New World Order (Written by Lorem)

Township of Story, Wyoming.

As Perrine's wagon clattered over the patched cobblestones, he spotted familiar faces. Townsfolk glanced up from their work or conversations, and as recognition dawned, their expressions softened. They called out to him, some with a nod, others with a friendly wave. Perrine responded in kind, his heavily impeded speech brief but warm enough to convey his appreciation for the welcome.

Children, ever curious and unburdened by the prejudices of their parents, raced alongside his wagon, laughing and shouting with the innocent joy that only children in the apocalypse could manage. They adored Luna, the reliable mare, and reached out to pat her side, their hands dusty but gentle. Luna, for her part, was used to this ritual. Her eyes flickered with affection, and she dipped her head slightly as if acknowledging the small entourage.

The closer they got to the town square, the more Perrine took in the sights. The old judicial building loomed ahead, its facade weathered but still imposing. The remnants of once-grand architecture told stories of a world long gone. The courthouse, now serving as a center of governance and order in Story, dominated the square. The streets around it were busy, with important vendors with their makeshift stalls. Some sold what little produce they could grow, others offered trinkets or services.

…

But as Perrine drew closer to the square, a shift in the atmosphere caught his attention. A murmur rippled through the crowd, quickly growing into an excited, almost frenzied chatter. Perrine’s sharp eyes caught sight of a group of probably EAST agents—more well-armed and cleaner than any he had seen in miles. The crowd began to gather, forming a tight circle near the courthouse steps and a nearby fallow. Something was happening.

Perrine slowed his wagon, his senses on high alert. As the crowd parted slightly, he saw what was drawing their attention: two of the agents were dragging a man forward. The moment Perrine saw him, his heart sank. It was Robert Neal, known to him as Duke, the leader of the Gifted community that lived in the shadows outside these parts. Duke was a cautious, clever man—someone Perrine had traded with often, though always discreetly.

The crowd’s reaction was a mix of triumph and fury. They jeered and shouted, some hurling insults, others spitting on the ground as Duke was pushed forward. To them, he was a war criminal, a dangerous anomaly to be purged. They saw him as a threat, not just to their lives but to their very sense of normalcy in a world turned upside down. The prejudice against the Gifted ran deep, and it bubbled to the surface now with a venomous fervor.

Perrine’s expression remained neutral as he guided Luna to a stop, the wagon settling with a creak. He needed to play his part. He couldn’t afford to draw any suspicion, especially not now. But inside, his mind was racing. He had to pretend not to know Duke, to act as though this were just another spectacle, another day in the chaotic world they now inhabited.

…

As he began to set up his stall, he worked with deliberate care, but his attention remained on the crowd and the agents. These new faces, with their more polished gear and air of authority, unnerved him. They were clearly not from around here, and their presence could only mean trouble. He glanced at Duke, who was now on his knees, the crowd pressing in closer, their anger palpable.