Dean had once worked in special forces—he knew plenty of people. Many of his soldier friends had been discharged after injuries or completing their service. With the apocalypse approaching, he knew he needed to gather them and lay the foundation of his plan. Without hesitation, Dean pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and hit call.
Alex was currently sitting in a small apartment, scrolling through job listings. Although he was a veteran receiving a modest government pension, he had a 12-year-old son, and recently the money wasn't enough for either of them. He was looking for a better job to give his son a better life. At that moment, his phone rang.
"Hello, sir? Who's this?" Alex answered.
"Hi, Alex. It's been a long time," Dean replied.
"Dean? Is that you, my friend? It's been ages! How have you been?" Alex said happily. Lately, he hadn't seen his old friends, and he hadn't been able to meet the ones to whom he owed a debt of gratitude.
Dean got straight to the point. "Alex, I have a proposal for you. I've set up a production facility, and I need your help."
"A production facility? My friend, it's been ages. What have you been up to? Let's meet and talk," Alex replied.
"Alright, let's meet at Axel's bar," Dean said. Axel was also a veteran and worked at a bar to make ends meet. It had been a long time since everyone had met, but this was the perfect opportunity for the team to reunite.
"Bring the others along too—they'll have work to do," Dean added, hanging up, pocketing his phone, and heading out to his car.
He drove through the old neighborhoods, the kind where night shanties still lined the streets. There was an old bar here, worn down and unappealing from the outside. A few drunks mumbled at the door, and Dean walked past them and went inside.
"Ah… this damned smell. I've missed this place," he muttered, heading toward the bartender.
"Hey, give me a Colombia," he said. The bartender glanced up. One eyebrow was covered with a bandage. He wiped glasses with a cloth, his face scarred from past battles, arms lined with old cuts. This was Axel—a battle-hardened man through and through.
"Look who it is! Dean, welcome, my friend. How are you?" Axel said with a smile, his joy at seeing his old comrade shining through.
Back in the day, they had been a tight-knit ten-man team, having overcome countless challenges together. Without the last Colombia mission, they might still have been in the battlefield. At least before the apocalypse, it would be nice for them to enjoy a proper reunion.
"Where are the others? Haven't they arrived?" Dean asked Axel.
"No worries, they're here. They're waiting for you. Go on ahead, I'll catch up," Axel replied.
Dean moved to the back of the bar, down a narrow corridor, and opened the door at the end. Inside, a round table was surrounded by people. Some were playing darts in the back; others were cleaning their weapons.
"Hey everyone, how's it going?" Dean greeted.