If you've been waiting for this one in real time, apologies, I wasn't expecting to run into writer's block so hard immediately after leaving you with a cliffhanger. Once I got past that however, I ended up realising I had enough to cover with this release to really be 2 chapters, so hopefully the double release makes up for things a little.
Like last time, this one has a lot of that self-indulgent plot stuff real writers seem fond of.
Relevant Cast List:
Team Knight
- Ethan Knight: A junior producer at the North England Broadcast Corporation and member of Project Upstart
- Nia Clarke-Mills: VP of Marketing at Averna Pharma, responsible for the PR of the Gemivax rollout
- Evie Kimura: Civil servant from the Department for Culture Media and Sport, permanently attached to support the NEBC and Project Upstart
- Farah Hassan: Former England Women's cricketer turned media personality, headhunted to be the face of Gemivax for Project Upstart
- Jessica (Jess) McNamara: An online artist and designer hired to help produce graphics and animations
- Alex McNamara: a programmer and coder who was falsely matched with Team Barclay and paired with Ethan following an adverse reaction
Team Barclay
- Rhys Barclay: A former editor of a tabloid paper brought on to Project Upstart despite his dubious personality
- Dr Eleanor (Nell) Armstrong: A public health doctor working as a consultant with the NEBC, now assisting Project Upstart with the Gemivax rollout
Team Kaminski
- Lukas Kaminski: Head producer with the NEBC following a career broadcasting football. Ethan's most direct superior.
- Laura Cooper: Another civil servant from the DCMS, in charge of government liaison and oversight at Taymont Hall
Unaffiliated
- Aoife Ryan: the long suffering and increasingly burnt out head broadcast/studio engineer for the NEBC
Chapter 10 - 25th October 2020
"Anas, what the fuck are you doing!"
A woman's voice shouted from somewhere very nearby, fraught and demanding, but Aoife couldn't see where from. Instead, from where she lay, wet in the mud, her attention was very much on the dulled metal of the shotgun barrels pointed down towards her. The firearm was a dated, functional thing at best, the sort that she could only imagine must have sat half-used in a farmer's shed for years, but the middle eastern looking man holding it certainly didn't seem like the sort to spend much time in the country shooting at pheasants. The thin coat, high street gloves and dirt smeared jeans he wore definitely didn't scream that he was someone in his element. Nor did the inexpert way he cradled the gun with one hand as he attempted to readjust a poorly fitting dust mask around his dark face. No, instead the tall awkwardness screamed that he was someone who felt very out of his depth, and Aoife couldn't tell if that made him more or less dangerous.
"You get your kicks from roughing up girls half your size, that it Big Man?"
The reaction to the indignity of finding herself on the ground came out of Aoife like a reflex. She was pretty sure antagonising him wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but her mouth worked before her brain could; as if it was doing its best, along with the glare on her face, to keep her from noticing how fucking scared she was.
The man, who she presumed was called Anas, looked back over his shoulder, nerves obvious as he protested to his companion. His voice surprised Aoife with how young it was, laced with a posh southern accent that suggested whatever his roots were he was at least 2nd or 3rd generation. "'If you think she's going to leave, sort her out,' you said."
"I didn't mean like that!"
"What was I meant to think that you meant?!"
Although the gun remained pointed far too much in her direction for even Aoife to feel bold or stupid enough to try something, the man was distracted for long enough for her to push herself up onto her elbows and reorient herself. Making her way over from behind the same crest of rocks that Anas must have emerged from, was a woman not much taller than herself, although she was clearly more at home out here than either Aoife or her assailant. Her coat and boots actually appeared suitable for the hillside for a start, the sort of thing she could imagine belonging on a farm, and she half expected a sheep dog to appear alongside the woman. Unlike Anas however, she was mask free, with a drawn-up scarf the only attempt at covering a young face that was all tired angles and sallow lines.
Aoife's beanie had fallen away as she'd gone to ground, leaving the frayed ends of her hair to spill loose about her face, while her own Palisade issued respirator had been pushed down slightly towards her chin. Fresh, hillside air tickled at her nose through the broken seal, and although for a moment her instinct was to grab her hat before anything else, feeling naked without it, she had enough presence of mind to attempt to fix the askew mask first. As she sat up to do so however, the other woman picked up her pace, closing the distance to them while shouting at Anas.
"Now she's on the ground don't just let her sit up," the woman said, her own voice carrying a demanding Yorkshire twang.
He looked back at her, spreading his arms slightly in consternation. He was also younger than Aoife realised at first, still somewhere in his twenties and it was evident he had no small amount of agitation for the situation he found himself in. And as he spoke that anxiety swelled up, argumentative. If this was something they'd planned for he was doing a terrible job. "Why do you think I know what it is I'm expected to be doing? It's not as if I've done this before."
There wasn't an immediate answer however, as the other woman ignored him for a moment. Instead, she opted to cover the final few steps towards Aoife, and harshly shoved the Scottish girl back flat into the mud with a boot on her shoulder.
"Hey! Get the fuck off me you fucking head case!" Again, the words spilled out of Aoife long before her head had a chance to decide if they were a good idea or not. "I don't know what your problem is."
The other woman glared at her from beneath a tangle of long blonde hair, daring her to keep talking, then looked at Anas and realised whatever confused decisiveness had led to him charging Aoife had stalled entirely. His feet were beyond cold and his body language screamed equivocation while the shotgun fell lower, losing intent as he spoke. "At least let her fix her mask."
"You're joking right," came the curt reply.
"I don't know?" The Arabic man responded, "I told you this was a terrible idea."
"Well, you're also the one who said that the world wasn't leaving us with good ones." Her tone was harsh, as if she felt Anas needed to grow some backbone but at the same time wasn't surprised to find that he wasn't. Her attention caught the indecision with which he held the shotgun, and with an exasperated noise, reached to take it from him even as she moved him aside brusquely with her shoulder. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, Aoife found herself with an unwanted twinge of sympathy for Anas as he shifted uncomfortably in the face of his more overbearing friend. He felt more awkward with every moment, with too many soft edges for this sort of hard-faced work.
If she'd let that thin crack of understanding remain for more than a moment she might have wondered just what path led someone like him to being here like this. But with the woman now standing over her, framed by steel grey sky and with her silhouette made broader and more imposing by the thick coat she was wearing, the feeling didn't last long enough. Instead, Aoife reached out and clung to the petulant anger that was the only thing keeping her own nerves from leaving her to sink into the mud.
"You're taking that out of context," he mumbled, half apologetically.
"And you're forgetting what they're all doing down there." There was a tip of the woman's head back down the hill in the direction of the Hall, small in the near distance. But her hands remained fixed on the gun, held towards Aoife with all the purpose Anas had lacked. "If you want answers from them, they aren't just going to give them to you."
Anas turned to glance back towards Taymont as the wind picked up, pulling green strands of Aoife's hair across her face. The pause was long enough for the engineer to realise just how cold she was starting to get and she found herself pushed to speak again, almost reasoning that no matter how much it annoyed the other woman it was better than freezing to death in a puddle.
"Look, I don't want to interrupt whatever this is between you two but I'd quite like to get up off the fucking ground now, if it's fine with you."
"You really need to stop talking unless you're being spoken to." The woman was impassive, before jabbing the end of the shotgun into the bottom of Aoife's ribs. "Give me your ID."
Aoife found herself glaring back rather than moving, only for the words to be repeated slower and more firmly, as if she was too stupid to have understood the first time.
"Give me your ID."