The vehicle was turned off as they lay in waiting. The lumbering truck which Gary used before was a far cry from the Versa. But it was necessary given the circumstances and the importance of first impressions.

  John sat in the driver's seat. Crosby sat in the passenger seat.

  “When can we expect them to arrive?” John asked him.

  The Neosun began to set once more, casting their silhouette to the east. The rain was barely audible despite the stormy weather; the thick panels of the truck proved to be an adequate sound deadener.

  “I do not know.” Replied Crosby. “They could be dead. They could've never made it. They might not even heed the call.”

  “And please… tell me how exactly they will have received this call?” John asked, his eyes scanning the flat horizon. They resided within the flat planes of the former state of Wyoming. They were likely the closest to the meetup location. Crosby too scanned the horizon as he replied.

  “I messaged them on BookFace. We created a group chat.”

  John looked at him, not entirely sure if he was joking.

  “You're kidding right?”

  “Nope.” Crosby replies, still scanning the horizon.

  John turned more of his body to him.

  “Crosby. BookFace. The most easy to track shit in the world?!”

  “Do you want to know what the collective code word was?”

  Crosby asked, finally giving John a look.

  “What?!” He replied unamused.

  “John Madden.” Crosby replies. John looked at him even more confused. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

  “Once we all say ‘John Madden’ in the group chat, that is when we know to meet up. But if one of us has to cancel, we send a message saying ‘Football’ like the old sport.”

  Crosby is dead serious as he looks back into the expanse.

  John looks away in consideration. “So… everyone has said John Madden?”

  “Yes. Exactly.” Crosby replies.

  John wipes his face as his eyes remain fixed on the outside.

  “Alright then. Let's keep waiting.”

  Twenty minutes pass. Half of the Neosun has receded.

  The twilight of day is slowly turning to the gloom of night.

  John had a question nagging at his head which he needed answered.

  “Okay man it's killing me. Who exactly is John Madden?”

  “I don't know.” Crosby admitted, clearing some phlegm out his throat. “All I know is that it was an inside joke between me and the boys. You wanna know the story?”

  “Hit me with it.” John asked, the former quiet starting to bore him. Crosby enthusiastically complies.

  “Alright. So. Back in the orphanage, all the boys in my year came across this accident video from before the contentsphere. It was of these guys in these big white robot suits, and they were walking around in… I think it was space?” John nodded intently as it rang a few bells.

  “Anyway. They walked around almost like they weighed as much as a feather. It was super slow. But that's not the funny part. The funny part was that they spoke with a really bad robot voice. And the part that we all remember was when they kept saying. ‘John Madden! John Madden! Football!’ Before saying a bunch of other crap, like going ‘Uhhhhhhhhhhhh’ but, as in, with a robot voice.”

  Crosby looked at the utilitarian dashboard as he spoke. John has no recollection of the video Crosby speaks of, though he can imagine the sight with approximation.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Maybe John Madden invented football?” John suggested.

  Crosby shrugged his shoulders. “Meh. I don't know. But it became the code word, so there you go.”

  “So you knew these people back from the orphanage, and they ended up in the same workplace as you too?” John questions. His mental attention kept on the conversation even as he started looking outside. Crosby answers him while doing the same.

  “More complicated. More like bidding goodbye to cross each other later. And that's only for two of them. The other three never came to my orphanage.”

  “Did you explain the joke to them?” John asked as a final.

  “Nope. They never asked.” Crosby ended the conversation with.

  One hour passes and the world is back to a familiar dimness. Two hours pass with fluctuating weather but more of the same.

  A cyclonic tornado event manifested far into the distance in front of them. John shuttered at the sign, yet observed with respect as it later dissipated. A reminder of the might of the Earth.

  It was almost three hours before a light rose over the horizon. Both of them lock on immediately, John starting the truck and turning on the headlights. John puts on his heated coat, while Crosby zips up John's old one.

  The two hop out and close the doors behind them, standing either side of the truck as whatever vehicle approaches. They are drenched almost immediately. It takes around another minute for their vehicle to arrive.

  Before then it was a rugged off-roader. It looks like it is made out of advertisement. About as far from stealth as you can get. Only one person comes out, wearing aviator sunglasses despite how dark the world is. He had a bald head and a dark complexion.

  “Is that you Douglas?” Crosby asked the man, his voice both raspy and welcoming.

  “Uh-huh. That's right.” Douglas says, taking off his glasses to look at John. “And is that John?” He asked.

  John spoke for himself. “You bet. Nice to meet you Douglas.”

  “Nice to meet you too, John” He say. The two exchange a firm handshake. Douglas goes back and turns off his obnoxious vehicle, the thing almost disappearing once all the lights are off.

  He throws his own overcoat on and slammed his door shut.

  As he walked back to the two, he put on a classic, long sided fedora.

  “Quite the ride you two have. Your movement must be doing well for itself.” Douglas seemed to speak to John specifically.

  And so John followed up.

  “Of course. Though we’re… modestly equipped compared to where we want to be. Where are you based?”

  “West Dakota.” Douglas shares, a tattoo of a fist holding arrows etched on his left cheek. “We're called the American Agricultural League. Myself? I'm just a representative of the movement. They pay for my living and I do their tasks. It's honest work.”

  “Such as?” John probed. This doesn't sound like a resistance so much as it does an interest group, he thinks.

  Douglas answers. “Running errands. Some might call it diplomacy. I like to think of it as networking. What do you do?”

  “I am the leader of the resistance movement.” John replies.

  “Oh!” Douglas says, taken off guard by such a claim. John senses opportunity in Douglas’s voice. “The resistance? What’s it called?”

  “Oh. Uh…” John says as he thinks. He was coming up blank as he hadn't consulted with anyone on the subject. Thankfully, Crosby came to the rescue. “The Arch Legion.” He states.

  John looks at him, his face glowing from the headlights.

  “Yeah… the Arch Legion.”

  “That's a cool name.” Douglas says. John turns back to him and puts his hand on his back, having to yell slightly above the weather. “Alright man. It's been a pleasure meeting you. We are waiting on about four more arrivals so we'll let you get comfy until the next one arrives.”

  Douglas nods and leaves for his vehicle. As he does, John approaches Crosby. “Hey, can I talk to you inside the truck?”

  “Sure thing boss sauce.” Crosby replies. And so the two hop back into the cabin of the truck. One cold and drenched, the other like warm and drenched.

  “Crosby. Where did you get the name Arch Legion from exactly?”

  “Gary told me that before he left.” Crosby tells him, putting the heater on full blast.

  John turns his jacket off as the rain gets worse outside.

  “What? Did he tell anyone else this?”

  “Not that I know of.” Crosby admits honestly.

  John looks away from his good mate. His suspicions only deepening. Fortunately, his dwelling on it didn't stay at the forefront of his mind for too long. Soon, another light came over the horizon. Then soon after, a rainbow-colored one. Then, a couple more from a different direction all in close proximity. John was weary that perhaps it was the enemy.

  He kept the laser glock of Proteus handy on his hip.

  As the first vehicle arrives, he sees their occupants warmly convene with Douglas. As the rainbow one arrived, its blasting music screamed subliminally that it wasn't a threat.

  And, as the last group came, the fact they were on unarmored motorcycles was proof enough they weren't a threat.

  And so, finally, they get back out the truck. They are seen by the others and, as they approach them, the others naturally fall into order of immediate allegiances.