Bound for Lafayette

Bound for Lafayette
Date: 10.20.2224
Location: Highway East, Duson to Lafayette Corridor

The march is on. Lafayette looms ahead ruins and promise tangled in the mist. Every step, I check pace, check rhythm. Not rushing, not drifting. Just rail steady. Momentum is everything.

We stopped early today to audit the state of things Pinball first,. Clancy’s been patient, learning the machine like a pitcher studying a batter’s stance. Not rushing the throw, testing angles, re-tightening bolts like he’s reading signals from some invisible catcher. Pinball isn’t at full strength yet—slower on response, servos lagging like they’re pulling through mud—but he’s functional. Piece by piece, he’s becoming himself again. And that matters.

Then there’s Larry. The fool. Still buzzing with lies, trying to slip around like a rat in the shadows. He’s scrounging scraps, pretending it’s strategy when it’s really desperation. I told him plain: “Find your own dinner. Same as the rest of us.” Clancy and I pull our weight. Larry skims. That’s the difference. I won’t carry him, not when trust is already threadbare. If he learns to stand, good. If he collapses, that’s his hand to play.

Clancy remains too stiff—jaw locked, scanning horizons like every shadow hides a mutant. He’s sharp, but he hasn’t found rhythm yet. I tell him: “Awareness doesn’t mean iron tension. You have to flow"  He nods but doesn’t quite believe. Still, he’s learning. He fixes Pinball with his hands, and I can see the lesson leaking into his bones.

As for me—I’m not untouched by this grind. Armor keeps me intact, but I’m more than plates and servos. My real protection is discipline. Discipline to keep walking when the swamp whispers to stop. Discipline to trust momentum when the fool drags at my flank.

Now, through the mist, I see Lafayette’s skyline. We’re almost there. Let’s see what the day brings.

—The Big Chief