The Blood Patriot group was indeed not easy to deal with. With their zealous and extremist beliefs, they teetered on the edge of being a full-blown cult. Their deep-seated animosity towards the government wasn't just a passive dislike; it was a fiery, passionate hatred that often propelled them to risk their very lives for their cause.
Alan's past interactions with the Blood Patriots had given him a comprehensive understanding of their potential threats. They were a ticking time bomb for the future. If Alan harbored any hope of influencing future events in a positive direction, he needed to influence this group while they were still in a controllable stage.
As he stood amongst them, the palpable tension in the air was like a thick fog, nearly suffocating. Yet, Alan's demeanor remained composed. Offering a slight, amicable smile, he proposed, "I believe we can find common ground. Perhaps a private discussion would be more suitable for the both of us?"
It was a diplomatic request, framed with respect and tact. Given the circumstances, Marcus had little reason to decline.
"Follow me," Marcus finally responded, his voice carrying a note of cautious curiosity.
As Alan trailed behind Marcus, the distinct sound of Merle's boots echoed close by. "I need to hear this, I ain't gonna let you throw my money away"
In some ways, Alan realized that having Merle by his side could be advantageous. The Crimson Gunner's reputation was not to be taken lightly, and his presence could potentially sway the negotiations in their favor. However, wanting to ensure transparency and trust, Alan responded, "You follow my lead, if this goes south, I'll ensure you're compensated"
Merle smirked, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he replied, "Now, that's something I like to hear, I will follow your lead boss" Despite the jest, Alan detected an underlying sentiment in Merle's words. If he played his cards right during this negotiation, he could solidify Merle's trust – a bond that would be invaluable in the trials to come.
The tent was modest in size but held an air of significance. As Alan and Merle stepped inside, they were met with the gaze of two other individuals already waiting, both familiar veteran players of the game.
The first was Jason - a robust and intimidating figure, his dark skin contrasting sharply with the white scar that ran across his cheek. He was a US military officer, serving as Marcus' lieutenant. But an unsavory incident in the previous year's game had led both of them to abandon their military careers, seeking a different path, a path that would eventually converge with the Blood Patriots.
Beside Jason sat Sharon, a stark contrast to the military men in the tent. Petite with a keen gaze magnified by her glasses. Before the twisted turn of fate that landed her in the game, Sharon was a defense attorney and an outspoken human rights protester. The game had changed her life, but the fire in her eyes spoke of undiminished passion.
Marcus, breaking the silence, spoke with an authoritative tone, "Say what you need to say, but our offer stands at 40,000, not a point more."
Alan, however, wasn't there to merely barter. He had a different agenda. As he subtly looked outside the tent, noting the crowd outside, he commented, Your number has grown quite fast, I wonder how many of them really believe in the cause"
Marcus, ever confident, retorted sharply, "They do, or they wouldn't be here."
Alan decided to push a bit further, probing into a potentially sensitive area. "And what's the membership fee? How much do they contribute for the privilege of joining your cause?"
It was a bold question, and Alan could feel the tension in the tent palpably increase. But Marcus, ever the composed leader, replied with a hint of bitterness, "It's a fraction of what the government has robbed from us."
Alan, feigning nonchalance, ventured a guess, "So, about 200 a day? Is that the going rate?"
Jason's temper, always on a short fuse, flared at Alan's audacity. But Marcus, raising a hand to keep his lieutenant in check, responded, "It's an equitable arrangement. In return for their contribution, we offer them food and protection. They're free to leave whenever they wish. But as you can see, more are flocking to our cause. We must be doing something right."
Marcus' piercing gaze intensified, locking onto Alan's eyes as he leaned forward slightly. "Cut to the chase," he growled, "What is it that you really want?"
Alan hesitated momentarily, taking a deep, steadying breath. With a hint of resignation in his voice, he began, "Alright, here's my proposal: 40,000 for a third of my supplies."
Marcus, ready to instantly shut him down, paused mid-retort when Alan quickly added, "For the rest of the payment, let your members settle it themselves."
The abruptness of the suggestion took everyone off guard, leaving them momentarily at a loss for words. Alan, seizing the brief silence, elaborated, "Lend me fifty of your members. They'll hand me their daily contributions, and after five days, they get to keep the weapons."
Marcus couldn't help but laugh incredulously. "Why in the world would I hand over my people to you?"
Alan, with a calm demeanor, replied, "Listen... I'm not interested in your elite. Just lend me the raw recruits – those without training. I won't force them into situations they aren't comfortable with. Instead, I'll provide them with weapons and food"
Marcus leaned back, skepticism written all over his face. Alan's proposal sounded outlandish, and Marcus was far from convinced. He had no reason to trust this man. As Marcus was about to vocalize his refusal, Sharon intervened.
"Actually... Marcus, we indeed have members that are more of a burden than an asset. If they remain unproductive, they won't manage to cover their daily fees.. also… There is also a problem with food…"
Sharon had always been Marcus' strategic compass, her insights invaluable. Taking her words into account, Marcus hesitated, reconsidering his stance. His eyes darted to Merle, seeking validation. "You've thrown your lot in with him," he pointed out. "Do you trust this man?"
Merle, his usually nonchalant demeanor replaced by a more serious one, met Marcus' gaze squarely. "Absolutely. He's my boss"
Merle's endorsement, coupled with his formidable reputation, tipped the scales in Alan's favor. With a reluctant nod, Marcus laid down his conditions. "Fine. But I decide who goes. And if they fall short on their contributions, the deficit's on you."
Alan, relief evident on his face, nodded in agreement. "Deal."
