**Author:** SLDH8MM3R --- ***The following log was uploaded to the EXODUS ARCHIVES on 13/01/43. Written by Diane Martha Kirkby and published by Tauno Jutt.*** **Divide. 13th January 2043.** Twenty years ago, the rate of the unsheltered population in LA was around 14% of the population of California; an estimated 50,156 individuals lived without housing and roughly 20,000 people lived in makeshift shelters. Between wildfires, social upheaval and economic hardship, this number has increased to 42% percent of a population of 61 million; roughly 25 million of which are struggling with poverty. This number is on display with the expansion of skid row into Chinatown and Nelvin, turning the area into a dangerous favela where rival gangs fight in the streets with stray bullets flying into the homes of those trying to reside in peace. Not all of LA lives in the underprivileged areas however, during the year 2030, a wall was built that stretches from Silverlake to San Paulo to act as a boundary blocking off the crime infested areas from the pristine Hollywood Hills. This area has been dubbed ‘Neo-Hollywood’ by journalists as the town has become a hotbed for the hottest stars, movies, music, and internet trends with celebrities and content creators living door to door to each other. Most of those who live in Neo-Hollywood are either indifferent or ignorant of the reality that those on the other side of the wall experience. In my first interview, I got in contact with actress Laura Weiss from the McArthur franchise via video chat to talk about life within Neo-Hollywood. **\[AUDIO-TEXT TRANSCRIPT OF DIVIDE #1 INTERVIEW]** KIRKBY: “Laura, Thank you for agreeing to the interview, I know you’re busy with pre-production for the McArthur sequel but I’m here to talk more about Neo-Hollywood. What’s life like in the sun-kissed paradise.” LAURA: “It’s been a strenuous experience preparing for the next chapter of my character Charlotte Camelot, I’m honestly happy to talk about something else to press. Hollywood is almost a glimpse into a hopeful future full of technological advances and tight communities of people who are very accepting of one-another and oneself.” KIRKBY: “I bet it seems like a big happy family from your point of view, but I assume that the dark side of Hollywood still exists below the surface? I would assume so since there’s been several reports of Skidtown’s missing children appearing in parties and in illegal auctions-“ LAURA: “A lot of people go through talent agencies in Skidtown to get into the business! My younger co-star Sammy Bane was a rags to riches story themselves.” Kirkby: “A perfect example, Sammy Bane came from the Wellington talent agency. An agency with ties to convicted trafficker Dean Albourne, known as Daddy D. The agency is used to separate kids from their families and be trafficked into the darkest parts of the business world; some like Bane are used to show that it works, but most aren’t as lucky.” LAURA: “Dean isn’t a bad guy! Those leaks were faked by trolls to discredit all the work he has done in shaping the future of Hollywood!” KIRKBY: “You’re referring to the ‘DollHouse’ leak by the hacktivist group Raptured Truth, the report with several undoctored voice calls between Dean and his ‘doll-makers’ discussing the sale. Strange how in the capital of news and media, nobody has heard about it?” LAURA: “Okay I’m done. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this stunt you’ve pulled.” **\[END OF TRANSCRIPT]** Following the interview, I had been contacted by her legal team about posting the interview to the Exodus Archives. Since neither I nor the Archive reside within US jurisdiction, my legal team (my good friend Specialist Mackay looking over my shoulder) has provided a statement about the incident you have just heard or read: Get Fucked. 8=====D~~ Onto more pressing issues, on the other side of the wall is a winding slum made from temporary buildings and hollowed out buildings to create the crime infested areas known as Skidtown. Within the town consists of three major factions left to duke it out over whatever scraps are thrown into the ring; the old Skid Row to Compton has been taken over by the SkidTown Killas, an amalgamation of the old African American gangs within the city such as the Bloods and Crips. Montebello to Los Alamitos is under the control of cartels with each one of the traffickers listening to an unknown Buchon named ‘La Araña’ or The Spider. The Cartels and the Killas have been at war since the wall had finished construction with both teams wanting control over the 101, referred to as the ‘Golden Mile’ as its the main route drugs and firearms go through to get into Neo-Hollywood. Both sides aim to please the executives and stars. A new faction in the way for the 101 are the Black Flags, I’ve covered them in a prior article but the short version is that they’re a large faction of No-Pat pirates that control the area around Long Beach, what they can’t make in territory they make with firepower. Whilst the gangs have plated SUVs and Molotovs, the Black Flags have APCs and M5 Gustavs. I managed to get an in-person interview with one of the soldiers who was willing to talk about the gang war and the state of the town. **\[AUDIO-TEXT TRANSCRIPT OF DIVIDE #2 INTERVIEW]** KIRKBY: “Okay. We’re recording, do you want to state your name or nicknames for the interview?” RACKHAM: “Sergeant Rackham, armoured patrol leader.” KIRKBY: “Thanks for agreeing to the interview.” RACKHAM: “Pleasure is all mine, Boss.” KIRKBY: “The Black Flags recently joined the war for route 101, elevating a gang war into a brawl between militias. How has the command reacted to the pushback from the cartels and local gangs?” RACKHAM: “It’s been a mixed bag, we have the hardware but the home turf advantage has made it hard to keep terrain along the route. The men prefer to abandon the post rather than be brutalised by the cartel or be disgraced by the Killas.” KIRKBY: “The war has taken a mental toll on the men? Feeling disgraced by the lack of progress?” RACKHAM: “They’re pissed, all their counter operations have been clusterfucks. Not because we’re getting slaughtered, our ratio is one death for every thirty kills we get, it’s because 70% of those killed by us are accidental deaths; civilians caught in the crossfire “ KIRKBY: “Accidental? Or PMCs taking their frustration out on the population.” RACKHAM: “We’re pirates but we have a code, contract says no targeting civvies but with steel shacks don’t stand too well against 50. Cals. The cartel loves to use the locals as bait, we’ll rip through a known base only to find a massacre and a crude message waiting for us.” KIRKBY: “Back-tracking a bit, you said that this was a contract. Based on who could want the route clear for a loyal party to use, I’m assuming that the Hollywood elites are paying for your support?” RACKHAM: “Give the girl a prize! Killas are unpredictable and the Cartel costs an arm and a leg for transportation, so giving us control over the route means better reliability and loyalty. What they get is exactly what’s on the tin.” KIRKBY: “Excellent, again, thanks for making time to interview you.” RACKHAM: “For the Kraken, I have all the time in the world.” KiIRKBY: “I don't understand, I’m not the Kraken.” RACKHAM: “Course you do, when the boys found out I was going to see you, they were ready to roll out the red carpet for you. Still mean with that 20 mil’?” KIRKBY: “Call me the ‘Kraken’ again, and I swear to god, I’ll-“ **\[END OF TRANSCRIPT]** There you have it, the turf war has been a ploy for the elites to rule the route via the Black Flags proxy. We don’t know which way this war will go or which side will be the victor in this battle; rest assured, the outcome will not be good for the innocents and will still collect the blood of bystanders far after the war has ended. Personal Note: I must note that the allegations were not true that I am the so-called ‘Kraken of Perth Coast.’ Yes I was serving on the base and later saw service for the Black Flags PMC during the formative years and saw the treatment of the No-pats firsthand, but I must reiterate that the Kraken was another soldier of the base, I was on land exterior guard. I will not bring this up again as the reminder of what was done still haunts me of how cruel someone can be without someone to hold them accountable. This is Diane Kirkby, signing off. <br> **Divide. “Kraken of Perth Coast.”** **Long Beach. 13th January 2043.** Wolff’s intel was correct. The abandoned auto shop with a painted No-pat flag on the door was right where he said it was, a couple miles from the boardwalk. Leaning against the metal door was the man himself, Agent Noah Wolff in the flesh. He grinned as he knocked the metal shutter twice before it began to rise. Wolff escorted the seven inside of the safe house with a simple nod to the team. Inside was a makeshift command post which housed all the needed equipment for the operation, instead of crates full of factory arms; however, they were met with a rack covering with ornate pistols and bespoke submachine guns. They could tell it wouldn’t be a standard operation but the company of six masked figures struggling in their bondages confirmed their intuition. Before them, a pile of dossiers with the name of the captured figures and one of the specialists' names tied to them. As the team swarmed around the table to collect the files, Wolff began to brief the Wildcard fireteam on their mission. “Exodus, ears up. Operation Wildcard will be a HVT extraction mission. Your target is Charlie Crawford, alias the ‘Warmaker.’ He has intel on where the Shearwater technology could be, requesting to defect for the information-“ Wolff pressed a clicker which turned on the projector that plastered the sleazy arms dealer on the wall of the workshop, his devil’s grin and $500 shades made it obvious that he wasn’t trustworthy. “-The operation will be plainclothes, you’ll be going in under the cover of arms dealers for some dirty military, militia, or gang affiliated. Those files tell you everything you need to know about the scumbag you’ll be playing, our masked guests should help you master the mannerisms and speech patterns of your roll.” As the group looked through their dossiers, the six files and the six figures left Diane out of a roll for her to play. She checked the desk again before shooting a furrowed brow at Wolff. “There’s seven of us, but six files. I’m guessing there’s a reason?” Wolff turned back towards her and chewed on his cheek, raising his finger to the ceiling before pointing it at her. “Kirkby, right? In truth, I just wanted to put a face to the name. Your El Paso exposé is enough for me to slap the cuffs on you, but I have bigger problems than tabloid headlines.” The El Paso Reed report episode was her magnum opus. As illegal migration from South America and a No-pat influx began to increase across the southern border of the US, ICE had been sent to make camps for detaining and deporting those who attempted to cross. The camps were rampant with human rights violations and officers abusing their power, the exposé uncovered their crimes with testimony and photographic evidence. Diane began to form a smirk in the corner of her mouth imagining the federal shitshow trying to bury the mess would’ve been. The six selected for the operation: Angel, Falck, Paik, Mackay, Dozer, and Boris, made their way towards the six hooded figures and removed the cloth. Each specialist got to look these monsters in the eye as they stood before them. As the rest of the squad got acquainted with whom they were mimicking, Wolff placed his hand on Diane’s shoulder with a stern look and a nod directing her towards the offices. She had her own part to play. Despite her lack of trust for the agent, she silently agreed to break away from the others. The pair shifted away from the garage floor and down the corridor as Wolff reopened conversation, “That being said, what we could dig up on you was definitely interesting. A high-class marksman for the 45 commandos and afterwards, high ranking in the Black Flags private military company.” Diane chewed her cheek as she listened in silence, she knew that he was going to pull the ‘Kraken’ card to ensure loyalty. “From what pictures we could find in MI6 databases, you’re a poet up close as you are from a distance. Right now, that’s what I need.” Wolff stopped in front of a locked closet and took out a key to remove the silver padlock from the door, the clicking of the lock echoed through the dimly lit hallway. He pushed the door open to an improvised interrogation room with a Black Flag bound by his hands to a dangling hook with his feet fastened together, the beaten face of the man was familiar to the reporter; the cocky pirate she interviewed earlier. “Rackham?” Kirkby inquired as she stepped past the threshold into the door. Wolff stepped inside after her as he removed the tarp from a table full of interrogation equipment, once he was done revealing the tools, he made known her real assignment. “The Panama strait is a no-man’s sea, pirates and marauders galore. He has codes that’ll make sure the big fish don’t bite into the Exodus.” From the request and the situation the pirate was in, she knew that kind persuasion wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t an interrogation, it was a test. Diane dug her nails into her palm as the buzz from the work light and the rattling of Rackham’s chains prevented the silence needed for her to think. Instead of answers, Wolff offered his own blade from his holster. A boot knife with a green Bakelite grip and the phrase ‘Sine Pari’ near the bottom of the handle. “You were Delta Force?” Diane inquired as she felt the weight of the blade, perfectly balanced and well maintained. Wolff pulled up a chair between the pair and sat back to watch, “Overachiever, not many of us left.” Kirkby looked at the blade once more then back at the pirate, grinning cockily behind the duct tape sealing his lips, she took a deep breath to expel what remained of the person she was pretending to be. Without hesitation, she took the boot knife and jammed the blade into Rackham’s shoulder; causing the pirate to cry out in pain. As she pried the shoulder for more pain, she questioned him through her gritted teeth, “What are the security codes!” She demanded as she kept digging the knife between his muscles and the shoulder blades, in the chance that she could slice the bicipital muscle. The Black Flag remained adamant against the blade’s influence, even as it caused great pain. Diane stripped the tape from his lips only to be met with a pained cackling, “This is the best you can do? Blackbeard held you in high esteem-“ his insults were broken by Diane’s fist flying into his face repeatedly, the hits left bloated bruises on his jaw. She could tell by his devious grin that this wouldn’t be enough, he wanted her to unleash the beast? Fine. She had remained dormant for far too long. As if Wolff had read her mind, he moved a cloth hood onto the table for her to use. Without hesitation, she took the cloth and covered Rackham’s head before taking the water hose that was discarded on the side of the room. Diane turned on the tap and waited for the pressure to build up whilst taunting the captive pirate. “How’s your sea-legs, James?” Aiming the hose at the ragged cloth, she held his face up to the pipe as she waterboarded Rackham. The sensation of drowning without your lungs filling with water, between what little gaps in the stream, it was hard to think or breathe. It felt like an eternity since Rackham could exhale through the stuffy fabrics, his brain was too busy to process his own breathing to think of any retort. “What’s the code, James. Remember that smuggler who tried to arm some inland militia? What we did? Slowly taking him piece by piece until we got what we wanted?” She took the boot knife to his wrist and dug into the flesh, a crude attempt to saw off his hand. As he continued to scream, she continued with her parable. “It was gruesome, bloody. Most were in it for the intel, but me?” She stepped closer to the drenched rag as she stopped sawing for a second, a satisfied smile of a sadist grew as she whispered, “I was in it for the thrill.” “TUSKEGEE! THE CODEWORD IS TUSKEGEE!” Rackham panicked as he could feel himself turn cold at the loss of blood; his only way to get a tourniquet was to confess. Diane removed the blood soaked knife and wiped it on her jeans leg and set it on the table, turning towards the table so she could provide the medical treatment. Wolff grinned with satisfaction over the results, though not as messy as he expected, it was a fine example of a brutal interrogation. He rose from his chair and slipped his hand over the holster of his NVK-P125 and wrapped his hand around the grip. Just as Diane turned to apply the tourniquet, Wolff raised the barrel of the pistol to Rackham’s temple and pulled the trigger once. The shot was silencing, the whisper of the gunfire reverberating through the halls. The covered cloth hid the damage from plain sight but the gore that flowed from the hood snaked its way onto the ground and formed a lake of crimson. The thrill of the interrogation wore off for Diane, like an addict reflecting on a relapse, as she looked down at her blood soaked hands and watched them tremble. She let herself slip, give in to who she once was. Only thing she could do was look back at the grinning Wolff, causally holstering his pistol before stepping forward to retrieve his knife from the table and sheathing it as well. Facing the journalist, he smiled in admiration for her methods, “And there she was, the Kraken. It was a pleasure working with a professional.” Disgust, rage, fear. All those emotions flooded through Diane as Wolff turned away, looking at the body as if it was an exhibit at an art show; since to him, it was art. “Go back to the Exodus, I’ll see you in Panama.” A member from Wolff’s forces, the FALT team, entered the room with a metallic green RM68 rifle which rested against his shoulder. Silently he nodded in the direction of the main workshop, the Exodus had overstayed their welcome. She was powerless to push back, she hated the lack of control, but the ball was in their court so she had to play along. Even as she was escorted from the site, she wondered if the echo dripping was from the withered pipes or the blood that stained her hands. **MFS-04 Exodus.** **Hours later.** The sea. It was supposed to be calming when she was a child, family trips to Cornwall were the only time that her father only ever asked very little of her. ‘Stand over there, Diane,’ or ‘Come get your ice cream.” Now, she only saw the blood in the water and the stench of decay. She reached for her jacket pocket and pulled out a package of cheap Mexican cigarettes, but when it came to finding a lighter it had seemed to have disappeared between boarding the Exodus and finding a clear, desolate area to smoke. As Diane padded her jacket pockets with the cigarette sealed between her lips, the flick of a lighter caught her attention and drew attention to Sundance as they too had come up to step away from the madness. “Maria said you’d be up here, she wanted to thank you for the passage code for the straight. Smooth sailing for here-on out,” Sundance took out their own cigarette before lighting their own and Diane’s; both taking a drag in unison. Diane remained internal about her thoughts as she went over the interrogation over and over in her head, scratching her thumbnail into the railing as she thought. Sundance had been around the reporter enough to know it was a sign of overthinking, which usually led to a burnout. In an attempt to focus attention away from whatever was rolling around in Diane’s head, Sundance grinned as they moved closer and leaned forward on the railing. “Four-Two Commandos. Didn’t know you were a Marine, you’re full of surprises,” They teased as they leaned closer to place the lighter back in the shirt pocket where it belonged. Diane rarely talked about herself but maybe with a little bit of coaxing, talking about her past couple being her focus away from the present. “What? Thought I picked up marksmanship as a hobby? I’m disappointed you think so low of me.” Diane teased as a small smile grew on her lips, locking their focus on the ex-mafioso as they stepped away from the edge of the ship. “Wouldn’t know, you seem to have a file on me and I don’t know to be concerned or flattered,” Sundance placed their hands into the pockets of their wingsuit as they glanced back. “I’m more impressed, you’re so varied and spontaneous that it’s hard to boil you down to one word.” Diane turned themselves around to face them as they slowly padded forward with an inquisitive smirk. “Try.” They demanded as they leaned in to listen. Diane chewed her cheek as she searched for the words she wanted to say, settling on how she perceived the mercenary “A fighter, you’ve always been dealt blows that would reduce most to nothing. You’re strong and I wouldn’t like it any other way.” Sundance’s cheek matched the red rose that adorned their face, deep down it was nice to be reminded how resilient they were. In return for the rosey cheeks, Sundance teased the reporter with a little prank. “Strong? How’s this for strong?” Without warning, Sundance took Diane by the waist and lifted her a foot off the deck; leaving them in the air for a short while. The surprise of the display was amusing, even letting out a little giggle as she was hoisted off the ground. Gripping their shoulders for stability, Diane peered down at them until eventually she was put down. Even when she was on the ground, she felt like she couldn’t pull away from Emma’s hold. Between the stress of the body shop and her clouded mind, she didn’t have time to assess the situation before she acted on pure adrenaline. Without a second thought, she cupped the back of Sundance’s curly head and another on their cheek before landing a kiss on their lips. The kiss took Sundance by surprise, but they didn’t mind. The rush of adrenaline from it was as if they were free falling again, something they’d forgotten for a long time. Eventually they gave in and held onto the hand that caressed their cheek, holding it there for the time being. Moments later, sense rushed back to Diane’s brain and dragged them away from the embrace, ‘this is wrong, you shouldn’t have done that.’ Sundance also took a step back from the panicked reporter as they stared confused at her, sensing the regret. Diane began to step away as she attempted to rush an apology and a goodbye. “Shit. I didn’t mean to. Let me just cool off.” Before Sundance could give their two cents on the situation, Diane had strided back into the exterior of the Exodus and closed the door behind them, leaving Sundance out in the light of the dusk. Even though the adrenaline of the moment was wearing off, the two felt something else reacting to the kiss. They didn’t know what to call it, but a part of them still fought to oppress it. ‘Connection?’ Sundance theorised as they leaned back against the balcony. Whatever it was, they both hadn’t felt it in a long-long time.