-1- The Light

Both Corporal Halloran and his younger brother, the other Corporal Halloran are in a sedated sleep in the infirmary. One was bitten by a poisonous rattlesnake and one had a heat stroke during the 8 hour PT yesterday. I’ve heard the joke  among the corporals is that if one of them dies  it will be less confusing around camp.

They are both  missing a day of training which isn’t going to be good for either of them.

 Audrey is sitting at her desk scanning through a medical text on her screen.

“Audrey,” I call. She does a double take and quickly stands, snapping to attention.

“Yes, s-,” she falters and makes every attempt not to look at Haley who is beside me, but she is clearly staring.

 And he’s staring at her with the same shocked recognition. I was sure he’d never met her before. He’d been out cold when she was attending to his wounds. Unless he remembers her from City of Hope--

“I take it you two know each other?,” I ask.

“Not really, sir,” Audrey says quickly.

“You’re friends with Roxie,” Haley says

“Can I help you sir ?,” Audrey says curtly.

She is different. Off balance. Haley’s presence is shaking her.

“I need to speak with you privately, Audrina. Can we go upstairs ?,” I ask

She hesitates.

In the year she’s been here I’ve never been up to her private quarters. We've both kept professional boundaries.

“Stay here,” I order Haley.

Audrey’s loft is small with a slanted roof that I have to duck under to get in. Standing up my head brushes the top of the ceiling.

The space is  sparsely furnished with  an unmade twin bed, a mini fridge and microstove.  She has pictures of  vacation destinations projected over the walls and on the dresser is a picture of she and her deceased husband.  They’re at  a concert and making  faces at the camera.

I imagine Audrey  spends hours in this loft  until Camp Harmony feels a world away. She never ate her meals at  camp or ventured out of the infirmary much.

She pulls a chair out of the closet for me and I sit, she sits on the unmade bed.

“You know Haley?,” I say.  “Why didn’t you say anything ?You were staring at him the whole time you were cleaning his wound--”

“I’m sorry, sir.” She says but I don’t believe it. “ We weren’t close and never really spoke. I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“It’s about to be. I’ve hired him,” I tell her. “I was hoping he could stay with you until we figure something else out.”

“I’m not comfortable with that, sir.” she says through clenched teeth. “ I’m sorry.”

I look at her and there is a rage under her hazel eyes. The same rage she’d get when a new patient at City of Hope would demand to see a doctor before they listened to her advice. That rage typically ended with her unable to find a vein in your arm until she’d had three attempts.

“I hope you have a good explanation.”

“It’s a long story—My husband and I were neighbors with  Harlow’s ex-girlfriend Roxi. Harlow and my husband sometimes deal together. When  Harlow and Roxi broke up Harlow would still show up at her house. He was obsessed with her--”

“Did something happen ?”

“Harlow always took advantage of her emotionally, financially—and once  he raped her,” Audrina say crossing her arms self consciously. “ And she got pregnant. She told everyone she was going to press charges, but then didn’t. He won her back, like always and then he’d fuck it up. I really hated him for what he put her through all that.”

I’m pissed that she never told me any of this but I reign in my anger. I  remember the morticians comment about the state Harlow’s body had arrived.

“The mortician told us Harlow’s body was hacked to pieces when it arrived to be cremated--”

 “I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “But I can’t pretend it didn’t feel good.”

I regard her, but there is nothing I can really do to her. If anything she is a resource to me, she may understand Haley better than I could ever hope.

 “Fine. The past is the past on that matter. But, what the hell does this have to do with Haley ?,” I ask her.  

She shrugs.

“Nothing. Alex isn’t the asshole his brother was, but he can be very complicit and that pisses me off. And to be honest sir, being the only woman here can be tough. Next to you I work longer hours than anyone…I think I at least deserve my own space.”

I consider her response. She isn't wrong.

“Fine, but answer me one question.” 

“I’ll try, sir…”

“I think something happened between Haley and Harlow a couple years ago. Do you know anything about that?”

“No,” she says. “Do you think it’s serious ?,”

“No,” I lie, not wanting her to get suspicious of my intentions.

Whatever the hell those were.

“Alright, I think we’re done here,” I stand and lead the way back downstairs.

Haley is still sitting there, with his head in his hands.

“Let’s go,” I call to Haley and he follows me out the door.

He stumbles on the small lip of the foundation that leads outside and  slows to catch himself from falling face first into the ground..

“Are you alright ?,” I ask.

He seems just as confused about my concern as I am.

“I…haven’t eaten..” he finally says. “I’m sorry.”

I stop and he stops just short of me.

“Go and get dinner. I’ll be in my office and we will start your training.” I say and he quickly goes off.

I continue to my office, on the front step I see a line of Corporals sitting in a lazy semi circle, most of them are down to their undershirts and the others have practically sweated through their uniforms.

 As I approach they quickly stand to a practiced attention.

“It’s after hours, my office is closed,” I remind them as I walk past unlocking the door.

“But sir, we’ve been out here all day waiting, sir,” Corporal Ewell, the front of the line, says. “I’ve been here since noon.”

I regard the line and sigh.

I have no choice but to let them in, or else they’ll start questioning why I’ve been gone all day.  I give them an audience one by one and hear the usual litany of  bullshit.

"The entire squadron is working double overtime because so many have been transferred out."

"I didn’t get drafted to babysit grown men, I want a recommendation to a front line position."

"An appellate lawyer has been calling to appeal inmate X or inmate Y"

It’s not until hours later, when  I sit down at my computer that I see a new high importance appointment has been left in my inbox.

Sgt. Kenneth Maxwell,

You have been requested by the Undersecretary of Arms by Office of The High Secretary Meredith Barrister-Finch  for review to discuss the following:

-          Leadership Deficiencies

-          Yearly Performance Review

-          Criminal Negligence

Please report in the next 30 days.

----

“How many times do I have to fucking show you ? I’m not demonstrating again. Concentrate and stop wasting our time!”  Corp. St. John barks at Haley.

I impatiently watch this exchange. St. John is a naive idiot. In real life he’s a trust fund baby, waiting for his parents to die so he can inherit the family money. He’s lived a privileged life and has never had a real job in his life. His CV says he is an entrepreneur and scholar by trade which I find laughable.

But despite the silver spoon in his mouth, he's tough and a natural leader. Which is why I appointed him squadron lead.

“Sgt. Maxwell ?” Audrey huffs, running up behind me, placing her practice gun on the table.

I turn to as she pulls the firearm projection target up to my face. There are seven clean shots. All in kill spots.

“Good girl,” I say. “You may go.”

“Thank you, sir,” she says and jogs off back to the infirmary without another word. Usually she sticks around for obligatory small talk.

I go back to watching  Haley. He is standing at a table with St. John, his hands tremble and the slide of the handgun falls to the ground. St. John starts up his bitching again. Haley had been integrating well into my staff, but this hour of  firearm training had been making everyone miserable.

In order to have civilians working at an RLA camp, I had to ensure they were drilled in basic defense in case of an attack. I was a drill sergeant for my first nine months of service, so  Audrey and I had been  running boot camps drills privately  for nearly a year and now I was adding in Haley.  And judging by her recent  attitude she didn’t like the change.

I could run all the drills except the weapons, I had to defer that to  St. John because the RLA head doctors wouldn’t allow me to handle weapons with my PTSD. It didn’t make sense to me because handguns never triggered me, but I knew if I so much as thought of handling a weapon Audrey would report me.

Haley finally gets the slide on the weapon and St. John instructs him to start shooting. It’s obvious he doesn't have much experience with weapons, because he always looks terrified. St. John starts barking at him to shoot the god damn target.

Haley looks almost as unsteady as when I kissed him. A kiss I had decided I was going to pretend like never happened.

I shamefully regret letting the line between fantasy and reality blur.  I blame it on a mix of alcohol and some sort of power play after he wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to know.  I’d   broken a dozen professional rules along with a few personal rules in touch that barely lasted a moment.

But I’ll be dammed if it wasn’t a beautiful kiss.  Not that it was even a kiss, more like tease. I’d still wanted to explore parts of his mouth, trail the skin of his neck, feel the softness of his lips between my teeth--

Seven shots wake me out of my daydream.

St. John is standing next to the target projection and pointing at the head, the only spot Haley hadn’t shot.

“RIGHT HERE IN THE CENTER ! YOU NEED TO SHOOT FOR THE HEAD, IT’S A CLEAN AND EASY  SHOT. HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO FUCKING TELL YOU --”

“Enough, Corporal,” I interrupt coldly.

St. John looks dumbstruck and then his hands coil into fists at his side. He turns to me I know he has a smartass remark on his tongue. St. John is three years older than me and  is resentful that I out rank him. The entire camp is wired and I’ve heard him talk shit about me. Of course he has his reasons, if  I hadn’t had a personal connection to General Hinkley my position would be his.

 “Sir, it’s only been an hour why are you interrupting my training--” he starts

“Interrupt you? Is that what you said ?,” I ask.

At 6’4’’ he is used to towering over most men, so I walk right up to him and stand over him  forcing him to look up at me. I don’t know what he’s trying to prove talking back to me, but I don’t ever want to hear it again.

“Sir, I meant--”

“I know exactly what the hell you meant,” I shout. “Let me make it clear. I don’t interrupt. I give orders and you fucking obey and don’t you ever disrespect me like that ever again in front of a subordinate or I swear to God I will have you thrown in solitary for a month. Do you understand Corporal St. John ?"

 “Yes, sir,” he says through gritted teeth.

“What  was that ?”

“Yes, sir!,”  he shouts.

“Report to my office at the end of the day. I’m putting you in solitary for 24 hours to remind the entire squad that even their squad lead does not fuck with me and get away with it.”

He’s about to react, but catches himself. I stare  St. John down until I don’t think I see anymore fight in  him.

“Anything you would like to say to me ?,” I ask, pouring a little more salt on his wounds.

“I want to apologize, sir.” He says quietly. “ And respectfully, sir, I feel like I need to be with the squadron tomorrow.”

“I disagree.  36 hours in solitary,” I tell him. “Get the hell out of my face before its 48.”

“Yes, sir.” 

 I turn to leave, signaling for Haley to follow.

“I’m sorry,” Haley  says, once we are out of St. John's earshot.

“If you are speaking to me look me in the eye.” I remind him.”You work for me now, you aren’t a prisoner so you should show me some god damn respect.”

“I’m sorry—sir,” he corrects as I unlock my office door.

I realize I sounded harsher than I meant to, I still had some reserved anger from St. John.

Haley sits at  the small desk in an alcove in the back of my office. I go to close the blinds and before I shut them I catch a glimpse of how the sun reflect off his eyes, making them seem unnaturally bright.

Fuck me.

I shake off every disturbing thought invading my consciousness.

“Come to my desk,” I say loosening my tie and cuffs before  turning on the internal air system.

He sits in the chair across from my desk, biting his lip.

“Now, what the hell were you just apologizing for ?”

He struggles to look at me and then finally makes eye contact.

“It’s just… Corp. St. John was a good teacher and I didn't mean to get him in trouble. I’m just bad because I’ve never handled a weapon before.” he says. “I…I didn’t realize taking your offer meant  I had to kill someone.”

My time in the court room has taught me to read intention in people’s eyes. It’s not like a lie detector, but I can tell when someone is bullshitting me and he seems sincere. His naivety strikes me

Like all guns do is kill.

“First, St. John is a fucking asshole. Second, it is not about killing anyone,” I tell him. “You are learning defense that, god willing, you ‘ll never need. As someone who has had a gun put in his face let me tell you; you’d be surprised how much power you gain just by holding a gun too. If someone threatens to take your life, you should have a fair shot at theirs.”

He seems uneasy about this and I lean over the bulk of my desk and pull out the saltire hidden in his shirt.  The chain is short and  as I pull it he is forced to stand and lean  over my desk. His hand covers mine protectively, like he thinks  I am going to rip the chain off.

“Let me guess, killing people is against your beliefs ?”

 “Yes, sir.” 

“No exceptions ?,” I ask. “What if someone was trying to kill you?”

He looks up like he is thinking and then back at me.

 “… We talked about killing a lot in school after the war started,” he says quietly. “…the priests and teachers at school said that no matter the circumstance, taking a life does something to  your soul. Religion or not I think that must be true.”

I close my eyes, because he’s inadvertently reminded me how young he is, only a few months out of school. I pull my hands from the chain at his neck and he sits back in the chair.

“Sometimes you don’t get a choice,” I say without thinking.

“Did you have to kill someone ?,” he asks

“That’s not important,” I finally say.

“That man who shot Harlow,” Haley says. “He didn’t give Harlow a chance to defend himself.”

Harlow.

He’d actually managed to go a few days without mentioning that bastard.

“That was a complicated matter. And you know good and well you’ve signed an affidavit not to discuss that night. You have got to stop idolizing your batshit brother--”

“I’m not idolizing him.” Haley interrupts. “Harlow was mean sometimes but he took care of  us and he tried to be good. He was always there for me--”

Heat rushes to my face and the next thing I know I’m standing and words are flying out of mouth.

“How can you be so fucking naïve ?,” I yell. “I’m the one who gave you a job, got you his ashes, got you out of prison and you’ve never once thanked me. But your brother--”

“I did--”

“Don't interrupt me.Your brother didn’t give a shit about you and you know it. Do you know why prisoner Mayfield was in the kitchen with you ? Do you ?”

He looks down.

"Answer me."

"I-I think it was just a misunderstanding--"

“No it wasn't and you know it. Your brother didn't give a shit about you. He was a manipulator, thief, drug dealer, rapist--”

“Stop,” he says, he blinks and his eyes are wet and it just fuels me on.

"Of course. Now you're crying for that piece of shit--"

"He died--"

“Don’t be afraid of the truth, Haley. ” I shout. “ Harlow was an arrogant  psychpathic abuser who sold you for his own good. He’s a manipulative asshole and he did a good job on you. He deserves exactly what he got.”

I watch a line of quick tears fall from his eyes before he wipes them away.

“Why the  fuck are you crying ?” I ask

“Why are you so angry ?,” he says his voice getting louder.

“Because, Haley.” I say, trying to lower my tone. “You aren’t that fucking stupid."

I step out of the office and slam the door.

The second it closes I want to turn back around and tell him I'm angry because I give a shit about him and he doesn't even seem to realize or care.

Instead I send him a work memo over my Syndicate and walk over to the prisoners to find someone worthy to take my anger out on.

***

-2-

The holographic clock that hovers consistently overhead Camp Harmony says it’s 3:47 AM

A nightmare jolts Alex Haley from his sleep. He’d been out cold for four hours straight, which was nearly a record.  He’d spent that last eighteen years sleeping under Harlow’s presence which  had always been  a brave endeavor--falling asleep near Harlow Haley was a death wish.

At his best Harlow liked to see how much pain a person could endure before they woke up. At his worst he’d bring a drugged out girl into their shared pitch black room and claim they were alone

Haley turns over on the cot and drags his fingers over the hardpacked sand. With no opinion from Haley, Sgt. Maxwell decided he should  sleep on a cot in the storage shed. The shed had been unbearably hot, so Haley had started sleeping outside where it was pleasantly warm at night.

Being out of the prisoner barracks gave him more freedom. Sgt. Maxwell had given him a key to the latrines so he could shower for as long as he wanted before the other prisoners woke up.

Haley doesn’t have to be awake for another hour and looking out into the dead, empty camp put a chill in his spine. He tries to concentrate on the stars, which look bigger here than at home, seeing if he could make sense of the constellations Gram told him about. But it all fills him with a sense of sadness—even if he’s not technically a prisoner being here for a year will mean more loneliness and isolation than he has ever known.

 He thinks of the Scriptures in his trunk. When Maxwell hired him, he let Isla send a trunk of his personal items. Haley didn’t have much, but she’d sent some clothes, his Scriptures, toiletries and Skylar had given up a stuffed animal so he wouldn’t be lonely. He didn’t think he’d have time to read at Camp Harmony,  but he thinks  of the comfort he found in the familiar Scripture morality tales they poured over in school.

Rising from bed, Haley decided it was time for a small adventure.

His trunk was in a locked equipment shed and he knew from observation that the key  to that shed was housed in a nook in the doorway of Sgt. Maxwells quarters. He probably should ask Sgt. Maxwell for the key, but he didn’t want to   wake him--- the man both confused and intimidated Haley.

He didn’t like that he’d cried in front of him yesterday. He understood why Sgt. Maxwell yelled at him about Harlow—he yelled at everyone. That was what he did.

 But Haley didn’t understand the way Sgt. Maxwell had touched him on the train. Sometime he thinks it never happened because Sgt. Maxwell had been nothing but cold to him since.  He’d decided he’d misinterpreted the gesture—the kiss.  

 He decided it was probably an innocent way men showed platonic  affection for each other and he just hadn’t learned that. Haley  didn’t have any close male friends and his family had never been one to display physical affection, the only time his own father had ever hugged him was when he  left for the draft.

Haley walks barefoot across the sand and steps on to the small porch of Sgt. Maxwell’s quarters. The slant gray key is hanging in the door exactly where he thought it would be. As  he grabs it  he notices Sgt. Maxwell’s door is ajar and his superior isn’t in his room. Haley turns to look at the steps of the porch and sees the imprint of running shoes heading towards the dining hall.

Haley quickly takes the key but the tiny bit of adrenaline and curiosity gets the better of him.  Leaning against the door he peers into the room. It’s slightly messier than that day he'd woken up in it; there are clothes on the floor and the bed. 

His eyes catch on a glass bottle in the trashcan, it’s decorative looking with a fluted top that strikes him as very urn-like.  Haley had been carrying some guilt for smashing the first urn Harlow (who was still in a paper bag and also resided in his trunk) had been put in.  

The trash will be taken out by a prisoner while Haley is with Sgt. Maxwell during the day, so he knows this is his only chance to take the bottle.

Haley doesn’t want to intrude on his superior’s space, but  he reasons it’s a short length to the trash and he will be in and out in less than 30 seconds. He doesn’t feel guilty, Harlow had always told him people like Sgt. Maxwell don’t think twice about the things they throw away.

Without opening the door , Haley slips inside and picks up the bottle. A clear residue from the bottle coats his fingers.The bottle had once held cologne and he finds the scent distinct and pleasant. Like flowers and leather.

Looking up he takes a second to stare at  Sgt. Maxwell’s desk. It’s surprisingly cluttered; the surface is  littered with pill bottles, dirty ceramic cups, a music player and other pieces of what look like junk.

Haley walks closer to the desk and his hand rests on a thick orange rubber bracelet with an angel imprinted on the inside. It pulls at the corner of his memory, but he is quickly distracted by an overturned picture frame. He lifts it up slightly to see a collage of four images. One is an official RLA picture of Sgt.Maxwell, handsome in formal dress and the others are more casual shots of either Sgt. Maxwell’s family or friends--

“What the fuck did I tell you ?,”  Sgt. Maxwell snaps from behind him.

Against his better judgment Haley screams and the frame clatters on the desk.

He turns and looks down to see Sgt. Maxwell   on the floor behind him. He is shirtless, lying parallel to the bed in a push up position. He had been there the entire time.

“I’m so sorry sir,” Haley stammers, his face burning with humiliation. And also fear.  Despite showing  compassion, at Sgt. Maxwell was still the man who had seemed to joyfully cane Harlow for talking back.

“What the very the first thing I told you ? I said don’t touch my shit. Didn't I ?,” he barks. 

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,”

There is a long pause and Haley isn’t sure if he should leave so  he waits for Sgt. Maxwell to break the silence and tell him to leave.

“Come here,”  Maxwell growls.

His chest tightens as he steps forward and when Sgt. Maxwell moves out of his push up position Haley flinches.

“Get on my back,” Maxwell says

“What ?”

“Would you like to rephrase that ?”

“…I don’t understand, sir.”

He watches Maxwell  awkwardly pull himself up, hands first, only bending one knee. Sgt. Maxwell takes three steps until he  is in front of Haley and then kneels in front of him on one knee. He motions for Haley to kneel and moves him forward until Maxwell’s back is inches from Haley’s chest.  Maxwell guides his subordinate’s arms around his neck and in one swift move he is back in the push up position, the weight of Haley bearing down on him.

Haley’s  head rests on Maxwell’s neck and his legs are overtop his thighs. He wants to ask if he is to heavy for Sgt. Maxwell to balance, but he stays silent, deciding saying nothing is better. He studies the thick black lines on Maxwell's arms and back that come together on his shoulder to form the RLA ensign. 

He can feel the strain of Sgt. Maxwell’s muscles as he struggles to push both of their weights up. Sgt. Maxwell manages 10 push ups before getting back on his knee and gently guiding Haley off until they are kneeling in front of each other again. Sgt. Maxwell’s breath is heavy and sounds painful.  The veins on his arm are more visible through his skin and shake from the strain.

Haley watches Sgt. Maxwell grip his chest to control his breathing just long enough for him to start cursing under his breath. Haley's eyes wander across the man's hard physique to a set of dog tags hanging off a chain around Sgt. Maxwell’s neck. One of the tags is broken in half.

Haley knows  those are for soldiers who may see combat, of which there are very few in this war.  He wondered if  Maxwell had just put them on or if he wore them all the time.

Sgt. Maxwell catches him staring and for a moment he looks like he’s been caught. Sgt. Maxwell quickly turns the chain so they rest on his back and in an instant the steely reserve is back  in his eyes

“What were you doing in here ?,” Maxwell demands.

“I—I--I wanted to get something out of my trunk to read, sir. I needed the key and I didn't want to wake you..and then I thought I could use that bottle for Har--I mean I’m sorry--”

After their last encounter he'd learned it best to leave Harlow out of the conversation.

“You wanted to read ?,” Maxwell repeats and suddenly the idea feels stupid to Haley.

“I couldn’t sleep--”

“Get dressed.” Maxwell orders. “Since you can’t sleep you can run laps.”

***

Haley runs until his legs are numb and it feels like a knife is scraping at his throat.

The daily one miler he ran with Audrina and Sgt. Maxwell  was nothing compared to the ten mile trek around camp. His lungs were on fire, he couldn't feel his legs and his vision was clouded with sweat.

It takes all of his resolve not to collapse in front of Sgt. Maxwell who had finished the run a nearly an hour ahead of him.

“What’s the matter?,” Sgt. Maxwell asks tauntingly.

He swallows before answering, trying to wet his dry throat.

“Nothing, sir.” He says deciding this is the best answer.

“Does it hurt ?,”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He says. “I don’t want have to do this with you again. Don't ever sneak into my room and don't ever touch my shit again. Understand ?”

"Yes, sir."

Sgt. Maxwell opens his hand and the key strip falls to the ground. Without another word Sgt. Maxwell turns and walks off.

Any sense of dignity Haley had is stripped away as he falls to the ground to get the key. He doesn’t even want the key to the shed anymore, but thinks better of leaving it.

He walks quickly to the latrines and waits the requisite 5 minutes for the shower water to heat up and run clear before getting in.  He lets the water run over his sore muscles, many of which he is feeling for the first time. He unties his hair and lets the water filter through the tangled strands. He imagines when he gets the chance he’ll have to cut it. His mother will be angry but she’d have to understand.

The wake up call for the prisoners rings and he quickly gets dressed and pulls his hair back, exiting the latrine just as the prisoners start filtering in.  

An arm knocks into his elbow sending an unpleasant sensation up his spine.

“Look at this fucker,” Felix says grabbing Haley's arm.

“What does Mayfield’s ass taste like ?,” Marco teases from behind Felix.

Haley had been intentionally avoiding them since Harlow’s death. It was simple enough since the prisoners spent all their time outdoors and he spent all his time inside Maxwell’s office.

Felix shoves him towards the far corner of the bathroom.

“Stop,” Haley says. He attempts to push through, but the run took all his energy out of him and the two boys shove him back into the corner and box him in.

“We’re not going to hurt you.” Marco says in a sing-song voice.

“Tell us what happened,” Felix demands. “Those corporals haven’t told us shit about what happened to Harlow.”

Haley considers telling them the truth. That Harlow tried to run and and a corporal murdered him and all that remains of their best friend’ is in a paperbag, sitting in s trunk next to his socks.  It would certainly scare them straight.

But the affidavit he’d signed said Harlow committed suicide. Haley wasn't sure he was ready to tell that lie.

“I don’t know anything,” Haley finally says.

“Bullshit,” Marco says.

“Come on, Lexie,” Felix says in a way that strikes Haley as very Harlow-like. “Mayfield was transferred to a federal pen because he couldn’t work so we can’t ask him…Harlow is one lucky bastard isn’t he ?. He did it, didn’t he ? He actually got out ?”

“Yes,” Haley says, finally deciding to tell them what they want to hear.

“Shit,” Marco sighs. “Shit, that was over two weeks ago. You think he survived out there ?”

“I think he stole a car,” Haley says.

Marco and Felix exchange looks and they both start grinning.

“He did it!,” Felix laughs.”I knew he would, I knew it.”

“Harlow Haley is a fucking god,” Marco adds

Haley wants to ask them if they will try it next, a small part of him hoping they meet the same fate.

“We thought you’d choked to death on Mayfield’s cock or something,” Marco teases him. “Where the hell have you been ?”

Haley shrugs and pushes past them.

Felix slams him back into the wall.

“Wait, good question.” Felix says pointedly. “Where the fuck have you been ?”

“Someone is coming,” Haley says, he catches the eye of  a Corp. Anderseen coming towards the group.

“The fuck are you little shits up to ?,” Corp. Andreseen calls. “Break it up!”

Haley takes the moment to races from the wall and out the door

---

A/N

...And with that you can pretty much say goodbye  1st person POV from anyone who isn't Alan. It just wasn't working.