Chapter 5: Setup! Please

Trigger Warning, Some Villains and other characters within this piece of fiction do not reflect the IRL views of the author, and This Novel Will contain very extreme themes, some actions will not make logical since because of the character's psychosis; some of these characters will try to logically rationalize the irrational. Which Incudes Extreme Violence, Gore, Torture, and Corse language. Will feature Adult Themes through out, sometimes making light of great trauma.

 There is no Intentional subtext to suggest any of the characters political, or worldview is reflected by the Author some characters are to be driven by chaos. In this post apocalyptic, wasteland. 

WILL NEVER INCLUDE NTR.

Summary of Chapter 4:

Arnold proudly presents a sophisticated simulation of an AI-controlled city defense system to Jodie, Miranda, and David. The rendering showcases an advanced network capable of neutralizing threats, including ICBMs and cluster warheads, with remarkable efficiency. Amidst Jodie's valley girl astonishment and Miranda and David's skepticism, Arnold passionately defends the project as more than a dream—it's a look into a future of unparalleled security.

Despite pushing back against the risks and asking for clear evidence of viability, the Hughes team ultimately rallies behind Arnold's vision but insists on moving forward together, as a team. Driven by the urgent need for implementation and external pressure from the board, Arnold argues against any delays, even if it means employing outside contractors to expedite the work.

Concern arises about the project's potential conflict with another task for Ted Rockfellow, but Arnold suggests integrating their systems into Ted's bunker as a selling point. David questions the fast pace and registers his concerns officially but proceeds to assist with the project anyway.

Simultaneously, Arnold acknowledges the mysterious "resonance" mentioned by Rockfellow. He tasks Timothy, the dedicated errand boy with Appalachian roots, to assemble a team to investigate this enigmatic concept that could shape the future of their defense strategy.

Arnold reflects on his journey with the Hughes family and expresses deep appreciation for their support, which has allowed him to thrive in his fascination with science and weapons technology. Fueled by a passion to keep people safe, Arnold is resolute in his drive to turn his innovative visions into reality—hoping to forge a world devoid of fear from the threat of missiles.

Chapter 5: ​

As I stroll towards the city's square, I notice a sizable building that commands respect. Though not as grand as ours, it still exudes an imposing presence, adorned with the emblems of past battles and the leaders who established the city-state of Dargon.

Upon entering, I come face to face with a heavily armed guard decked out in night vision goggles. They scrutinize me in silence, their armor plating thick enough to stop bullets from conventional firearms. The level of security around here is intimidating enough to strike fear into anyone's heart.

After navigating through the foyer, I make my way to the mayor's office. The doors are intimidating, but after some assurances that I mean no harm and that my visit is important, I'm allowed entry. My direct line to the mayor and my reputation ensure they know they can trust me and the UDA.

When I finally reach the mayor's office, I find him sitting behind his desk—a portly man of short stature. He stands up and extends his hand, which I shake, feeling self-conscious about my smaller hands. Nevertheless, I collect myself and we get down to business.

"Hi, I'm Jodie from Hughes, and I'd love to bend your ear for a hot minute," I smile sweetly, flashing my dimples to charm him.

Cocking my head to the side, I look at Anderson Strong with a playful glint in my eyes, my Valley intonation standing out in the grim setting of Durgan. "Anderson, like, seriously, every time I see you all suited up, I think you're, like, trying to compensate for something with that monster chair of yours!" I laugh, the sound echoing in his spacious office.

Anderson chuckles deeply, the sound resonating in the room. "Oh, Jodie, your sharp observations never fail to amuse," he replies with a grin, settling back into his leather chair that creaks under his weight.

I wave my casted hand as I shift the topic to business. "For real though, the synergy between UDA and the city-state? Chef's kiss!" I mime the gesture, still smiling. "Handling our contracts is seamless. It's like a well-oiled machine, minus the mess."

"With the crispness of fresh banknotes, yes?" Anderson quips. "And let's not overlook the strength your security forces lend our contracts. It's a partnership more precious than old-world relics."

I can't help but giggle at our mutual success. "And all privatized! Take that, sluggish government courts! We keep people secure, and in turn, we prosper. It's like the circle of... life, or economics. Totally amazing."

Anderson rests his hands on the armrests, a picture of stoic wisdom. "We've built a bond of mutual respect and excellence. Our businesses support each other, the foundation of what Durgan is today."

I nod, my bouncy hair catching the light. "Like the epic duo of the free market! Batman and Robin, you know?" I laugh again before giving Anderson a warm look. "Thanks, for always being the rock for us."

"The pleasure is all mine, Jodie," Anderson replies, his rough exterior masking a hint of sentiment. "Keep shining as Durgan's beacon, and I'll keep on cutting through the bureaucracy, cake or not." Our shared laughter seals the unspoken bond of our alliance.

I pop open my handbag and pull out a tablet, shifting to a more serious tone, most of my vocal fry gone. "We have this project we've been working on—Project Q—and we'd like to test it here. It's a groundbreaking defense system designed to neutralize multiple missile warheads."

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze cool and unreadable. "Go on."

I tap on the Holovision tablet and a hologram of Arnold's simulation blossoms before us. "We ran a simulation of what would happen if, say, there was a missile attack on the city. You can see how our system swiftly and efficiently disposes of each threat."

He leans in, his eyes roving over the hologram. I watch his face for any sign of approval or disagreement, but his expression remains smooth as glass.

"This is very impressive, Ms. Hughes. However, I must know that this technology is ready for real-world deployment. Can you promise me that?"

I nod. "Absolutely, Mayor Strong. We're confident that our projections are correct. We plan to implement the system within the city, as well as our clients' bunkers. Mr. Rockfellow, whose project we're actively in development for, will be one of the first to receive the consumer version."

"Rockfellow, hm?" he muses. "That's a partnership I'd like to see succeed. I'm still not convinced that this project is ready to be tested in our city. What else can you show me?"

I swallow hard. I've only come prepared with the simulation. But I can't let him see my nervousness. I have to convince him that Project Q is worthy of Durgan.

"Well, that's just it! Project Q is a defensive product that we think will be a total game changer." I lower my voice and lean in. "It's still under wraps, of the general public, but I can tell you this," I pause for dramatic effect.

His eyes sparkle with interest. "Go on," he bites my bait.

"Arnold Cosworth, our lead defense specialist, is developing a proprietary defensive structure called Project Q that's going to up the ante on our defense system. It's a double whammy of protection, if you will,"

He regards me, his eyes steely and unreadable. I hold my breath, waiting for his response.

Finally, he speaks. "This is all very intriguing, Ms. Hughes, and I'm certainly impressed with your enthusiasm. But I'm going to need more than words and holograms before I can give you my approval for this project. I advise you to reach out to my office once you have concrete evidence of this system's capabilities. Until then, I'm afraid we'll have to postpone this conversation."

"Mr. Mayor, sir," I say, my voice firm with a vocal fry strongly noticeable. "The very survival of our people is, like, at stake?" I say as if it's a question, though not one. "The temperatures abroad are, like, crazy - really crazy. If our projections are correct, like, we are at risk of being targeted for our rich mineral resources!" I warn. "We cannot, like, slow down, not even for a minute, if we want to achieve our goals!" I beg and plead, getting to my knees. "I'm on my knees here, like, what more can I do? I beg of you," I show him the puppy dog eyes.

The mayor pauses, then speaks. "All right. Here's my condition: you promise me that there won't be any live shells used – shells that could detonate and cause mass-destruction if the test goes wrong."

I nod in agreement, smiling. "Of course, sir. We won't use any live warheads. Why would we even dream of being so reckless, so dangerous? We've partnered with Drakor Industries, and they're manufacturing ICBMs without live warheads."

The mayor seems to relax. "Okay, then. You may proceed," he pauses again in deep thought. "But, make sure there are no casualties."

So then I take my leave, giving notice that we have permission to set up for the test. Thank goodness for the little bureaucracy and red tape, we can get things done rather quickly.

* * *

Stepping onto Drakor Industries campus, I'm totally blown away by the extravagance. It's giving me major our-company-but-on-testosterone vibes with all the shiny new tech and these super extra measures. So I get there, right? And bam, they're shoving cotton swabs in my face faster than a desperate makeup artist during fashion week.

The guards are doing their thing, all monotone and Monday morning-ish, and I'm standing there trying to look chill. "Could you open your mouth for DNA verification?" they ask. Like, hello? I totally know it's not just for ID stuff—they're probs checking if I've had a venti vanilla soy latte or something illicit before our little chat.

I'm like, "Ouch!" trying to fake them out, maybe get a giggle or at least a smirk.

But nope, guard-dude is unphased and goes, "Nice try, but I know I didn't hurt you." Duh, of course you didn't, Mr. Serious, but it's kinda fun to test the waters, y'know? It's not like anyone would actually think I'm the one in the right in this scenario, would they?

So there I am, all jittery and stuff, trotting into Kenneth Osborne's mega office. Trust me, his desk alone could totes knock the Rockies off the 'World's Best Peaks' list. Kenneth's got this whole strong-but-silent vibe, like a movie general who's seen some things.

"Ms. Hughes," he rumbles—it's seriously like his vocal cords are doing bench presses. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

I'm fiddling with my ponytail, feeling super tiny against his mountain-man mojo. "Totally stoked to meet you, Mr. Osborne," I manage to squeak out, trying to hold on to my cool valley girl aura while channeling my inner CEO.

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and I take a seat, my hands shaking ever so slightly as I smooth my skirt. "So, what can Drakor Industries do for you today?" he asks, his eyes boring into me like twin lasers, his voice booming with assertiveness.

I take a deep breath and launch into my explanation of why we need their unarmed missiles for the test. He listens intently, his expression unreadable, and when I finish, he doesn't hesitate to give his approval.

"Very intriguing project you've got going on here, Ms. Hughes," he says, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. "I admire the ingenuity and foresight it takes to concoct something like this."

I beam at his praise, my confidence returning in full force. "Thank you, Mr. Osborne. We worked really hard to get to where we are, and we're excited to see how it all plays out. It's been successful so far."

He nods, his gaze fixing on the leather portfolio I'd brought with me. "I'm sure it will be a success. Now, about those missiles..."

The rest of the meeting goes smoothly, with me thanking Kenneth profusely for his help and offering my most sincere appreciation. As we stand to leave, he gives me a sidelong glance and asks, "Ms. Hughes, would you care to join me for a drink? I've heard great things about The Soggy Doggy."

I blink at him in surprise, my brain scrambling to process his unexpected invitation. "Um, that sounds lovely," I stammer, my face flushing pink.

Kenneth Osborne grins, a twinkle in his eye. "Excellent. Shall we say an hour from now?" I guess people are starting to feel more secure and are looking for love interests.

I murmur an affirmative, my heart pounding in my chest as I make my exit, my mind awhirl with the possibilities.

The Soggy Doggy is a dive bar tucked away in the shabby end of town, an establishment that my parents would faint at the mention of. To my surprise, Kenneth seems right at home there, taking a seat at the bar and ordering two glasses of bourbon, neat.

"So, Ms. Hughes," he says, sliding one of the glasses towards me. "Tell me more about your project."

Over the course of the evening, I find myself warming to Kenneth's gruff charms. He listens intently to my explanations of how some of our projects work, occasionally interjecting with questions or thoughts of his own. The more I talk, the more my confidence grows, and before I know it, I'm expounding on the finer points of our defense system with a passion I hadn't even realized I possessed.

Kenneth nods along, his eyes never leaving my face, and when the conversation inevitably veers towards deeper, more personal territory, he proves himself to be a good listener, offering up thoughtful insights and tidbits of wisdom gleaned from his own life experiences.

By the time we call it a night, I have a greater appreciation for Kenneth than I had ever imagined possible. He is a man of principles, of conviction, of an unwavering dedication to his craft. A man who, if I'm being honest with myself, I think I might be falling for.

"I best be going now," I say, feeling rested and a little buzzed. I stand and start towards the door when he stops me; he grabs me and embraces me.

"Will we see each other again, I mean, not in business terms?" He whispers in my ear, deep in embrace, seemingly enjoying his time, his beard tickling my cheek.

"Yes, like, I enjoyed myself in your company." I smile and a bit flustered, I awkwardly take my leave. I've never known this experience before; earlier, there was just endless winter, hoping to get food, but now we have time to have a little luxury in life.

* * *

As I walk home from the Soggy Doggy, I encounter two large men standing in front of a parked van in the middle of the cross roads. Suddenly, I hear the rapid approach of heavy footsteps from behind.

"What the fuck-" I cry out as hands roughly seize me from behind. Adrenaline surging, I manage to draw my weapon, but my shots miss their mark, unable to extricate myself from the predicament. There are at least two of them, large and burly, resolute in restraining me. Overpowering me, they disarm me, tossing my gun aside.

"No! Please! Let me go!" I scream, but my pleas fall on deaf ears. The men drag me into a white van with tinted windows, and in seconds, we're speeding away. I'm thrown onto the metal floor of the van with a thud, my head hitting the side panel hard. Dazed, I blink up at the men who surround me, their faces grim and unyielding.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demand, my voice still trembling with fear, but I refuse to let them see me cry. "What do you want from me?"

One of the goons, a beefy man of the south, with a scar on his cheek, scoffs in response. "You think we're here to chat?" he laughs, his deep voice menacing. "You're lucky you only have to talk to the boss."

"The boss?" I repeat, my mind racing. "What boss? I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

The goons remain silent, their expressions unchanging as they stare down at me, unmoved by my protests. The van continues to speed through the night, and I feel a wave of nausea sweep over me as we take a sharp turn. I close my eyes, my head still spinning from the force of the movement and the fear that is coursing through my veins.

"I'm Jodie Hughes," I say, my voice trembling as I try to assert some kind of control over the situation. "I'm the owner of UDA. My if my aunt-"

"We know who the fuck you are," sneers the goon with the scar.

"Then why-" I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp laugh.

"You're special, honey," he says, his tone mocking. "The boss has taken an interest in you, and that's all you need to know."

I want to scream, to cry, to do anything to make this nightmare end. But as we continue to speed through the darkness, I know that I have to keep my wits about me if I'm going to make it out of this alive.

"I can't help you if I don't know what you want," I reason. "If you'll just let me go, I promise I won't tell anyone about this."

But the goons just laugh again, their cold eyes fixed on me as if I were a specimen in a jar. I swallow hard, my throat dry and my heart pounding in my chest. I have to stay strong. I have to find a way to negotiate my release.

"Listen," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I, like, have money! My corporation has money. We'll pay whatever you want. Just, like, let me go."

"Money?" The goon with the scar scoffs. "We don't need your fucking money, honey."

"Then what the fuck do you want from me?" I demand, my fear beginning to give way to frustration. "Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you. Just let me go."

"You don't have what we want," says the goon, his tone a mix of amusement and menace. "But you're close to something we need. Very close."

I feel a chill run down my spine as his words sink in. I don't know what he means, but I know that I'm in even more danger than I'd realized. I have to find a way out, have to find a way to escape from these monsters, and I have to do it fast.

As the van continues to speed through the night, I search my mind for some way to turn the tables, to gain the upper hand. And then it hits me. I know what I have to do, and I can't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Wait," I say, my voice cutting through the air. "What if-"

But before I can finish, the van comes to a sudden stop arriving at an abandoned warehouse, ruined from the past war.