"I've got a black magic woman
Got me so blind I can't see
That she's a black magic woman
She's trying to make a devil out of me"

-Black Magic Woman, Santana (1970)

-

The team spends the rest of the afternoon preparing for the next day- reloading Ace Hardware, settling accounts with Zo's Tow & Automotive (- $1000 cash), and filing reports regarding the bridge, dam, and MSG situation. That night, the team members sleep hard.

The next morning, after a breakfast of grits and razorback bacon, ASTARR Sierra departs from Pendleton, sunburned and sore, but having earned a portion of goodwill from the locals.

The next leg of the journey is relatively dull, compared to the last. The convoy passes the morning in Dumas, the most normal place- save for the numerous "Home of the Ding Dong Daddy"* signs prominently posted around town - that Sierra has spent any amount of time in since leaving Grady. The people of Dumas have mostly cleaned up from the storm and require little direct assistance from the STARR Team (Carswell examines a young rodent-bite victim who's displaying early rabies symptoms, but there's nothing much he can do for the unfortunate child).

*Asking around, the Sierras learn that this odd slogan refers to the title of an old song purportedly written about the little town- its one and only claim to fame.

After a quick survey, mail delivery, and a cold lunch, the Sierra convoy leaves Dumas,  passing through the hamlets of Winchester, Tillar, and Reed, before finally arriving in McGehee, the largest settlement on the 65 since Pine Bluff.  The various townsfolk the Sierras see out and about don’t seem to know quite what to make of the well-armed strangers. The people seem curious, and understandably wary, but, for the most part, their responses to the odd wave or shouted hello are markedly friendlier than those the Sierras received in Gould, or even Pendleton when the ASTARR team first arrived there.


Wednesday, July 17th, 2030
1300 hours
87F, 75% humidity
Wind 3mph out of the south
Waning gibbous moon

The McGehee Police Department is right off the highway, marked by a large water tower emblazoned with "McGEHEE"  in plain [red] block letters.  Just underneath  the town's name, the faint, stylized initials, "D.S.B.." (in black) bleed through a  coat of white paint. A armed figure looks down from a catwalk that circles the base of the tower tank; a uniformed man with a long-rifle stands on the roof of the police station.

McGehee's  acting Police Chief, Leslie Jo Paddock, looks overworked and under-rested. With various unimportant tangents (omitted here), she recount the following tale of woe:

Shortly after the nuclear strikes on the New Orleans-Baton Rouge axis, McGehee was chosen by FEMA to be a refugee center for displaced persons from Louisiana. Invoking eminent domain, the federal agency set up trailers and tents in a couple of fallow cotton fields on the east side of town. Unhappy locals dubbed the refugee center, "Little Easy" (pronounced Lil' Easy). FEMA personnel managed the facility for a time, but eventually the agency's resources dried up. For all intents and purpose, FEMA went missing over a year ago, leaving the prewar population of just over 4000 full-time inhabitants to deal with the fugee population on its own. The First Wave of fugees settled in fairly smoothly, living in Lil' Easy and working on area farms. The Second Wave arrived, by train, from Louisiana a little over one year ago, shortly after FEMA ceased its operations in the Arklamiss/Arklatex region. This group of fugees has left a very different impression on the locals.

The Second Wave fugees refused to move to the already crowded FEMA camp, preferring to live aboard the stranded train instead. The sundry boxcars and container carriers were quickly transformed into an ersatz fugee village. The de facto leader of the Second Wave and its settlement within a settlement is a reputed Louisiana voodoo queen known as Madame Chloe. She holds court in a freight car festooned with candles, flowers, and arcane symbols that  locals swear were painted with blood- it's hard to miss. The voodoo priestesses' often raucous rituals- almost always held after dark- do not sit well with the vast majority of long-time McGehee residents (the town boasts nearly a dozen separate churches of various Christian denominations), especially home and business owners whose property abutted the railroad siding. Those who had the nerve to confront the group, however, can consider themselves fortunate if they've lived to regret it.

Madame Chloe has a small but fiercely loyal army of nominal adherents that calls itself "Dem Snek Boyz" (also known by its tag, D.S.B.). The gang's leader is a one-eyed O.G. known as Napoleon. The  gang has been steadily growing, in both size and boldness, since its arrival, augmented by young, disaffected fugees from the First Wave and even a few locals. At present, it's strength is estimated at somewhere between 30-50 gangbangers**. D.S.B.'s demographic skews young- estimated average age is 16- and male, but there are reportedly a few female gangbangers as well. The D.S.B.'s "soljas" are spectacularly violent. Although not particularly well-armed, they make up for their paucity of firearms with fearlessness and brutality. The gangbangers believe that Madamme Chloe's magic charms, called gris-gris bags, protect them from harm, resulting in brazen, temerarious behavior. Wielding machetes, hatchets, clubs, knives, and a motley assortment of firearms (about two dozen in total- mostly pistols and sawed-off shotguns, and a handful of submachine guns and assault rifles wielded by the lieutenants), Dem Snek Boyz aren't averse to using violence to impose their leaders' will.  Rumors have circulated that dissenters within Madame Chloe's parish have met with gruesome fates. The crime rate in greater McGehee has skyrocketed since the arrival of the Second Wave, and attempts to investigate or arrest gang suspects have been met with bloody resistance.

**At one point during the description of D.S.B.'s predations, Guillory recalls hearing about a request from McGehee to the State House to send the State Anti-gang Task Force. Unfortunately, due to manpower shortages and other, more pressing priorities, said task force had, by that time, essentially ceased to exist.

Americans' worst  atavistic fears  about refugees have become reality in Pendleton. Local law enforcement's ability to maintain law and order in and around the Second Wave's ad-hoc camp was quickly overwhelmed by the emboldened gang's various criminal activities.  Things came to a head after an incident in which two McGehee police officers were ambushed and brutally executed while attempting to detain a D.S.B. member for questioning regarding an earlier aggravated assault. Posse comitatus was invoked and the shorthanded police bolstered by armed citizen volunteers;  the deputized McGehee natives pushed for the immediate eviction of the Second Wave from the town. A hastily planned and clumsily executed dawn raid was repulsed by the D.S.B. in a chaotic, pitched battle that lasted until nightfall. Several posse members were killed or wounded in the fighting, including the chief of police chief, who remains hospitalized; several gang members were killed or badly wounded as well.

In the wake of the bloodshed, an uneasy truce was arranged between the two parties. In exchange for weekly deliveries of food and alcohol, and a guarantee of non-interference in their affairs, Dem Snek Boyz and Madame Chloe's parish agreed to stay east and north of 1st Street, west of the 165, and south of Pine Street, in the railroad siding and its immediate surrounds.  For all intents and purposes, Madame Chloe and D.S.B. also control Lil' Easy (the FEMA camp), and they sometimes operate a road block at a railroad crossing on the 65*** south of the police station where they shake down travelers for money and valuables. Although the truce has held so far, a couple of minor clashes between locals and D.S.B. have occurred, straining the fragile ceasefire. The citizens of McGehee fear that it's only a matter of time before open war breaks out again.

"If they saw you arrive, there could be trouble," Acting Chief Paddock explains. "And soon."

***Paddock reports that an ADOC convoy passed through town on the 65 several days past, exchanging fire with the D.S.B. roadblock on the highway.


Your Turn.

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This message was last edited by the GM at 22:13, Tue 01 Jan 2019.

Scott's face is hard as he listens to Acting Chief Paddock's report.  McGehee's obvious defensive posture was enough to put him on edge as the team pulled into town; for once, Cao hadn't needed to remind him to wear his helmet.  It's on the desk beside him now.  In a street cop habit he's tried hard to break since giving up his beat, his hand is resting on his Safariland holster's retention hood.  "Kontan al kontre ou, éske ou pa devine non mwen?" he murmurs softly as Paddock draws to a close.

The local cop looks at him sharply.  "That sounds like..."

"Yeah."  Scott nods sharply, blinks, and draws himself back into the here-and-now.  "I, uh, visited New Orleans a couple of years ago.  Personnel retrieval thing."  He pauses again, mentally inventorying the Arkansas State Troopers and Louisiana National Guardsmen who accompanied him on that trip's return leg and fantasizing about summoning them down here with a pissed-off and vengeful Jonelle Ralford and a couple of tankers of ersatz napalm.

He turns to Cao.  "Captain: if anything, Leslie here is understating the issue.  There are deep cultural hooks that these mambos and houngans use to run their crews.  It's bullshit but the troops are true believers.  Impossible to intimidate, certain they're immortal, and, if they've got any chemistry chops at all, doped to the eyeballs.  Pain compliance and less-lethals just piss them off and they'll keep coming at you until they bleed out.  Better yet, the citizens under their influence are likely to display significant, hmm, acculturation as a survival mechanism.  Think high-end Stockholm Syndrome.  The ones who would have resisted the takeover in the camp have probably already been tortured to death pour encourager les autres."

A glance back at Paddock shows her nodding reluctantly.  Scott presses on, "They may try to abduct one of our people tonight or tomorrow night.  They'll conduct chemical and forcible interrogation but the primary intent will be to demonstrate their capabilities to both us and their followers."  He sighs.  "This is going to be ugly.  I really recommend flamethrowers."

---

Spoiler text: (Highlight or hover over the text to view)
In Haitian Creole: "Pleased to meet you, won't you guess my name?"

---

In one sense Lauren is pleased that Scott seems to have finally accepted her 'advice' and is adopting the appropriate defensive posture without her prompting. In another sense it's a reflection of the nature of the World that they are living in that such precautions are deemed necessary in a small town in rural Arkansas.

Her own helmet is currently nestled next to his, having been removed when she'd stepped into McGehee Police Station. The Air Force Captain had stood as she listened to the Acting Police Chief's summary of events and Guillory's response, her sunglasses dangling from an MBLBE loop at the front of her plate carrier vest, her thumbs hooked inside said vest. Her carbine is slung over her back, the barrel pointing downwards.

When both Paddock and Guillory have said their pieces Cao nods, thinks for a moment. If there is 'trouble' as Paddock has stated, Lauren is confident that they can take care of their immediate personal security. A combination of fifty cal, forty mike mike, and excessive volumes of five point five six from Sergeant Anderson's SAW should deal with any frontal attack, regardless of whether the attackers were off their heads on drugs or not. At least that's her professional opinion. She's never actually encountered an Opfor in that condition so she has no practical experience to draw on. Although she suspects Guillory possibly has judging by what he knows about them.

Lauren turns to Acting Chief Paddock, smiles briefly. "Don't worry. If there's trouble we'll deal with it." Her tone is one of confidence. It's intended to sound reassuring. After all, that was part of their remit wasn't it, to support the local authorities. Maybe she's being overconfident. Underestimating the opposition. Either way, if the Sierra Team have to react to events they can do so.

Being proactive is another matter though. They could just drive Razorback up to a point where the railway cars are within fifty cal range and then open up, but that thought is immediately discounted on a number of levels, not least of which that she would be initiating a massacre. The slim Air Force officer's thoughts drift back to the pig farm. No, she would be initiating  another massacre. And on a much larger scale. Events at the pig farm had not come back to haunt her. Yet. But she's not eager to repeat the experience. And besides, some of the gang bangers - maybe most of them - would get away.

But clearly, the status quo is not an acceptable resolution. Unlike the question marks about Gould they can't send this one back up the line for follow up later. And they're further away from Little Rock, which means they're further away from any support. Besides which, most of their reserves are probably still committed to operations in and around Grady. If they had the resource they'd have been here by now.

Cao turns to Guillory. "It seems to me that the most effective solution here is to cut off the head of the snake. They think they can't be harmed, correct?" There are various nods. "So we expose that as a lie. Deal with this Madame Chloe and Napoleon. By which I mean use lethal force. A decapitation strike. Take out the leaders and hope that breaks the rank and file so that they can be taken into custody without any mass loss of life." She looks Scott in the eye. She's well aware that she's advocating executing at least two people without any semblance of due process. And of course, how they would do it as a whole other conversation.

"If you expect that our arrival will break the truce, then I strongly suggest we implement martial law now.  Conscript every able-bodied person in town and implement a dusk to dawn curfew for all other civilians," Tori said, synthesizing Guillroy's worry about abduction into an action plan that might prevent that.  "We've got some spare small arms if needed," Rios added, thinking about some of the ADOC weapons that were collected and the Wilson Combat and Nighthawk firearms she'd obtained in Little Rock.

"There's not a judge in this state who wouldn't approve no-knock warrant in an effort to apprehend suspects wanted in the death of two law enforcement officers; especially given the narcotics nexus," Victoria said when Cao broached the issue of a decapitation strike.  "Assuming we aren't talking about shooting someone who is clearly unarmed and actively surrendering, then I have no issue with a pre-dawn raid on this voodo-bitch and her crew."  Tori's emphasis on the words clearly and actively made it clear that if there was any ambiguity, then the use of deadly force wouldn't be second guessed.

"Do you know if they have any NVGs or other night vision gear?" Tori asked Chief Paddock.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Sat 29 Dec 2018.

Saul watches and listens to the debate over what to do with the ongoing crisis in humanity that is occurring in the vicinity and tries to formulate what to do.  It's tribal, this conflict thing, and while there are levers that can be pulled, there's going to be a cost.  Usually paid in the blood of people who would rather sit out the situation and are doing their level best to keep down and stay alive. This is not the Mississippi contingent, operating out of lack of control and a baseline human selfishness.  This is very opposite: a power structure operating directly through terror and violence, prioritizing it's own survival and growth.

"Okay," Saul says from his chair against the wall, trying to summarize what's going on.  "So we've got an entrenched power structure held up with superstition and a 'bit of the old ultra-violence.'  Anyone who crosses them will be dealt with in the most biblical of manners.  It sounds to me like we're lacking any 'good-bad-guys' to lever against the 'bad-bad-guys.'  I agree with you, ma'am," Saul tips his head to Lauren, "we're going to have to use violence.  This isn't a diplomatic situation.  Long-term coexistence is not the end goal or desirable.  This is an organized hostile force that I recommend we view as either a terrorist organization or an outright enemy.  That's the legal cover.  Hell, have the governor declare them so."

The former cop goes silent for a minute, now channeling the man who worked in reconstruction and COIN operations in Afghanistan.  "We're the new kids on the playground and we came in displaying our strength. They're going to test us, you are right in that.  I'm inclined to punch them in the nose first.  Buy us a few more days, hell maybe only a few more hours, but we can't let them dictate the terms here.  If they send a delegation over, we grab them and arrest them.  If they come and so much as sneeze at us, we highly consider shooting them in the face.  We need to prep our people ASAP."  Saul reclines back.  "Just an old Marine's opinion."

"Night vision? I don't think so. I've heard they think they can see in the dark, though- voodoo magic and all that bullshit. Problem is, we don't have much night vision equipment ourselves." She clarifies that the only NOD the department has was designed for surveillance as opposed to tactical use.

Paddock adds some more intel regarding Dem Snek Boyz' estimated capabilities, "They've got at least one police radio, but I don't know if they have any way of charging batteries. If not, it's gotta be dead by now. They used molotov cocktails- fire bombs," she adds, unnecessarily, "-when we tried to raid their camp. I mentioned the guns, right? They've got at least two police AR-15s, and probably a few more assault rifles of their own. They've got to be hurtin' for ammo, though.

"As for us, we're doing OK on ammo, and we've still got plenty of non-lethal stuff (CS gas, pepper spray, tasers and sting-ball grenades), but my department is tiny- there's only six of us left, and two patrol vehicles. There's maybe twenty posse members that are still gung ho to take on the gang. The rest? The raid fuck-up played holy hell with morale. You know what a 'Soweto Necklace' is? The people the D.S.B. caught during the fight- put a tire around their necks and set 'em on fire. Yeah, that'll make you reassess your priorities right quick. But maybe with y'all here..."

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This message was last edited by the GM at 16:21, Sun 30 Dec 2018.

Everyone has good or bad days at work. It's a fact. The problem is that in Mike Carswell's line of work the bad days can really fucking suck. The War hadn't really changed things that much in that regard. Even before the shit had hit the fan it had been a thing. It had been one of the reasons that Mike had split from his first wife, Luisa. Not the only reason to be fair, but one of them. He would come home and she would want to talk about whatever fucking corporate fun and games had gone down at Stephens Inc that day. Maybe someone had fucked up and deleted a file by mistake. First fucking World problems. Doesn't really compare to having to clean up the mess after an eighteen wheeler hit a compact. Luisa just hadn't got that.

This morning had been bad. It wasn't the look on the mom's face when he'd had to break the news to the parents that there was absolutely fuck all that he could do for their kid. It had been the scream that she'd uttered just before she'd put her face into her boyfriend's shoulder. That scream would stay with him for a long time. Sorry, ma'am, your kid is gonna die. And it ain't gonna be pretty. And you know what, I'm a fucking paramedic and I can't do squat for him. Even if we get him to Little Rock it's not gonna make any difference.

Yep, that was about as bad as it fucking got. At that precise moment in time if Carswell could have laid his hands on one of the stupid fucking bastards that had started this fucking mess he would have gladly smashed the fucker's skull against the ground until it was in a thousand fucking pieces. But that wasn't going to fucking happen either, was it? Nope, there was only one thing that Mike Carswell could do that would make any difference today. He'd waited until the mom had gone to sit with the kid, spoke to the father. Quietly. A strip of pills had passed quietly from one hand to the other so that the kid wouldn't suffer. The only thing Mike could do.

And then he'd gone back outside, went to find Guillory, gave the Governor's right hand man a summary. It would have been evident from the medic's tone that things had not gone well. "Kid's got rabies. Too far gone for anything I've got, too far gone for anything they've got up in Little Rock. You need to pass that on to the Governor. The thing with rabies is, once it takes hold it's pretty much too late. People need to know what to do. I'd suggest Mr Ralford gets on to one of the Docs at UAMS and get them to put together an advisory to broadcast on the radio telling people what to do if they get bitten or scratched. And finds out how much vaccine is available."

So yep, all things being equal it's already been a pretty lousy day as Carswell dismounts from Bourbon Explorer in McGehee, stands next to the vehicle as others troop in to the police station, adopting a position of casual wariness, his rifle still slung over his shoulder, his eyes hidden behind Oakleys as he returns any nods or smiles that come his way. And tries to suppress the memories of earlier today.

-3 doses, strong sedative

Lauren folds her arms, looks over at Saul as he sits back, nods. "I'm in agreement with taking the fight to them. Sooner rather than later. They need to know that the rules of the game have just changed. And not in a good way for them. If they come at us armed I say we give them one chance to surrender. Everything I'm hearing here indicates they will not surrender in which case we have no option but to go guns hot at that point. In the meantime we work out how best to deal with them."

The Air Force Captain then looks over at Paddock. "I am concerned about the possibility that they may take hostages if and when they feel threatened, try and use them as leverage against us. Are any townspeople close enough for that to be a risk?"

"Well, let me show you." Paddock replies. On a wall-to-wall white board, attached side by side, are a large X-scale street map of the town and a blown-up Google Maps print of a satellite image. "Everyone between 1st and 2nd street moved out, or were forced out by the gang, so there's a bit of a DMZ, you could say, between the camp and the inhabited neighborhoods. We run a two-officer vehicle patrol up and down 2nd street 24-7. There are full-time Auxiliary* outposts here at the hospital and here, at the post office/museum. But the camp is still effectively only a block away from inhabited neighborhoods, so hostage-taking is definitely a possibility- a very scary one. We just don't have the manpower to completely cordon off the camp, so if they have a mind to cross 2nd street, there's no way to guarantee they won't."

*The working-name for official posse members is Police Auxiliaries.

https://drive.google.com/open?...ZAW3&usp=sharing

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This message was last edited by the GM at 16:22, Sun 30 Dec 2018.

Scott folds his arms over his chest plate, leans back to cool off, and lets the rest of the command and advisory group carry the conversation with Paddock.  "In this instance, the governor's office will concur with whatever finding we deem appropriate," he puts in when Paddock pauses to move to the map.  He gives Saul a sharp look and a curt nod.  "The roadblock in and of itself would be an extortion racket, but there's a standing no-go zone out there enforced by terror tactics.  That crosses the line from organized crime into whatever agency's proprietary definition of terrorism you care to name.  We need to shut this shit down hard and fast, and if they come at us before we launch, we put their scouts under the jail and melt down the key."

He looks at Paddock.  "I'm assuming you're on board with this."  Based on her demeanor, it's neither phrased nor inflected as a question.  "Should we expect any pushback from your chief or your local executives?"

"Pushback? More like the key to the city. Folks here have wanted them voodoo fugees gone since about a dozen major felonies ago. Last I heard, Arkansas is still under martial law, and this cult/gang bullshit's gone on long enough." Paddock reiterates a caveat already established by the Sierras, "As long as we're only talking about armed subjects, there'll be no legal, ethical, or moral objections to using deadly force, including preemptively. McGehee PD is totally on board with that."

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This message was last edited by the GM at 01:20, Mon 31 Dec 2018.

Lauren's uneasy about where some of this is potentially going. Her number one concern is the welfare of her team, both those under her direct command and those that she is on paper only there to advise. "To be very clear, I am in full agreement with offering them a chance to give themselves up peacefully. However if they choose not to take that chance and my troops feel that they are in clear and present danger I am authorizing them to use lethal force regardless of whether they can confirm their target is armed or not. We are not talking about unarmed refugees throwing rocks here. These insurgents clearly have no regard for human life so under no circumstances am I risking any of my people. If an insurgent lays down his weapon and clearly puts his hands in the air and complies with all instructions they are given then he - or she - will not be shot. Anything else is a judgement call and I will back my people's judgement." There is no way she is risking a mob of insurgents getting close enough to swarm them then drag someone off to be necklaced just because they're not openly carrying weapons.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:13, Mon 31 Dec 2018.

"I think we're both on the same page, Captain." Paddock replies, adding, "If someone's deemed a threat, regardless of whether or not they're visibly armed, we don't take any chances." The acting police chief pauses, weighing her next words carefully, "But, it's important for everyone here to remember that there are women and children in that camp too. I want us all to be able to sleep at night when this is over."

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This message was last edited by the GM at 18:56, Mon 31 Dec 2018.

Outside the leadership pow-wow, Carissa stands near Ace Hardware and watches the residents of McGhee watch the Sierra's pulling security.  As usual, she takes the opportunity to pretend to be her dad and tries to figure out what's going on.  There's hope in a lot of eyes, curiosity in more.  Most of all she sees wariness, as if their presence spells trouble.  A couple of eyes hover at the edge of the crowd and scamper as soon she makes contact with them.  She figures they're reporting in to somebody.

Well this is super shitty.  The town is on the edge of something, energy coiled like a mustang waiting to come out of the chute.  Carissa does a quick pat down inventory to make sure she's not missing anything and flexes the fingers of her hands in turn, just like she would before a horse underneath her is let go.  Her carbine is close, hands on the grips, thumb hovering on the safety.

"Hey girls," Carissa calls back to Xandra, still in the cab, and Watkins who is hovering on the driver's side.  "Anybody else got a funny feeling on this one?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:05, Mon 31 Dec 2018.

"I just want to be clear on the operational parameters we're discussing here.  As soon as they're locked in, I'm happy to brief our people outside."  Saul stands, his hip feeling a little better since he had the opportunity to rest for a little while in a chair not attached to a moving vehicle.  "In summary, if we are challenged here, we will provide one opportunity for the enemy to surrender, if possible before using deadly force to defend ourselves with due regard to the civilian backdrop.  Once we commence an offensive operation, all gloves are off and we'll be dropping bad guys like a contagious cancer.  Again with due regard to the civilian backdrop. Is that correct?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:06, Mon 31 Dec 2018.

"If by opportunity you mean they are standing with both hands up, in a well-lit room and not within three feet of a knife or firearm, yelling 'I surrender'.  Then yes," Tori said with a nod.

Slinging her Remington, Chevelle steps down, circles the slab nose of the M1078A1, stands next to Carissa. "Yeah, something's off here. Tense." She glances at the rifleman on the roof and the second above him, up on the water tower, observes, "That's not usually local PD SOP." Chevelle is wearing her blue USAF beret, but she has half a mind to replace it with her helmet.

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This message was last edited by the player at 23:15, Mon 31 Dec 2018.

"Concur," Scott adds tersely.

He studies the map a little more.  "On the DMZ issue, we have limited surveillance assets we can offer to augment your patrols.  It won't be anything like 24-7 monitoring but it might raise the odds of stopping a hostage grab."  He turns to Cao.  "I'm thinking we should try to rotate all of our people through those positions and the patrol routes to get a feel for the terrain."

Xandra slides behind Ace Hardware's wheel as Chevelle vacates the position.  Every few seconds, her eyes flick to the wing mirrors.  "Feels like hurricane weather," she puts in through the open driver's-side window.  "No one wants to be the first one to leave town but everyone's looking for an excuse to be somewhere else and save face."

She realizes she's checking her pistol to make sure it's still there and accessible, forces herself to stop, and wonders when that started to be a thing and if it'll become her new normal.