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[b][center][color=96D2B7]UNITED STATES OF AMERICA[/color][/center][/b]
[/h1][/sup][/color][indent][sub][COLOR=6DC09B][I]Summer 1955[/I][/COLOR][/sub][/indent][indent][sup][right][COLOR=6DC09B][b]Upgrades[/b][/color][/right][/sup][/indent][hr][indent][indent][sub][COLOR=6DC09B]Naval Air Base Key West, Key West (FL)[/color][/sub][/indent][/indent][indent][indent][indent][color=BFE4D3]Alan Mercer observed the USS [i]Los Angeles[/i] inside the custom-built hangar as mechanics performed routine maintenance. So far, there weren't any concerns found in the airship. The captain was usually patient with the inspections; however, this one was particularly suspicious since it had been only a week since the last checkup. But, Alan knew better than to question orders from his superiors—at least out in the open. Captain Stephen O'Neil of the USS [i]Patoka[/i] approached with an opened envelope directly from their superiors.

[color=5FBA91]"Urgent orders from command. We're leaving once the mechanics are done."[/color] Stephen stated while handing the envelope over to Alan, who started reading it. His eyes widened in shock and fear before shouting out, [color=5FBA91]"They're putting hydrogen in my airship?!"[/color]

[color=5FBA91]"Compressed hydrogen."[/color] Stephen corrected Alan. [color=5FBA91]"It's something the eggheads down in Texas created for the military—took them a decade to produce. So, it is more than safe to use in your airship."[/color]

[color=5FBA91]"You're only saying that because you aren't its captain."[/color] Alan, clearly annoyed, crossed his arms and stared at the [i]Los Angeles[/i]. [color=5FBA91]"Even if it was safe, I still don't trust using it. You know how easy hydrogen catches on fire?"[/color]

[color=5FBA91]"Look, you probably won't be doing anything risky other than the standard operations. And if things do end up in the shitter, the [i]Patoka[/i] and I will be there to help."[/color] Stephen smiled and then gave his friend an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Alan felt some relief in his friend's promise, which was genuine. Both men watched as a fuel truck (presumably containing the hydrogen) made its way towards the hanger. Still, it wasn't simple to be easygoing about this decision from Alan's point of view. Yet, he didn't want to keep on bothering Stephen about it. So he thought of something else.

[color=5FBA91]"Will the destroyers be accompanying us to the destination?"[/color] Alan asked.

[color=5FBA91]"I'm afraid not."[/color] Stephen responded without looking away from the fuel truck. [color=5FBA91]"They got orders to journey near the Bahamas. I don't know the reason, but it looks like we're preparing for war."[/color][/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[hr][indent][indent][sub][COLOR=6DC09B]Frontier Service Station, Welch (WV)[/color][/sub][/indent][/indent][indent][indent][indent][color=BFE4D3]It was a rainy afternoon when a Mayflower moving truck finally reached the town of Welch after a six-hour drive. Emerson Henzel felt relieved upon noticing the welcome sign on the side of the highway. He was a first-generation immigrant that chose to remain in the states while his family went back to Germany in the thirties at the height of the Great Cleansing. In all honestly, there was a little regret in staying behind; but he still had a purpose to fulfill, which sent him into the Appalachians to meet with the contact. 

Pulling to the Frontier service station, Emerson drove to a parking spot and parked the truck. He took a moment to stretch his legs and inspect the vehicle before making his way inside. There wasn't anything different inside this service station besides its owner—Frontier Oil. Emerson recognized the name for the papers, which reported on the oil company's contribution at persuading the Supreme Court to overturn its precedent on monopolies. And while he wasn't keeping up to date on the report, Emerson last read that four of the nine judges were still undecided despite pressure straight from the White House.

Only the cashier was inside the building, listening to the radio while reading a book. Emerson nearly mistook them as an older woman due to the streaks of grey covering up her jet-black hair. And yet, she appeared to be about the same age as Emerson. He ceased staring at her for afar before she noticed and made his way over to the counter. [color=5FBA91]"Excuse me, how much for the gas?"[/color]

[color=5FBA91]"I don't know, sir. Did our sign get taken by the state?"[/color] The woman sneered at the question before looking away for the book. She instantly noticed the bright yellow moving truck right away rather than the city fellow in front of her. And then, her mood shifted in a heartbeat upon detecting Emerson. [color=5FBA91]"Apologies. It's thirty-two cents a gallon, sir. You want anything else?"[/color]

[color=5FBA91]"No thanks..."[/color] Emerson replied with a smile before paying the appropriate amount for the gas. But he thought for a moment about the question before changing his answer. [color=5FBA91]"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me find someone in town?[/color]

[color=5FBA91]"Of course, who could that be?"[/color] The cashier asked kindly and awaited the name.

[color=5FBA91]"Gilbert Hensley."[/color] Emerson revealed.

In an instant, the cashier's smile faded from her face and was replaced by a puzzled expression. She was secretly reaching for something behind the counter while trying to gather the words for a proper response. [color=5FBA91]"Oh... that's quite interesting, sir..."[/color] Emerson sensed the discomfort in the air and tried to backtrack his question. But before he was able to say anything, the woman swung a baseball bat at his head and successfully struck it. He was already losing consciousness before tumbling to the floor. 

And just before the world around him faded to black, he heard the cashier talking to the telephone somewhere away from him. [color=5FBA91]"Brother... i-it happened again..."[/color][/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]
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