The Masked Party

July 10^th, 2040 (28 A.E.)

Denver

Somewhere in the city a grand themed party for the rich is taking place, and is quite, quite ridiculous…

V's words dripped with a bitter irony as she adjusted her mask, its facade contrasting sharply with her sparkly black dress and the fiery red of her hair that complemented her pale, freckled skin. "Funny, to think, I was hoping for a ball but now these masks take the cake," she remarked, her voice tinged with a venomous edge as she observed the masked figures inside of the mansion in front of her. "The people in there… bastards."

Leroy, clad in a suit and holding a mask of his own, leaned casually against a fence that bordered a meticulously maintained garden. His voice was a calm counterpoint to V's rising anger. "Control your anger, V," he advised, his gaze lingering on the lush flowers and bushes that thrived behind him.

Another man, Fedder, sat nearby in a metal chair, an elephant mask obscuring his features. The scene was surreal, a stark contrast between the opulent garden and the grim reality beyond.

V leaned over the fence, her hands gripping a rose which she yanked off with a mix of defiance and melancholy. "Look at this garden... I mean we're going through a bloody drought and these flowers look very well hydrated," she observed, her words laced with contempt. "My brother and I ate roses once. Stole it from a fancy restaurant. People were dying of the plague… just outside their doors… not so different from today. How many people are dying of disease and starvation just outside the doors of this damned mansion."

Her statement hung heavily in the air, a poignant reminder of the stark disparities and injustices that persisted even in times of widespread suffering.

"We cannot dwell on suffering for too long," Leroy remarked, his tone practical as he fitted the black cat mask over his face. "Let's head inside and get those papers. They should be in the bedroom."

"Better be. I have places to be soon," Fedder responded, his deep voice betraying a hint of impatience.

"A new brothel? Hmm?" V teased, her smile hidden behind her mask.

"I wish," Fedder retorted, rising from his seat and stretching his limbs.

"Look, we need to get in and out," Leroy emphasized, his focus sharp. "No wandering. No loitering. Straight to business. The Hugo Family hires guards, and I don’t need a gun to my head or a sword in my side."

"Aye, in and out," Fedder agreed, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

"No stealing either," Leroy added, directing a pointed look at V. "In and out."

"Aye, in and out. Let's go," Fedder declared, taking the lead toward the back door. V and Leroy fell into step behind him, each absorbed in their thoughts as they prepared to infiltrate the heart of opulence with a mission clear in their minds.

The mansion's large kitchen presented a throwback to the pre-2012 era, adorned with non-digital appliances that had weathered the ravages of time. Two ovens were stacked, their gleaming surfaces hinting at a bygone era of culinary craftsmanship. A ceramic fridge stood tall, preserving the echoes of a time when refrigeration was taken for granted. A dishwasher and a gas stove top completed the ensemble, serving as relics from a more technologically abundant past.

Marble granite countertops stretched across the kitchen, providing ample space for culinary endeavors. White cupboards, crafted from sturdy wood, stood as a testament to a once sophisticated taste in interior design. The atmosphere was one of timeless elegance mixed with a touch of nostalgia.

Adjacent to the kitchen lay a dining room, its focal point a long table that bore witness to many gatherings in the mansion's history. A fireplace, constructed from bricks, crackled warmly behind a protective gate, adding a touch of homely comfort to the lavish surroundings. The room exuded a sense of enduring opulence, a snapshot frozen in time, preserved against the backdrop of the post-apocalyptic world outside.

V's gaze was drawn to a decanter perched on the counter, adjacent to a toaster and a metal basket brimming with small bananas. The presence of such tropical fruits was a rarity in the mainland US, given the breakdown in trade of exotic produce. Their existence in this mansion was a clear indicator of the wealth and influence wielded by its occupants.

Meanwhile, Fedder and Leroy progressed towards the grand staircase. As they moved through the hallways, they observed what appeared to be pre-2012 paintings adorning the walls, each piece a window into a world long gone. The furniture they passed was unmistakably from the 20th and 19th centuries, their designs and craftsmanship evoking a sense of history and luxury. Vases, beautifully painted and seemingly originating from the East, were strategically placed, enhancing the mansion's ambiance of refined elegance.

The grand staircase ascended with an air of opulence, its steps crafted from pristine white marble, polished to a dazzling shine. A scattering of guests lingered on the stairs, some engaged in amorous embraces while a couple shared kisses in the midst of the elegant setting. The ambiance exuded a sense of indulgence, a world apart from the harsh reality that lay beyond the mansion's walls.

At the top of the steps, a stark contrast disrupted the refined scene. A drunk man lay sprawled on the floor, an unattended bottle of wine slipping from his grasp, its contents seeping onto the pristine marble. His disheveled state and the spillage of alcohol marred the otherwise immaculate staircase, a poignant reminder of the excesses and consequences that coexisted in this mansion of luxury.

As Fedder and Leroy navigated through the crowd, snippets of conversation floated around them, creating a cacophony of the party's atmosphere.

"Good day," a guest greeted another with a nod, the tone polite yet detached, typical of the social niceties exchanged in such gatherings.

"Oh, I want something stronger than this wine!" another guest exclaimed, their desire for more potent intoxication reflecting the hedonistic mood of the event.

"I heard that Peter Nyswell has some powder," a third voice chimed in, their words tinged with intrigue and curiosity.

"Powder? In Denver?" The response was a mix of surprise and interest, suggesting that such substances were rare and coveted.

The chatter of the party guests continued unabated as Fedder and Leroy moved past them, their focus unwavering. They were heading towards the bedrooms, specifically targeting the main bedroom where the deed to the property was rumored to be hidden in a safe. The opulent surroundings and the distracted guests provided the perfect cover for their mission, allowing them to slip through unnoticed towards their objective.

V meandered through the main floor of the mansion, her movements carefree and whimsical. She whistled a tune from her younger days, a melody that seemed out of place in the opulent setting yet perfectly captured her spirited demeanor. As she skipped lightly through the ornate halls, her attention was focused on the grandeur surrounding her, leaving her blissfully unaware of the presence trailing her.

“So, this is where the big shot rests, huh?” Fedder mused, his eyes scanning the king-sized, four-poster bed draped with a silky comforter in shades of green and gold. Running his fingers over the smooth fabric, he let out a chuckle tinged with admiration. “Pretty lavish.”

“Keep your mind on the job. We need to move this painting,” Leroy interjected, his attention fixed on a grand cityscape painting adorning the wallpapered wall opposite them. Below it, a quaint dresser held a 20th-century lamp, its bulb a relic from a bygone era. Together, Fedder and Leroy carefully lifted the large painting, but their efforts unveiled nothing but a bare wall.

“Where the heck is it?” Fedder’s confusion was palpable as they both stared at the empty space. Taking the lead, Leroy began a meticulous search of the room, their mission far from over.

Underneath the bed, Leroy discovered nothing more than a collection of shoeboxes, while Fedder sifted through drawers, revealing only clothing and jewelry. Their search extended to the wardrobe, resulting in disappointment, and the grand bathroom, where they uncovered an abundance of soaps, some still in their pre-2012 wrappings.

“These soaps are fancy and all, but I think we may have been duped here, Leroy,” Fedder admitted, pocketing a soap shaped like a clamshell. “Let’s get out of here.”

The absence of the expected valuable documents or hidden safe left them with a sense of frustration and suspicion. As they decided to retreat, the grandeur of the room seemed to mock their fruitless endeavor, and the soaps, relics of a luxurious past, served as a bitter reminder of their failed mission within the opulent confines of the mansion.

Racing down the staircase, Fedder and Leroy brushed past the amorous couple, whose moment was briefly interrupted. "What's their hurry?" one of them mumbled, bewildered by the sudden rush.

The reason for their urgent descent soon became apparent. Two armed guards, clad in stark black post-Event uniforms, entered the scene. They carried batons, exuding an air of unwavering authority and determination. At their sides hung pre-Event pistols, an intimidating addition to their formidable appearance.

Leroy and Fedder stopped, their eyes on both the pistols and batons. Their masks hid their identity, but their mission itself may have been noticed, if not revealed to the homeowners by their mission giver. It wouldn’t be the first time for the Leroy.

"Stop!" one of the guards shouted, directing his command at Fedder, who was about to sprint away. "Stop. Right now."

"We're just guests here," Fedder protested, trying to sound calm.

"Identification. Now," the other guard demanded sharply.

"Right. Well..." Fedder hesitated, searching for an excuse.

Suddenly, the tense moment was shattered by the loud report of a gunshot echoing through the mansion. BLAM! The sound was swiftly followed by another - BANG! - accompanied by a scream piercing the air.

Seizing the moment of chaos, Fedder lunged forward, tackling one of the guards to the ground. Leroy, despite being sixty, showed surprising agility and strength as he opted to punch his guard, engaging in a desperate struggle for escape.

Fedder, agile and quick, landed a solid punch on his opponent. His eyes quickly locked onto the pistol lying nearby. As he moved to pick it up, Leroy's urgent voice cut through the chaos.

"No, Alex! No guns!" Leroy, having just overpowered his own adversary, was already back on his feet. He grasped his younger companion, urging him towards the back door with a sense of urgency.

"MOVE!" he commanded, knowing that every second mattered in their desperate bid for escape.

BANG!

As another scream pierced the air, mingled with cries of fear, the two men dashed toward the back door. They burst through it, making a beeline for their secret entry point – a discreet section of the fence they had pried open earlier.

"Wait, wait! V!" Leroy exclaimed, pausing abruptly at their escape route. "She's still inside! She always has a way of wandering off! That foolhardy woman!"

"I'll go back for her, Leroy. You head to Harwood," Fedder volunteered, determination in his voice.

"Alright, I'll take the rear route. We'll pick you both up," Leroy agreed, nodding decisively before slipping through the fence and disappearing into the night.

Fedder turned around, breathing in deeply. “Okay, Fedder. Time to go save V.”

Charging back into the mansion, Fedder was met with pandemonium. Guests were scattering in all directions, a few smeared with blood. Masks littered the floor, discarded as the partygoers shifted from festivity to survival. The façade of elegance had shattered.

Shrieks reverberated through the grand halls, and several guests were huddled behind pieces of furniture, seeking cover. Amidst the chaos, more guards had joined the fray, guns drawn and firing. To Fedder's shock, their target was unmistakably V.

V navigated through the tumultuous halls, her movements hindered by the sudden eruption of violence. A bullet grazed her, prompting a startled yelp. Before she could fully comprehend the danger, another shot struck her in the spine, eliciting a pained cry of agony. The chaotic scene unfolded, and V found herself in the crossfire, a target in the mayhem that had engulfed the once-opulent mansion. As the chaos raged around her, V's stay on Earth neared its poignant conclusion. The breaths became labored, the life force within her diminishing with each passing moment. The blood seeped from her dying, paralyzed body, staining the floor beneath her.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her once-sharp vision grew foggy. The immense pain that had gripped her began to wane as her body succumbed to the inevitable. Sensations faded, leaving behind a profound numbness, and V faced the approaching end with a mixture of agony and acceptance. The tumultuous events of the world had led her to this somber and solitary conclusion.

Fedder didn't see the shooting happen. Instead, he found V lying motionless on the floor. But before he could get to her, the guards who had shot her approached him, guns pointed. "Move, citizen!" they ordered. "Move now, or you'll be shot too!"

"Okay, okay," Fedder replied, raising his hands in surrender. "I won't cause trouble. Just let me take my friend to get help."

One guard, a stern-looking man with a beard and thinning hair, glanced at V's still body, then back at Fedder. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Fine, take her and leave. But if we see you here again, we'll shoot without a second thought. NOW GO!"

Fedder quickly scooped up V and hurried out of the mansion. Her body was limp, and her eyes, though open, saw nothing. He ran, carrying her away from the chaos, her lifeless gaze still hauntingly open. He struggled with the weight of her body, loosing footing as he escaped through the back exit.

As Fedder climbed into the makeshift post-Event vehicle, Leroy's words hung heavy in the air. "She's gone, Alexander. She's with God now." Their escape car, cobbled together from various parts and pieces, stood as a testament to their resilience in this harsh world.

Gently, Fedder laid V's body in the back, covering her with a blanket, a silent tribute to their fallen friend. He took his seat, the door shutting with a finality that mirrored their loss. The car rumbled to life, its patchwork nature a stark contrast to the solemn mood inside.

They drove towards the Brown Palace Hotel, a place that had become a sanctuary in these troubled times. The Guilds, those who had banded together for survival, had their headquarters there. It was also a haven for rogues and renegades, where rooms were often filled with those who had no other place to go.

As they drove towards their destination, Leroy broke the silence. "When we arrive, we must inform Patricia."

"Poor Patricia," Fedder murmured, his thoughts heavy. "First her mother, and now her sister."

"She's resilient, like all of us must be now," Leroy responded.

Fedder's voice was tinged with worry. "We've made enemies tonight. There's also a traitor among us. Where will we take V?"

"Back to Idaho," Leroy said. "To their family ranch that burned down. That's where her family rests."

"Alright, we'll take her there," Fedder agreed.

"No, Alexander, not us," Leroy corrected him. "We have urgent issues to attend to. We need to liquidate our assets, destroy our records, and disappear."

"But where to?" Fedder asked, looking intently at Leroy.

Leroy gazed out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face. "The Pacific Provinces. Perhaps the Free City of Seattle. We need a safe haven, an escape route. Understand, Colorado is no longer secure for us. If the powers that be have turned against us, we have no future here." He rubbed his eyes, lost in his thoughts.

Leroy's thoughts wandered back to the day he first met V. He remembered the scene vividly: Patricia, then just a child, alongside her sister. Both were clad in tattered clothes, the hardship of their lives etched into their young faces, their mother lost to her own battles with the bottle. The memory brought a sharp pang to his heart. He felt a sting in his eyes, the beginnings of tears, but he quickly reined in his emotions. In this harsh, unforgiving world they inhabited, a man was expected to show no weakness, to shed no tears. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against the wave of grief threatening to overwhelm him, and focused once again on the road ahead. The road to Idaho marked a solemn journey to lay V to rest, and beyond that, the path to Seattle stood as their beacon of salvation, a final refuge in a world fraught with uncertainty and peril.

Valerie “V” French – 8^th September, 2013 (1 A.E.) – July 10^th, 2040 (28 A.E.) age 26