

“We’re almost at that place the… Kid told us they would be at, Jones.” Watson said, stealing a glance at their prisoner.

“Finally.” Jones said. He was entertaining their… Guest? With card tricks in the back. “I was getting bored. Hey, pick a card, kid.”

The kid pointed at the middle card with his mohawk.

“Heh, an ace of spades? Well, lemme shuffle this into the deck-” Jones started, but was interrupted, as Watson punched the brakes. “What the hell, Watson?”

“Jones, look ahead!” Watson shouted. Behind the thin veil of a dusty sand cloud, silhouettes of revolution were standing upright. Well… They looked a bit more like a metal band, as the air cleared up. Also, they were holding up rifles. Not good.

Jones swiftly kicked the door open and dragged the kid out.

On closer examination, the revolutionaries definitely looked more like punk rockers than anything else. Their hairstyles were all varying degrees of wild, especially in terms of colors, and their tattered clothing and sheathed lead pipes said enough about their approach to diplomacy. The modified humvee definitely helped that image.

“Jesus christ. Mad Max knockoffs? I thought this kid was just special.” Jones mumbled, before clearing his throat. “Alright, hey, you guys! Stand down! We’re friendly.”

“What do you mean, asshole?” The pink-haired one yelled. “You’re holding Lil’ Jay over there hostage, you think we’re gonna buy that?”

“He ain’t a hostage, Fl-Amigo. Here, have em’ back!” Jones shouted, cutting Jay but small free in the process. “We just had a bit of a rough time getting to an agreement.”

“He spiked my drink with alcohol!” Lil’ Jay cautioned, limping back towards his buddies. “He told me he scored some legit rare drugs, the asshole!”

“What, would you have preferred roofies, you retard?” Jones complained. “You wanna wake up with an Hotwheels up your ass? I didn’t lie, did I, dumbass?”

“The hell, asshole?” Another one, this time a wild green-haired, yelled.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop with the insults.” Jones sighed. “We’re here to talk. Let’s not start doing the shooty-shooty, alright?”

“And why should we do that?” Flamingo yelled. “We’ve got the guns here. Fuck off!”

“Oh yeah?” Jones smirked, pointing at Watson. “I’ve got fuckin’ Billy the Kid right here. Hey Billy, show off your gun, will ya?”

Watson looked at Jones with horror, startled by the confrontation. He pulled out his pistol, fidgeted around with it, and aimed towards their assailants. Their disappointment was very visible.

“Goddamnit, Watson.” Jones said. “Anyways. We’re not here to fight. Just talk. C’mon, guys, can’t we have a little chit-chat? Preferably with someone more important.”

“Why should we do that?” The green one yelled.

“Well, boys, I’ve got an offer you just can’t refuse…” Jones muttered loudly, searching his Dora the Explorer bag. “This beautiful bag, that is.”

Jones pulled out a visibly very full bag of a very green, very smelly substance.

The Dropout Brothers Jaws slacked. “Is that…”

“Yes, yes it is. Order now, and get this for free, too.” Jones smiled, pulling out some old-fashioned Playboy mags and a bottle of Whiskey. “I’m willing to hand these over.”

The Punk Quartet had a brief discussion, but they began lowering their guns to hip-height.

“Alright, asshole. You got a deal.” Flamingo yelled. “But you hand over that pistol. We’re searching you for firearms, too.”

“Don’t worry much about that pistol. Chinese knockoff Billy’s got no bullets in his chamber.” Jones yelled back, signing Watson to show his magazine and unloaded gun.

“Still gotta check, dude. Look, we’ll put our guns away once we’re done, too.” The green-hair shouted.

“Alright, alright. But don’t touch me too inappropriately, will ya?” Jones compromised.

The Dropout Brothers led Jones and Watson into a century-old basement of a long-forgotten diner. The cement steps were cracked with age, and cobwebs streaked the corners. Yet the steps were obviously well-trodden, proven by the dusty footprints left everywhere. While not held at gunpoint, the danger of a firefight was always present, the Punk Quartet still holding their loaded firearms at hip height.

“Um, Jones?” Watson asked, shivering. “You… Sure we can trust them?”

“Well… Not really, but they’d have shot us in the desert if they weren’t even a little reliable.” Jones whispered. “Besides, why would they bring us all the way to their secret base if they just wanted our shit?”

“I mean, you have a point…” Watson said, looking at their guns. “I’m still not feeling very… Comfortable.”

“You shouldn’t, really.” Jones answered.

“Alright- guys. Be quiet. You’re about to enter our base.” Flamingo said, as he opened a well-barred door.

What lay behind that door was behind Jones- and certainly Watson’s- wildest imaginations. Instead of some crappy basement full of stoners and wannabe gangsters, they found an elaborate, wide-spaced plaza, connecting to multiple tunnels. As they passed through the door, they found it labelled as ‘Entrance 5A’. Watson stared at the operation in awe, as dozens of workers passed by, staring at the newcomers with amusement. They were dressed in all manners of clothing, not just Fallout-esque cosplay.

They were led through a series of rooms, each bigger than the people they contained. Jones estimated a population of around a hundred, although that could be reaching quite far. Many facilities were of note- a garage, medical center, cafeteria, a generator room…

Soon, they entered a strategic room. Crude, but oddly reminiscent of a WWI era operation. In the middle was a hardwood desk, a map of America with several pins attached to it laid out.

A woman stood behind that desk, speaking with a bunch of NPC’s. She looked quite a bit more important than everyone else, sporting a nice, purple beret, and a series of self-made badges attached to milsurp attire. Her long, auburn hair was pinned nicely under the cap, and her eyes told enough of her character.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sir!” The Dropout Brothers saluted with a V formed with their fingers. “We’ve brought, uh, prisoners, to have a word with you.”

“I’d prefer ‘guests of honor’.” Jones mumbled.

“Anyways, we’ve found them in the desert, and after a small chat, we decided to bring the two to you, Sir.” Flamingo took the initiative. “They said that they wished to talk to you.”

“Good job. I’ll take them from here.” She curtly replied. “Get back to your stations, now. Hey, Luke? I expect a status report about the perimeter before 7, ok?”

“Yes, Sir!” The four replied, saluted, and left.

She quickly turned her attention towards the two.

Jones grinned and stretched his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you. The name’s Jones. Yours?”

“No handshakes- I’ve no idea what you’re up to.” She declared. “But the name’s Lisa. Lisa Smith. What about your friend here?”

“Uh, I’m- Connor. Connor Watson.” Watson quickly bowed. “Just call me Watson. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Wow, someone competent. I like that.” Jones sneezed. “Quite a fancy operation you’ve got down here.”

“One-of-a-kind, I’m sure.” Lisa smiled confidently. “So, Jones, Watson, what brings the two of you here? Do you wish to join the revolution?”

“I’ve been revolting for quite some while.” Jones smirked. “Just trying to get a good grasp on my allies, if you understand.”

“Have you now.” Lisa maintained her smile, just a couple degrees colder. “I’d be thrilled to hear about it. But you aren’t here just for introductions, aren’t you?”

“Know your neighbours, right? Ancient American proverb.” Jones continued. “But no. I hear we have common goals, and work’s always better shared.”

“I agree, but I’d emphasize on that word- ‘know’, a bit more.” Lisa replied, now neutral. “I don’t know you two. Hell, I’m not even sure if those dumbasses checked you for weapons thoroughly. I can see that pistol poking out, you know.”

“It’s- It’s empty.” Watson muttered fearfully, pulling out the gun, inciting the others in the room to react in response.

“Hold on, cowboy-” Lisa stepped forward, and pulled the pistol out of Watson’s hand. “Lemme check. Huh, it’s really empty…”

“Told ya so.” Jones yawned. “Let’s get over the chit-chat. We’re here to help, Lisa.”

“Help?” She swatted eyelids in distrust, whilst handing over the weapon back. “I’ve known you two for the last minute. Most offers don’t roll in that easily, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Brainwashing and all that. But we’re offering you a meal on a platter, aren’t we?” Jones maintained. “Can’t imagine overtaking a government with only a hundred men. The more, the merrier.”

“Whoever told you it was only a hundred men?” Lisa smirked. “But I agree. Only problem is, I can’t just trust you like that. As you said, competent.”

“Give us a chance to prove ourselves, then.” Jones smiled.

“I think that’s exactly what I’ll do. But we don’t have anything planned for the moment.” She responded. “In the meantime, why don’t you two look around?”

“Guess there’s not much else to do.” Jones accepted.

“Uh, if we aren’t imposing here…” Watson mumbled.

“Hey, Ben, you take that guy-” Lisa pointed at Jones. “For a tour, will ya?”

Ben saluted, and exited with Jones, who turned slightly confused towards Watson, but was soon out of sight.

“Um… What about me?” Watson asked, fiddling his thumbs.

“I’ll give you a guide. Personally.” Lisa said, smiling. “And why don’t we have a little chat? You look quite a bit more courteous than your friend over there.”

“Uh… Thanks?” Watson said, bewildered by the proposition.

“Watson, was it?” Lisa asked, leading him. A handful of armed men trailed along.

“Y-yes. Connor Watson, uh… Sir.” He awkwardly replied.

“Drop the Sir, Watson. You aren’t my subordinate yet.” She turned to meet his eyes, which he averted. “Call me Lisa. Most do, honestly. Just not when we need some professionalism.”

“Thanks, Lisa.” Watson said, breathing out.

“We’re going to be taking a small detour from your friend.” She explained. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to talk to you- alone. He’s a bit too stuffy.”

“Thanks…?” He uttered, unsure of what to say. “I think I know what you mean.”

“Intense, isn’t he?” Lisa muttered, leading him along the narrow corridor. “I prefer simple.”

“Yeah.” Watson sighed. “Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

“Good to know we agree.” She flashed a smirk, as they stepped out into a large room. “This is the cafeteria. It’s mostly just canned beans and sludge, so don’t expect too much.”

“I mean… It doesn’t look too bad?” Watson tried to find something nice to say, but the room was definitely not a place he’d be comfortable eating in.

“Don’t bother looking for positives. We all know it’s shit.” Lisa coughed. “Especially the guys making it. I swear, Louis tries his best to make it bad…”

“I see.” Watson awkwardly replied.

“Not used to this military-style thing, are you, Watson?” She asked.

“No. Never been in the military, not even close…” Watson answered.

“Not a big surprise, honestly. What about your friend?” Lisa questioned. “Jones, was it?”

“Yes, Jones.” Watson affirmed. “Uh… probably not? I asked him about it. He said he’d never been…”

“I see.” Lisa nodded, and led him to the next room. “These are the generators. Well, the backups. The mains I can’t show you. Classified.”

“Wow. They’re huge.” Watson said, feeling very stupid.

“I know. Not really interesting otherwise, except for the nerds. Good going there, James!” She yelled, waving across the room.

“So…” Watson started. “What do you do, exactly?”

“Well, we’re called the Revolution, Watson. I’m sure you can hazard a guess.” She smirked.

“I get that, but Jones just told me about some, uh, car bombings?” Watson fidgeted.

“Ah. Well, we protest. Very loudly. And we try to take care of some of these lizard bastards, but…” She trailed off. “They’re very hard to deal with.”

“Oh. We’ve experience with that too.” Watson sympathised. “They’re really scary.”

“Had trouble running away?” Lisa chuckled.

“Well, I did. But Jones was there, thankfully.” Watson shrugged. “Wish he was more thoughtful.”

“So… Jones took care of them, did he?” She asked, slowing down in her steps, leaning in a bit.

“Yeah. Both times.” Watson replied.

“Both times? So two lizardmen…” Lisa mumbled. “Impressive.”

“Um, technically four.” Watson corrected. “We fought this… Weird robot-lizard first, then a group of guards. He saved me. Well, I doubt I’d have gotten in trouble alone in the first place…”

“That’s the mini-garden, by the way.” Lisa mentioned. “But continue. What’d he do?”

“He blew up the robot with a gas station. And my Cadillac!” Watson groaned. “And the other two, he flashbanged. Kinda hit me too. The third, he tied up.”

“Incredible…” Lisa pondered. “How’d you meet a guy like that, anyways?”

“He showed up in the middle of the desert… I got stuck with him, in a way.” Watson absentmindedly explained.

“So he just showed up out of nowhere?” Lisa asked, befuddled. “Where does he live?”

“He said he lived in an RV, so… Well, it’s complicated. He told me to shut up about it.” Watson remembered. “Ah… He won’t be too happy.”

“So nowhere. Hmm…” She pondered. They exited then into the main plaza.

“This is the plaza. The heart of our operation.” Lisa proudly explained, stretching her arms out.

“In these walls, the names of our fallen are engraved. Dead they may be, but their spirits will always be with us, in our heart.” She continued, her eyes sparkling with duty.

“Incredible…” Watson mumbled, looking at the dozens of names etched into the walls.

“It’s chronological. Some of the first are over here…” She lead Watson towards the central wall. “Here, the name of our founder. My father, John Doe.”

“And some other prominent, first-generations… First death, Lewis Armstrong. James May. Ronnie Rob. Archie Watson. Dick Long…” She continued.

“Wait.” Watson said. “Repeat that last one, please.”

“Long Dick?”

“No, the second last…” He hurried.

“Archie Watson?” She asked.

“Yes. Archie- Watson? Um… Do you perhaps know if he was British?” Watson demanded with urgency.

“Uh, yes. I’ve heard he moved here during the Second World War…” She answered, a bit shaken.

“No way…” He exhaled. “This can’t be.”

“What, Watson? Don’t tell me…” Lisa asked.

Watson handed her his pistol, his hands shaking. “Look at the engraving.”

“Archie Watson. Fighter for Freedom.” She read aloud, astonished. “Your relative?”

“They told me… They told me he died in a car accident!” Watson yelled in disbelief. “This… It can’t be right.”

Lisa held his shoulder tight. “They told you? Who did?”

“My grandfather used to leave for business trips… Usually unannounced.” Watson explained, choking up. “He didn’t come back for a while one time. Police Officers said he’d been… Involved in an accident.”

“My condolences.” She saluted him. “But it seems to me that you’ve been fed a lie.”

“But-” He quibbled. “Him? A revolutionary…?”

“I didn't know the man well myself, Watson.” She claimed. “But… He was a kind man. Someone worth mourning.”

“I’m sorry. It’s quite a bit to take in.” Watson leaned against the stone wall.

“It’s quite alright. I’d imagine that to be the case.” Lisa smiled, and sat him down. “If it helps you any, he died a brave man. I’ve asked him once, in his old age, if he’s afraid… But he smiled, and said, for the freedom of others, he’d gladly die a dozen times over.”

“Thanks.” Watson replied. “Could I perhaps have a sip of tea?”

“No, but we do serve gruel.” She smirked. “Just joking. That helps, right? I’ll get you some Camomille.”

Watson sat, feeling quite lonely, indeed, as Lisa and her subordinates hurriedly left for the cafeteria. Feeling his chest pocket, the pen still buzzing ever so softly, he felt more alone than he ever had before.