Ancheta let out a drunken burp, his eyes slightly unfocused as he muttered, "So we really are going to North Africa to eat sand…"
Turner grumbled reluctantly, "Aren't there other teams?"
Leah replied irritably, "They're on other missions in Iraq."
God knew she didn't want to go either.
Carver was furious.
"Hey! This is our vacation! We spent three whole months stuck in that hellhole in Kabul! And we're not even on standby right now!"
Leah rubbed her temples harder, clearly more annoyed.
"I don't know what's going on lately. Rabies outbreaks are popping up everywhere. Pope has sent every available team in the company out. We're the only ones left. He says it's an urgent mission."
(The Pope refers to Pope from The Walking Dead. This isn't a fan-made title; in the show he is called Pope.)
The room immediately filled with complaints. Everyone's faces showed obvious resistance.
Every mercenary in their company was entitled to eight weeks of vacation a year. The rest of the time they were either on missions or on standby.
During their stay at Twilight Manor, the mercenaries had been using the manor's facilities and the surrounding forest every day for physical training and tactical drills.
When they weren't training, they ate, drank, and relaxed. Life had been comfortable and enjoyable.
So they had simply taken leave, planning to spend the full eight weeks here.
Even workhorses have rights.
How could their boss be this heartless?
Seeing the clear unwillingness on everyone's faces, Calista actually felt less nervous.
She suddenly realized she had misunderstood something.
The apocalypse hadn't happened yet.
Their former leader was still just a regular military commander and the owner of Sentinel Company. He hadn't yet become the paranoid, authoritarian hawkish cult leader he would later turn into.
Right now, they were simply a group of former U.S. Special Forces soldiers who had transitioned into a privatized mercenary unit. They hadn't yet gone through the hardships of the apocalypse.
Nor had they become the later Reapers, who clung to extreme religious beliefs born from despair.
In other words, their relationship with The Pope right now was just that of an old boss and his former employees.
Would you abandon a comfortable, luxurious life just because your boss assigned you a mission?
Especially when that mission carried a serious risk of death.
Besides, based on Calista's analysis, the Reapers in the show were essentially just a militarized organization forcibly held together by The Pope's performance and fanatical beliefs.
The entire Meridian community had no women or children. There was no warmth, no social cohesion, and none of the productivity that a normal community would have.
That was why they struggled more and more as the apocalypse dragged on.
In the apocalypse, the law of the jungle ruled.
Raw strength was everything.
The Reapers clearly had some of the strongest individual combat abilities in the entire series, yet they were eliminated in an almost embarrassingly sloppy way. A perfect hand played terribly.
By the later stages, even their own members could no longer tolerate The Pope's madness. An organization like that was doomed sooner or later.
Calista felt lucky that from the beginning she had taken the "family" approach. In just three weeks she had already tipped the balance.
Once the apocalypse came, she believed she could build something far better than the organization seen in the original story.
Mrs. Howard looked at the young faces around the table and thought of her son who had died on the battlefield. With a hint of sadness, she handed Danny a steaming baking tray.
She smiled warmly at the group.
"Have some apple pie first. It took me three hours to make. Everyone, try it."
Leah scanned the room, seeing the reluctance written plainly on her teammates' faces. Then she turned to look at Calista.
She didn't speak, but there was a trace of sadness in her eyes.
She pressed her lips together and was about to say something when Calista suddenly cut her off.
"I'll take care of you!"
Calista casually brushed the sea salt off her skirt. Her fingers caught a strand of her hair, twirling it lightly.
For the first time, her beautiful face showed the spoiled arrogance of someone raised with wealth and power.
"Is it really that expensive to keep you around? With the Norton family's fortune, I could support your entire Sentinel company."
With elegant movements, she opened her iPad, pulled up a Sotheby's auction catalog, and handed it to Leah and the others.
On the screen was Van Gogh's Irises, listed alongside the price of missiles.
"Cough! Cough!"
Ancheta nearly spat out his red wine when he saw the screen.
Wasn't that painting hanging in the reception room right now?
Calista's calm composure drew sharp breaths from around the table. Leah and the others stared at her in shock.
The beautiful and domineering heiress seemed to shine with her own light, exerting an irresistible pull on these mercenaries who lived with death at their throats.
Calista thought silently: Thank you, Mr. Norton, for giving me the money to show off like this. Being a rich boss really does feel amazing.
Evans chuckled softly, resting a fist against his mouth.
"Calista, why don't you support me too? Am I not worthy?"
Calista's lips curled into a sly smile.
"Mr. Evans, I picked you a long time ago."
Evans let out an exaggerated cry and clutched his chest, drawing loud laughter from the men.
Calista gave Leah a radiant smile but didn't explain further.
Everyone here had been carefully chosen by her long ago.
Doctor — Evans.
Chef — Mrs. Howard.
Agriculture expert and estate manager — Howard.
Security force — the mercenaries.
This was a team that could hold its own anywhere.
They were the core members of her apocalypse survival plan.
The mood quickly became lively again.
After lunch, Calista stood up and clapped her hands, deciding to announce some good news to distract everyone from the earlier tension.
"Mr. Howard says the new batch of wine is ready. We need some experts to taste it. Let's have a party tonight!"
...
Twilight Manor was brightly lit under the night sky.
After calculating the timeline earlier that day, Calista estimated that this would probably be the last party she would enjoy before the apocalypse arrived. Once it began, her refined lifestyle would disappear completely.
So she dragged Leah into the dressing room and kept her there for nearly the entire afternoon.
When dusk filtered into the room, Calista was holding a pearl hairpin, tucking Leah's loose strands behind her ear.
In the full-length mirror, two completely different figures were reflected.
An emerald silk slip dress wrapped around the soft, graceful curves of a young girl.
Meanwhile, a military vest stretched tightly across Leah's muscular frame, outlining hard, stone-like lines.
"Leah, please. Just this once, okay?" Calista twisted open a tube of lipstick and stood on tiptoe to reach Leah's lips. "Just think of it as rehearsing for prom with me."
"I don't need all this extra stuff."
Leah waved her hand dismissively and reached up to remove the pearl hairpin, but Calista grabbed her wrist.
"But I need it!"
Calista dipped her fingertip into some highlighter and gently rubbed it into the crease between Leah's brows.
"Oh my god, Leah. That frown line is way too deep. You should smile more, or you'll turn into an old lady early."
Leah's fingers twitched, but she couldn't resist Calista's persistence.
For the first time, she felt that having a younger sister was more troublesome than going to war.
"Close your eyes!"
Calista's breath brushed lightly across Leah's face as a soft makeup brush swept over her eyelids.
Leah sighed quietly.
She couldn't even remember the last time she wore makeup. Sixteen, maybe?
She had never cared much about girly things. Growing up, she had been rough like a tomboy.
Later she followed her biological father's path and joined the military, eventually being stationed in Afghanistan.
She had little experience interacting with girls her age. In the military and later in the mercenary company, most of the women around her were tougher than many men.
Facing someone like Calista, who had been delicately raised, left her completely unsure how to respond.
"Your eyelashes are really long," Calista murmured, pulling her back to the present.
Leah opened her eyes and saw an unfamiliar version of herself in the mirror.
Smoky eye makeup softened the sharp intensity typical of a mercenary's gaze, while matte lipstick made her tightly pressed lips look almost gentle.
Calista was sticking rhinestones onto her cheek.
"Oh! You have a tear mole. I like putting little gems around moles like that. You should try it."
After finishing the makeup, Calista suddenly faced a new problem.
Clothing.
She had already put on her dress, but looking at Leah's stiff posture, she had no idea which outfit to choose for her.
"Which dress do you like?"
Calista rested her chin in her hand, studying the row of hanging clothes seriously.
"No way! I'm not wearing a dress!"
Leah stepped back repeatedly as if Calista were some terrifying monster.
"Got it! Then try this!"
Calista shook out a silver casual suit. The tailored lines were sharp, and the satin fabric gleamed softly under the lights reflected in Leah's eyes.
Would she look ridiculous wearing something like that?
For once, Leah seemed unsure of herself.
"Can I really pull off something this fancy?"