Resistance had not been an isolated issue since the demon incursion. Cells had sprung up practically wherever there were humans who had not been broken. South America had hosted several rebellions in the early days, none strictly successful but all costly to quell. Asia had been a nightmare between the vastness of Russia and the manpower China had at its disposal. Even now, central Africa and the northernmost points of North America were both hotspots, and violent uprisings were ready to break out in Australia.<br/><br/>It wasn't enough. It might never be enough. Demons might have been internally fracturing, but as far as the human race was concerned they were of one mind about the task before them: Complete domination. Whatever method each infernal master used to secure a grip on the hearts and minds of their subjects, it was not a vice that would be broken. The human advantage of numbers was dwindling, and one by one the small, unblemished parts of the world were being swallowed up by the outpouring of Hell itself.<br/><br/>And this coffee was days old. Fuck it. Bracing himself, Paolo swallowed it in one long gulp, tossing the foam cup away from himself in disgust afterward. Well, that was awful. Shaking his head a little, he rose from the plastic chair he was sitting in, grabbed the revolver off the table in front of him and stepped out of the police station office that he'd turned into his bedroom, nearly tripping over the mattress he slept on along the way. The cold hit before you were out of the building entirely, and he tugged the sides of his coat together as if it would really help keep the bite away. At least it was a short walk to the listening post, the tent his people had filled with radios.<br/><br/>Radio wasn't undetectable, but it was a hell of a lot safer than using phones anymore. Even then, the rules were pretty straightforward - only broadcast when you absolutely needed to, and NEVER stop listening. If someone else had to broadcast, they weren't going to risk doing it for more than a few minutes and you couldn't miss it or that was it.<br/><br/>"Paolo, nobody's seen Gary." The voice belonged to Tristian, a former military man who kept the place running smoothly. Paolo was more the visionary, honestly, and it didn't matter how good his ideas were if his people weren't in top shape. Tristian saw to that, Hell sometimes Paolo thought Tristian should have just stepped up and taken official command of this cell. But the man hadn't ever indicated any interest in that, so Paolo held the reins. "He's two days overdue."<br/><br/>"He's been late before." Paolo brought a hand up to his head, tugging lightly at a few strands of black hair as he weighed out the situation. "We can't spare anyone to go look for him right now. And... If he was caught, I mean-"<br/><br/>"-If he was caught, they know where we are." Tristian cut into Paolo's cautiously optimistic tone with cold reality. As he often had to do. "These things can make people talk in ways we're not prepared to resist. Whether it's torture, charm, Hell it could be magic for all I know. But I've seen it work."<br/><br/>"It didn't work on you," Paolo said quietly. The two were silent for several minutes after that.<br/><br/>"If we can't spare anyone to find Gary or confirm he's MIA, we have to assume the worst. Taking the trucks and rendezvousing with the ships later is the fastest way out, but it's a waste of fuel if we can wait for them to pick us up from this location."<br/><br/>Paolo crouched, picking snow off the ground and forming a little snowball absently. "We were all just getting used to this place. I hate loading up again now, some church group was even making plans for a Christmas celebration."<br/><br/>"It isn't Christmastime," Tristian said as he held up a finger, having connected up the radio to broadcast to the fleet, which he had to hope were listening. The fleet never broadcast its location, just in case. Only quick messages confirming that they had heard you, and a quick 'yes' or 'no' to whatever you were asking for. As frustrating as it was, the secrecy was vital. As long as the fleet continued to operate, cells like Paolo's could keep relying on them for support. A few hundred men and women hiding out in the snowy mountains of Colombia, up behind Santa Marta, became an invisible army, mobilizing all over the world to hit the demons along supply lines, prison colonies and information hubs.<br/><br/>Once the message was sent, the two men patrolled the abandoned town they'd turned into home. They did this daily, unless they were too short on hands and had to man the listening post or the spotter nests themselves. Everything seemed in-line, spirits were higher than usual given the bleak situation. There were, unfortunately, a high number of sick men and women confined to the medical center, but this was not Paolo's first winter in this situation and he knew what to expect. Some would endure, others would die, but as long as they were kept from spreading their illness as much as possible, most of the cell would make it. Still, seeing the children watching their parents waste away, or parents saying goodbye to their fading sons and daughters... It still bothered Paolo. And in a way, he treasured that. It was good that Tristian was the cold man that he was, someone absolutely needed to be, but Paolo did not want to become that way if he could help it. The loss of friends, of innocents, these things would weigh on him and he would accept that.<br/><br/>At least, that was the man he was today.<br/><br/>When the confirmation came in from the fleet, Paolo took the unpleasant task of alerting the cell members that they would be relocating as soon as members of the fleet arrived to pick them up. "Anywhere from 12 to 72 hours from now," he had advised, repeating the window given him by the fleet. Sometimes they felt overly secretive. Many faces were disappointed, children in particular who had grown accustomed to having homes again. Still, they all accepted the situation. They had to.<br/><br/>As soon as the address was done, Paolo was pulled away by a man who rushed him to the listening post. Tristian was seated at the chair, listening through thick military headphones that he had pulled off of one ear. His eyes were wide. "Paolo, you need to hear this..."