Jed and Olivia stared at each other, The conversation was getting more and more awkward.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t like the play,” said Olivia in a conciliatory tone.

  Jed shook his head, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. "Whatever," he muttered, his voice low and gruff. "Let’s cut to the chase. You sent a whole mess of skeletons into my territory. We’ve always kept a non-aggression pact—or at least, we’ve never gone at each other."

  Olivia folded her arms, her eyes cool but sharp. "That’s true, but we don’t have a formal alliance, and we don’t have a non-aggression pact. What we do have, though, is a border. A wall."

  Jed leaned in, his voice brimming with frustration. "Yes, we sure do, and I heard you led your skeletons right through that wall—right into my territory."

  Olivia remained calm, but her tone shifted, a trace of defensiveness creeping in. "I don’t like to think of them as our skeletons. I like to think of them as a horde of monsters that we were dealing with."

  Jed’s voice grew cold. "Yeah, but they were your horde."

  Olivia’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t falter. "Again, I don’t think of them as ours. The Wasteland is always an enemy. That’s always the problem. And that was a problem we had to solve before they took down Fort Bone."

  Jed’s frustration was boiling over, his heart pounding. "So what are you going to do about it?"

  Olivia’s tone softened, though her words remained calculated. "Well, we’ve manned our walls. Any skeletons that get close, we’ll take them down."

  Jed’s anger didn’t ease. "That’s fine, but what about the ones you’ve already let in?"

  Olivia shrugged, offering a solution as though it were no big deal. "Well, we can go in and take them out for you if you like."

  Jed’s eyes darkened, his voice sharp with suspicion. "Oh, so you’ll send an army into my territory."

  Olivia raised an eyebrow. "What else could we do?"

  Jed stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "I see your plan now. You lead those skeletons in, and then, pretending to help us clear ‘em out, you bring an army right to my doorstep." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Pretty hard to send the wolf home once he’s in the fold, ain’t it?"

  Olivia met his gaze, unflinching. "We haven’t attacked you before."

  Jed’s eyes flashed with cold fury. "And wouldn’t it be convenient if we were all weakened by skeletons before you did for the first time?"

  Olivia held her ground, her voice soft but firm. "Haven’t you heard? We are quite peaceful here." Olivia looked as pious as possible after this statement.

  Jed’s gaze flicked around the room, taking in the symbols of fallen settlements, the silent trophies that spoke of Fort Bone’s conquests. His voice was filled with cold disdain. "Sure, I can see exactly how peaceful you are."

  He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. His men, tense and ready, followed suit. "From now on," Jed growled, his voice laced with finality, "consider yourself warned. No citizen of Fort Bone is allowed within our territory. Anyone we see—we will kill on sight."

  Olivia’s expression shifted, concern flashing briefly in her eyes. "No need for such anger, we can talk about this some more."

  Jed’s voice was low, filled with dark promise. "You can talk to our swords."

  Without another word, Jed and his men turned on their heels, storming out of the room. The men were full of anger, as they teleported back to America United, Jed’s mind swirling with thoughts of revenge. His fury was a 10 horse stampede that wouldn’t be quieted anytime soon.

  ‘‘‘

  POV : AMERICA UNITED

  Jed Lawson stepped through the gates of America United, the sturdy homestead looming before him. It wasn’t quite a castle in the traditional sense, but it sure felt like one. With its thick, fortified walls—Level 3, no less—it could withstand any assault from raiders or the relentless wasteland attacks. Defensive turrets jutted out like steel sentinels, tall and menacing, a clear warning to anyone foolish enough to test their luck.

  Inside, it was a different story. Jed’s men were gathered, the air thick with the scent of sweat, whiskey, and stubborn pride. The low buzz of conversation quieted as Jed entered, his boots heavy against the wood floors.

  “Do you guys remember when we first created this town?” Jed’s voice was low and rough, more a challenge than a question.

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  The men responded in unison, some grinning as they raised their drinks, “We sure do!”

  ***

  Back then, the wasteland had been no less brutal than it was now. Tensions had simmered from the start—settlers arguing over who would lead, how to govern, and what rules to follow. Old-world politics had bled into their new reality, infecting every conversation like a parasite.

  Jed and his men, had stood before them on that first day, his presence commanding as he cut through the noise. “Fuck politics!” he had declared, his words sharp and uncompromising. “Now we’re in a new place. Let’s go and just be true Americans!”

  The room had gone quiet, the weight of his words pressing down on them. Some nodded, others shifted uncomfortably, too attached to their old-world beliefs to let go.

  That’s when a scrawny intellectual-type had spoken up, adjusting his glasses as if preparing for a debate. “What’s a true American?” he asked, his tone skeptical and mocking, his eyebrows arched like they were daring someone to answer.

  The challenge was answered almost immediately.

  A burly man in a grease-stained trucker hat leaned back in his chair, boots thunking onto the table. He grinned around a toothpick before spitting it to the floor. “That’s pretty easy,” he said, his voice a mix of drawl and challenge. “True Americans love guns, freedom, and calling out bullshit when we see it. Something you intellectual pussies just don’t get.”

  The scrawny guy chuckled dryly, folding his arms across his chest like he’d been expecting that exact answer. “Oh, that’s rich,” he said. “I thought true Americans were people actually born in America, not, you know, the colonizers the rest of you are.” He gestured broadly, his smirk daring anyone to argue.

  The room bristled.

  “Now hold on,” Trucker Hat shot back, leaning forward, his voice low and dangerous. “You calling me a colonizer? My great-great-grandpappy fought in the Civil War, son. That makes me more American than you’ll ever be.”

  The scrawny guy tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Let me guess. He fought for the Confederacy?”

  A few snickers broke out in the corner, but they were quickly silenced when Trucker Hat slammed his fist on the table, sending the salt shaker spinning. “Watch your damn mouth, college boy,” he growled. “I ain’t about to let some latte-drinking know-it-all rewrite history.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” the scrawny guy replied, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Is history triggering you? Should I grab you a Budweiser, or are you good?”

  The room erupted into laughter, though Trucker Hat wasn’t laughing. His face reddened, veins bulging like he was about to pop.

  “Look,” a woman with a Midwestern twang called from behind the bar, “if you don’t like it here, you’re more than welcome to move to Canada. I hear they’ve got free healthcare and everything.”

  “Free healthcare and gun control,” the scrawny guy fired back. “Sounds like paradise. Maybe I’ll send you all a postcard.”

  Trucker Hat stood, pointing a finger thick enough to be a weapon itself. “Say one more word about guns, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

  “One more word about guns,” the scrawny guy deadpanned, raising his glass.

  The laughter doubled, but Trucker Hat was done. Muttering about “damn snowflakes,” he stomped out, his boots echoing in the silence he left behind.

  Jed had watched it all, his gaze cold and cutting, like the wasteland nights outside. When the laughter finally died down, he spoke, his voice slicing through the room like a blade. “True Americans are the ones who survive when shits the fan.”

  Then he cocked his shotgun. Loudly.

  The sound echoed, pulling every eye in the room to him. That shut most of them up, but the tension lingered. It always did.

  Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a voice piped up, hesitant but clear. “Doesn’t matter if you vote blue or red. Now we’re all here. Our color is purple.”

  The words hung in the air, strange and foreign, but they started to take root.

  “From now on,” another voice shouted, emboldened, “we’ll view Americans in the wasteland as one people!”

  It wasn’t a cure for all the squabbles or an instant solution, but it was the beginning of something. People were people after all. A long history of hating each other wouldn’t just go away. But the wasteland was no joke, and a solution needed to be found.

  Slowly, the settlers began to see what those words meant: unity, survival, a shared identity forged in the crucible of the wasteland.

  And that was how America United began.

  ***

  Now, back in the present, Jed looked around at his men. They were tougher now, more scarred, more worn. But they had survived. They had built something out of the mess.

  "We’ve come a long way since then," Jed said, his voice tinged with pride. "And it’s not over yet. America United is going to be more than just a town—it’s going to be a legend."

  The men nodded, but it wasn’t just a nod of agreement. Their eyes gleamed, not just with excitement, but with the fierce determination that had brought them this far. It was the same fire that had burned in their chests when they first arrived in this godforsaken wasteland, the fire that had driven them to carve out a place of their own, to build something away from the squabbles of Earth. Jed could feel it, too—that hunger—a need to prove themselves, to survive not just for the sake of survival but to rule the Wasteland.

  Jed looked into their faces, reading each man’s scars like a book of battles they had fought together. These men were more than just followers. They were brothers in arms, forged in the heat of this broken wasteland. He clenched his fists, feeling the adrenaline surge through him. He knew they were ready for whatever came next. ‘The wasteland was cruel, but they had become something darker, something tougher.‘

  "Let’s show this wasteland what real Americans are made of," Jed growled, his voice thick with raw emotion, not just anger but pride, too. ‘These were his men. His people.‘

  For a moment, there was silence, a breathless pause where Jed could see the weight of his words sinking into each of them. Then it broke. The men roared, their voices shaking the walls of their makeshift castle, the sound a violent explosion of unity. It wasn’t just cheering—it was a war cry, a declaration of their will to conquer.

  They had claimed this land with blood, sweat, and tears. This place was theirs. And now, they would defend it with everything they had, down to the last breath.

  America United wasn’t just a name. It was a promise. A promise to themselves, to their families, to every soul who had sacrificed something to see this dream through. They weren’t just survivors—they were the future. They would rewrite history.

  “Tell everyone,” Jed barked, his voice sharp and commanding, “nobody that’s a citizen of Fort Bone can be here a week from now!”

  "You got it, boss!" his men yelled back, their voices ringing with loyalty and a newfound ferocity.

  Jed stood tall, the weight of the future pressing on him. But he felt no fear, no doubt. If the Fort Bone empire wanted to play, then so be it. ‘He would show them what true Americans could do.‘