The crowd remains quiet, seemingly uninterested. The only sound Danzo can hear is snickering from the people beside him.

  “Well, uh, thanks, Danzo,” Commander Sterling chuckles nervously as he turns back to the crowd. “So folks, now that you've met our candidates, place your vote before five today, and the results will be announced by dinner! Dismissed!” He ends with a salute, and a few return it.

  As Danzo steps off his pedestal, Gilroy and Bertrand approach him, their coats worn casually.

  “Hey, Danzo!” Bertrand says with a smile. Gilroy gives him a slight nod to greet.

  “Afternoon,” Danzo replies.

  “We wanted to see if you're joining us for the election dinner,” Bertrand asks.

  “I am not intending to.”

  “Why? Is it because you're afraid of losing the election?” Bertrand laughs.

  “I'm not interested in the election.”

  “But even so, you don't have to be a stranger,” Gilroy adds. “Since we arrived, you always thought you were better than us.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You didn't have to,” Gilroy says. “We see how you talk to us. How you go into the main camp on your own, not giving a damn about informing your fellow soldiers.”

  Gilroy's sudden confrontation draws in a crowd. “You slap our hand when we offer friendship and comradeship during these trying times, thinking you are above us. Personally, I'm sick of it. I can't speak for the rest, but know you aren't special.”

  “Hey, Roy. Relax, relax. We said we were just going to speak to him,” Bertrand intervenes. “As Gusto told us, he just isn't the social type.”

  “Heh, Gusto is just covering this poor bastard's ass. He is nothing but a joy-killer.”

  Danzo remains silent and glances at Gusto before returning to Gilroy. In some ways, Gilroy is right– but mostly, he is wrong.

  “Gilroy ain't wrong,” James joins the argument. “I saw him and Gusto heading to the Claw guys. From what I heard, they were busy talking trash about us.”

  Where did he get that?

  Gusto tries to object, but Gilroy cuts him off. “What do you mean?!”

  James gives a sly smile as he crosses his arms. “While they were getting beds, Danzo mentioned how incompetent our division was– something about us being morons and leeches.”

  The crowd breaks into angry murmurs. Bertrand scratches his chin in surprise, a troubled expression on his face.

  “Wait, James. I don’t believe a guy like Danzo wou–” Bertrand is interrupted as Danzo furrows his eyebrows and walks past him toward James.

  James gives an amused look. “Wh–”

  Before he can utter a word, Danzo grabs James tightly by the shirt and lifts him off the ground.

  “Where did you hear these lies?” Danzo asks as James kicks the air, struggling to break Danzo's grip.

  Before he can answer, Sterling breaks through the group, pushing people aside. “What the hell is going on here?!”

  He sees Danzo holding James by his shirt and runs over, shouting, “Cadet Yamamoto, put him down this instant!”

  “Hmph,” Danzo grunts, reluctantly throwing James to the floor behind him. James scrambles to get up and runs into the crowd.

  “All of you are dismissed. I want to speak with him alone!” Sterling shouts. When no one moves, he barks, “DID I STUTTER?!”

  The crowd slowly disperses, and Sterling approaches Danzo. “Walk with me.”

  Danzo follows as he leads them to the opposite side of the Roost, to a large patch of dirt. The benches and standing targets suggest this was a training ground, but from the weeds and overgrown grass, it hasn’t been used in a while.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Sterling stands in front of Danzo, scratching the back of his head.

  “So, tell me. What is your problem?” Sterling asks.

  Danzo crosses his arms before he responds, “With?”

  “With us. The whole division. Since day one, it feels as if you have been fighting against us.”

  “It has only been a day and a half.”

  “I like to get ahead of issues before they get bigger. From what I have seen and heard, you’re not getting along with the others. Or, more accurately, you don’t want to.”

  “You’re correct,” Danzo answers.

  “That is what I was afraid of,” Sterling sighs. “Why are you being so difficult about this? We aren’t your enemies here.”

  What is with the accusations today?

  “I never said any of you were my enemy.”

  “From what I hear, that doesn’t seem to be the case,” Sterling replies, his eyes fixed on Danzo.

  “Who told you this? James?”

  “They aren’t the focus of this conversation,” Sterling answers.

  “I disagree. You’re basing your opinion on hearsay.”

  “Tha–” Before Sterling can object, Danzo interrupts.

  “I’m not finished. As a commander, you need to make your own judgments, not blindly follow what another person says. Tell me, why do you run this division the way you do?”

  Sterling crosses his arms. “Because it’s best for everyone.”

  “Best for everyone?” Danzo repeats.

  “Look, everyone here is afraid of the monsters attacking us. Some have nowhere else to go and aren’t suited for fighting–hell, most of us are afraid–but we can’t return empty-handed. The Slayer Division exists for those people. If you want to fight, join the Claw or Fracture Divisions. But here, this is a sanctuary for those who can’t.” Sterling smiles after his argument and looks back at him.

  Danzo remains silent for a few seconds, staring at the ground. He glances at the Roost, then back at Sterling, contemplating his next words.

  He looks back at Sterling. “Are you an idiot?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your entire argument sounds like an excuse. Most of the soldiers here are afraid and don’t have other options. But they still fight and do what they need to. We are here for a reason, regardless of how we feel.”

  A serious expression washes over Sterling's face. “And what gives you the right to judge us?”

  “I am just telling you what I see. We aren’t special enough to think we deserve what we want.”

  Sterling repeatedly opens and closes his mouth, attempting to argue. Unable to, he remains quiet; he avoids Danzo’s eyes.

  Having nothing else to add, Danzo says, “If that is all, I am returning to my quarters. Good evening, Commander.” He leaves Sterling standing alone on the dirt patch.

  Reaching his tent, Danzo opens the door and finds Gusto sitting by the center table. After placing his bag by his bed, he prepares to plan his upcoming weeks.

  “Uh, Danzo?” Gusto says.

  “Yes?” He takes out a small notebook and begins writing.

  “How did the talk with the commander go?”

  “It went fine. We argued and said what we needed to.”

  “I see,” Gusto says as he plays with the glass in his hand. “You aren’t angry with me?”

  “About?”

  “About me talking to Gilroy’s group about how you aren’t the social type?”

  “It’s the truth, so why should I be mad?” Danzo sets his pen down. “Do you know anything about what James was talking about?”

  “The leeches and morons stuff? No, I only spoke about how you aren’t social, that’s all.” Gusto opens the bottle of FireWater and pours a small amount into the glass before filling the remainder with water. “I suspect he is spreading rumours.”

  “Agreed. From what I can tell, he likes to lie.” Danzo opens his notebook and resumes writing. “I will need to do something about that.”

  “I should warn you– after you and the commander left, he was speaking about you,” Gusto says, cringing as he takes a sip of his drink.

  “What did he say?”

  “Eh, nothing interesting. He was just calling you names and making empty threats.”

  Danzo scratches his chin. “I see. I should be careful around him going forward.”

  “Ugh! What the hell is in this thing?” Gusto complains as he takes another sip.

  “Why do you keep drinking that? This is the tenth time you complained about it.”

  “My uncle loves this stuff. He said that if you can down a glass in one go, you are a true man,” Gusto says as he pours in more water.

  Danzo stares at the glass for a couple of seconds before closing his book. He joins Gusto at the table and picks up a glass. “You mind if I try?”

  Gusto raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Um, sure. Go ahead.”

  Taking Gusto’s previous reactions as a warning, he pours a small amount. Before he takes a sip, they hear a commotion outside– the sound of someone struggling and hurried footsteps circling the tent. The footsteps stop at the entrance, and the tent door opens

  Bertrand stands in the doorway, holding an injured James by his shirt.