Page 22 of Zeus

Knowing that any one of these people could decide they hate me on sight makes being here more dangerous than taking on enemy fire in the Middle East. At least there, I knew who hated me and who didn't.

Knowing there's no trust with these people makes me search for Zayne in the crowd. He has my back, even if it's only because we're on the same team right now.

He's not hard to spot. The man has a crowd around him as if he's one of the scheduled speakers for the day. His smile is wide and vibrant, and there's no sign of the pain he had when he spoke of his sister last night.

The man somehow looks like he fits in, as if he were born to be a part of this world. It makes me feel even more out of place, knowing it took years and years for him to build up the kind of confidence he's showing while practically performing in front of a bunch of racists and bigots.

I nod at people who walk by, but the character I'm playing isn't nice at all. "Lyle" is hateful and borderline insane with how much he hates the government. The attitude I'm supposed to present is like taking a trip down memory lane, recalling how I felt growing up in a house where I was an accessory more than anything else. I wasn't supposed to have feelings or expectations. It was always "yes, ma'am." I was never meant to ask questions or do more than exist in a world where I really wasn't welcome, despite the smiles my adoptive parents threw my way when they were out in public, and that's what was expected of them.

Any other time, I was supposed to stay out of the way until they needed to pull me out like a prop in a play. It really fucked with my head. I'd be lying if I said that there aren’t certain situations where all that shit flares up.

Apparently, this is one of them, and pulling on that energy, channeling all the pain associated with my upbringing, is much too easy. I know it has a lot to do with the blast from my past standing across the parking lot.

More people have gathered around "Curtis," each one smiling and nodding as he speaks. The man looks like a king holding court, and everyone listening to him is buying every ounce of what he's selling.

Saying the man is charismatic doesn't give him the justice he deserves. I know I should be glad he's drawing the attention, but part of me wonders where he puts the outrage and anger he must feel in these types of situations.

My skin crawls just being in the vicinity of so many people who are blatantly intolerant of so many things that don't affect their day-to-day lives. These are the type of people who would seek out others who are different from them just to punish them for existing.

As I stand, sipping my now lukewarm beer, I can also acknowledge just how good Zayne is at all of this. The charm he's showcasing is something to watch, and it makes me glad I wasn't selected to do that part of the job. I don't think I could be so happy and carefree in the face of so much injustice, but he does it well.

Someone else in the small group he's gathered says something, and Zayne's demeanor shifts immediately. Outrage fills his eyes as he talks animatedly about whatever the shift in conversation is, but the people around him are no less entranced. The head nods deepen as the group grows tighter together, as if they're hanging on every word coming from his mouth.

I swear the man looks like he’s one person away from starting his own fucking militia group. I'm not close enough to hear what he's saying, but each one of them is buying what he's selling.

I feel a kinship of sorts with him in this moment. It's as if we've both spent a lifetime pretending to be someone we aren't. I discovered after leaving home for the Marine Corps that I didn't want to be the guy coated in anger and expecting people to treat me poorly. It took years of brotherhood and acceptance to let that resentment slough away, and until that man showed up on the doorstep of Cerberus, I thought that the old me was gone for good.

Funny how one person can land you right back in the middle of a life you thought you left behind.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other when I spot one of the guys from the dossier we were given. We know he's linked to The League of Liberty, but it wasn't clear how high his rank in the organization is.

He looks just as captivated by what Zayne is saying, and I know this is a good sign. But I can't fight the exasperation when Zayne looks at the man and gives him a wide smile before offering his hand to shake, as if the guy's the second coming of Christ.

After their brief introductions, Zayne continues speaking, and the group grows larger and larger.

"Do you know him?"

I shift my eyes slowly. I felt the woman approach from my right, but didn't give her the attention she was clearly seeking until she spoke.

"He's my cousin," I grunt, pulling my eyes from her to continue scanning the crowd.

"Does this cousin of yours have a name?" she asks, inching close enough that I can tell she has pressed her breasts to my arm without even having to look.

"Curtis."

I take another sip of my beer, using the motion to shift away from her as well.

The woman is intelligent enough to take a step back. As much as I'd like to tell her to fuck off, I also know that she could easily be someone from the group we're investigating sent over here to ask questions. I know people saw us arrive together, so I have to presume at least a handful of people here already know we're connected.

As ignorant as many people are in their beliefs, I know they're also very attentive. Two new guys showing up to a rally had to have drawn some attention, and there's nothing like drug-enhanced paranoia to make people start asking questions.

"Good to know," she says, her tone now flat and less flirty. "See ya around."

I don't know if she has a hard time pretending to be interested in me for an extended period, or if she got what she needed and no longer has to put on an act.

I blow out a huff of air, trying to decide whether I should keep standing here or walk around a bit. Walking would probably be better. It would draw more eyes and attention, and I know that being seen and becoming a regular part of these types of things is the goal. But that would also force me to possibly interact with people, and I'm feeling a little too twitchy right now.

Before I can make up my mind, yelling from across the parking lot draws my attention.