The trio followed Henry through a narrow hallway that opened into the base's cafeteria. The scent that greeted them was unexpectedly pleasant—spiced rice, something sizzling in oil, and the unmistakable aroma of warm bread. Sammy blinked, visibly surprised.
"This doesn't smell like ration food," Jack muttered, craning his neck.
The cafeteria buzzed with quiet energy. Men and women—some armed, some in ragged clothes, others surprisingly clean—lined up in rows, waiting their turn to be served. The servers moved fast behind a long metal counter, scooping generous helpings of food into metal trays.
"Don't judge the book by the scars on its cover," Henry said with a half-smile. "Cobra believes a full stomach keeps order."
They received their trays—steamed rice with curried lentils, a few slices of flatbread, and grilled vegetables. Sammy sniffed her plate with a suspicious look, but a taste later, she gave a nod of approval. "Okay. Not bad."
They found an empty table near a pillar and sat down. Maarg poked at his food, eyes distant. Jack was already halfway through his tray. Sammy sat quietly, her earlier irritation still lingering, though dulled by the warm meal.
"I get that Cobra's offer is tempting," she said, finally breaking the silence. "But I don't like this. Any of it."
Maarg looked up. "I don't trust him either. But—" he glanced at the condition of Jack's axe and the knives fixed near his hips, a reminder from their last run, "—we're not exactly rolling in options."
Jack leaned back, chewing on a piece of bread. "I don't think Cobra's a saint. But I do think he wants his wife back, bad enough to make a good deal. We get weapons, food And we help someone. That counts for something, doesn't it?"
Sammy didn't respond. Her eyes wandered around the cafeteria. People were laughing at a nearby table, trading jokes and even playing cards. It didn't feel like the kind of place you'd expect from a man running what sounded like a paramilitary group.
Henry joined them after a few minutes, his tray in hand.
"Comfortable?" he asked, settling down beside Jack.
"As much as one can be in an apocalypse-run mafia base," Sammy muttered, taking another bite.
Henry chuckled. "I get it. I do. But this place? It works. Cobra keeps things running. We have medicine, trade, stability—more than most can say nowadays."
"And what does he want in return?" Maarg asked, not hiding the edge in his voice.
"Loyalty. Results. Order." Henry said. "He's not a tyrant, not really. Just a man who knows what chaos does to people. That's why finding Carla matters so much to him. She's not just his wife—she's the one person who keeps his humanity anchored."
Sammy folded her arms. "And what if he loses that anchor?"
Henry paused, his face softening. "Then we all lose something."
The table went quiet again. The warm food didn't feel quite so comforting anymore.
"I'm not saying you should trust him blindly," Henry added. "But I've seen worse leaders. Far worse. Cobra… still remembers what it means to be human. Even if he forgets sometimes."
They finished the rest of the meal mostly in silence, each one of them wrapped in their own thoughts. It wasn't until later—after the trays were returned and the sun had begun to lower behind the horizon—that Maarg spoke again, his voice steady, but firm.
"If we're doing this," he said, "we'll need to lay out our own conditions. It's only fair."
And just like that, the conversation shifted—no longer just about trust, or food, or even the Vipers. It became about survival. About leverage. About doing what needed to be done… without becoming what they feared.
The room felt colder this time.
Not because of the weather—it was still that dry, late-afternoon warmth that filtered through the cracked blinds—but because of the air that hung between Cobra and the trio standing before him. The earlier politeness had faded. Now, it was business.
Cobra leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his chest, dark eyes scanning them one by one. "So," he said with a half-smile, "have we made up our minds?"
Maarg took a breath, firm but respectful. "We're willing to help. But we have conditions."
Cobra raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused. "Go on."
Jack stepped up beside Maarg, arms folded. "We're going into the lion's den for you—bandits, cannibals, god knows what. We'll need backup, people who know the terrain. And we want proper equipment. Not just hope and a handshake."
There was a pause. Cobra studied them both, then his gaze flicked over to Sammy, who stood silent, arms crossed, jaw tight. She wasn't hiding her disdain.
Cobra chuckled lowly. "I like your spirit. Fine. Backup is reasonable."
He nodded toward Henry, who had just entered the room and was now leaning against the far wall. "You'll have Henry. He knows the terrain better than anyone. And two others—Tara and her husband, Mark. Good people. Loyal."
"Weapons?" Maarg asked.
Cobra leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "No guns."
"What?" Jack's voice rose, incredulous. "You want us to take on cannibals with our bare hands?"
"You'll have blades," Cobra said calmly. "Silent, reliable, and they won't attract more of the dead. Guns make noise, and noise gets people killed. You want a fight, use these."
He gestured, and a guard stepped forward, laying two weapon cases on the table.
Cobra opened the first—inside was a fire axe with a rich, red steel head and polished wooden handle, looking brand new. "For you," he said to Jack. "Clean, sturdy, cuts through more than just wood."
Then he opened the second case: a pair of gleaming combat knives. Curved, precise, and sharp enough to reflect the yellow overhead light.
Maarg's hand hovered over the blades. "They'll do."
"Maps," Cobra said, tossing a rolled scroll of aged, hand-marked paper on the table. "Compass. Notes on recent activity around the danger zone. Henry'll brief you before departure."
Just as Maarg reached for the maps, Cobra's voice cut through the moment again.
"One more thing," he said smoothly. "She stays."
They all froze.
"What?" Maarg asked, voice sharp.
"Sammy stays here at the base. Think of it as... collateral. Insurance. In case you two get any bright ideas about skipping town mid-mission."
Sammy stepped forward immediately, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "Excuse me?"
Cobra gave a polite shrug. "Don't take it the wrong way. I just need to be sure. And besides, you don't look like a fighter. I'd be doing you a favor keeping you safe."
"You don't know a thing about me," Sammy growled. "I'm not your problem to solve. If you think locking me up here gives you leverage, you're delusional."
Maarg placed a hand on her arm. "Sammy—"
"No!" she snapped, eyes not leaving Cobra's. "This guy wants us to risk our lives, and his idea of gratitude is turning me into a hostage?"
"It's not personal," Cobra said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "I just can't afford any surprises. If you return with my wife, you'll all walk free—with rewards. If not…"
He let the sentence hang.
Sammy scoffed. "God, you're worse than I thought. You dress like a B-movie mafia boss and act like one too."
Cobra's smile didn't falter. "And yet, here you are, in my base, asking for help."
Jack stepped in between them. "Look, we don't like it either—but we're out of options. Just give us your word she won't be harmed."
"She'll be treated like a guest," Cobra said. "A very important one."
Sammy stared hard at Maarg. "You sure about this?"
"I'm not," he admitted, quietly. "But I don't see another way."
A long, tense silence. Then Sammy exhaled, forced herself to step back. "Fine. But if I'm staying, I want a room with a lock—on the inside."
Cobra chuckled. "Deal."
Henry, who had quietly been waiting nearby, finally approached. "We'll be leaving at dawn. I'll introduce you guys with Tara and her husband, Mark. They're both reliable and know how to handle themselves."
Maarg nodded. "That'll help."
Cobra gestured for his guards to hand over the supplies: the map, the compass, a pouch with field bandages, and a few protein bars.
"You'll have your blades, your support team, and a chance," Cobra said. "Bring Carla back, and I'll make sure you don't regret it."
As they turned to leave, Cobra glanced at Sammy once more. "And don't worry, I'll keep her safe. She's...interesting."
Sammy muttered under her breath, "Keep your eyes off me, creep."
Maarg shot Cobra one last warning look, then turned to walk away with Jack and Henry, their new gear in hand and the weight of a mission pressing down on their shoulders.