It has been months since the Crossroads, weeks since Nola and only hours since being debriefed on her latest promotion... Rosey Jaimes has had a lot on her mind... The system was crashing, just on time.
Spies. All around.
She stands amicably, ambles window way. "Son of a bitch." Muttered under a sneer. Same van three times this week. Her left nostril raises with her middle finger, closing the curtain, adjusting the plaster skull on the ledge.
She grabbed a clementine from the fridge. Third try found a decent specimen. Fruit just doesn't keep in the desert.
Memo sent to the boyz down at the DeZert Auto. (They did a fine job tuning up her Tacoma.) The HAM Radio was finally back in action.
The timer set for 16 minutes. A careful inspection of her skin in the mirror, fingers scanning over the bumps on her jawline and neck. Squeezed a few plugs out and flipped off the reflection.
There are cameras everywhere.
Locked in isolated surveillance.
The smaller bedroom's door had been jammed for two days. Tinkering with the doorknob reminded her a lot of unarming a bomb.
Few screws, a couple pins, Jimmy shake & voila!
She'd have to inform the landlord for a replacement at some point.
Pressure on, funds drained, if only she had more time for sewing. Rosey hadn't asked for this mission. Apparently, destiny had something to do with it.
She chuckles, "destiny."
At least they could have a few laughs while riding out the apocalypse.