
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA
4:46 - 7:52
It was morning and the early sun glistened down upon the large convoy of military vehicles parked outside of Heinz Field. All with firefly emblems painted on their sides, some had doors missing or hoods missing due to wear and tear from over the years. Men sat outside of them, some worked on parts that needed tending to, others just chatted their freetime away. There were improvised towers setup around the stadium. Two were at the entrance, a gate in between them. Outside of that gate were the things of children's nightmares, an unforgiving, relentless world that for the next few weeks the large detachment of Fireflies would have to call home.
A cool breeze brustled the few trees that were starting to sprout back to life from the harsh late winter that had finally left. A man, with a rough, gray beard, sunglasses, and a baseball cap stepped out from the stadium, an M4 cradled in his arms. Behind him, a dark woman with black hair placed her hand on his shoulder, they exchanged a few words, before she walked back inside the stadium. He yelled out to the convoy in front of him, "Saddle up boys! We're headed out!" he said, walking down the line to the front vehicle. "Guys in the back!" he hollered, "I want a quick once over of the supplies, before we head out!" He then opened up the door to the driver side of the head vehicle, peeking his head out before he jumped in, "Once we're out there I want everybody's heads on a swivel, we're only going to be in these metal buckets until we're safely out of the city limits, then we're going to be on foot from there, it'll take us a few weeks, maybe a month to get into Massachusetts so make sure you don't forget to pack your bags full of supplies, we'll scavenge and loot as we go through the cities, drivers just follow me and don't fall behind. If we run into hunters duck and drive, the bastards can kiss the hoods of our cars." The man, Jason Monroe, put his M4 in between the driver and passenger seat, cocked his hat backwards and jumped into the front seat, waiting for the rest of the men to pile in before he started the vehicle up.
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
23:21 - 24:15
Morning chatter on the streets around the Quarantine Zone could be heard, though scattered, it was a definite sign of some sort of organized societal life. Large locks were placed on some doors with signs reading, “DANGER: QUARANTINED”. Some soldiers could be seen at one of the many checkpoints scattered around the QZ area. Others were patrolling, in vehicles and on foot. It seemed that any attempt to overrun this place would almost certainly end in a catastrophe for the opposing force.
In the distance, shots could be heard ringing out, in fact, it was almost every few minutes that a few shots or some screaming could be heard from somewhere in the QZ. A lot of the men in the Military were forced to stay in now, and were frankly sick of being controled, sick of ROE’s, sick of dealing with the people in the QZ. So anybody who gave them a bad day would sooner or later regret their decisions.
The one factor that kept the men of the remaining US Military up was their treatment, compared to the others, and compared to those out in the cities, they were treated with especially good care. Plenty of rations to go around, houses for their families, and beds to sleep in at night. FEDRA kept their morals somewhat in check and knew that if they wanted to keep the military from imploding in on itself they would need to be smart about how they treated their few remaining brave men and women.
It was only four in the morning and it was time for the firewatch patrols to come in and the regular day patrols to begin.
A brutal looking man, who was aged terribly walked into one of the improvised ‘barracks’. Because most standard procedures were dropped and organization began to slowly deteriorate over the years, men’s and women’s sleeping quarters were no longer separated. The man yelled out, “Sergeant Farrell! Get these men up and active ASAP, congratulations, you have first outside patrol!”



