The bar was nearly empty, with only 5 people scattered about the place including him. Roland wasn't too interested in talking with the people around him, not that he wanted to talk to anyone at the moment. But he watched the people anyway, taking some comfort in the fact that he wasn't alone even if there wasn't an actual group.

An elderly couple in a booth at the back were whispering in each other's ears in that way that old people do that gives the impression that they're actually still kids in wrinkly bodies. A man who could only be described as a drunkard was passed out in a booth by the door, and the bartender who he decided to dub Bart. Not too bad, at least nobody was screaming drunkenly at the TV or trying to pick a fight.

It was actually somewhat nice to see such a popular spot that quiet. Normally there would be at least 2 dozen people in the bar at that time of night, but right now almost everyone would be at Memorial services or crying at home. 5 years and the world had fallen apart. 5 years since the end of the world started.

He didn't want to think about that right now though. It was his birthday, he just turned 21, he wanted a drink and wanted to enjoy it. It wasn't his first drink by a long shot, but going for a drink on your birthday was what normal people did. At 16, you try to get your license, at 18, you did something to spite your parents and flaunt their lack of authority over you, and at 21 you go get a drink in a bar. It's just what you did and the end of the world wasn't going to change that.

He lifted the glass to look at the dark liquid inside. The smell burned his nose, but that didn't stop him from inhaling the spiced rum or drinking it. It burned on the way down, but he didn't notice as he drank slowly, attempting to savor the flavor. This wasn't top-shelf liquor, it wasn't cheap either but it didn't taste like it.

"Pretty good," the bartender said as he walked over. "Isn't it?" He flashed a winning smile that was, obviously, his attempt to target him with conversation, either because he was bored and looking for someone to talk to or because he was trying to make him drink and pay for more alcohol. "Best rum you'll find in the city." Roland had better before, but he wasn't going to say so.

"More of a moonshine person." He said as he tilted the glass. "But you don't have anything strong enough for my liking."

"More than 100 proof?" The bartender said with a chuckle.

"Yep. If I can't get plastered, I'll just have to get something that tastes good."

"Really? So what brings you here?"

"It's a long story." The bartender pulled a bottle from one of the shelves and refilled his glass. "Well Bart, if you really want to know, I'll tell ya."

"My name's not Bart."

"I call all bartenders Bart. Now this story starts more than 21 years ago." Bart smiled at that, grabbed his own glass, and poured himself a drink of something that looked watered down. "Starts with 2 kids on prom night. They fooled around and 9 months later had a kid, and as kids do after a while they learn to walk. It's been my primary form of transportation since." There was a moment of silence before Bart laughed out loud.

"Seriously," Bart said with a laugh. "What brings you to my humble establishment?"

"Not a fan of loud crowds," Roland said with a smile. "Tried to find a place that was quiet, quaint, and had good liquor. I'll take 2 out of 3, and the alcohol barely passes." Bart scoffed.

"Don't make me kick you out."

"It's a compliment. I came from New York, real nice over there. Has me spoiled as far as nice little niche bars go."

"I see. So you're a city brat."

"No. Wasn't born or raised there, I just spent some time in the city for a while. And you can call me Roland, by the way."

"Then where do you come from." Bart lifted his glass to take a drink, sipping it while making it look like he took a bigger drink.

"West Coast." Bart spit his drink out, soaking the counter next to Roland. At the same moment, a beautiful woman walked in the door and paused at the scene. Bart coughing up his liquor, Roland reaching over the bar to pick up the bottle and refill his drink, and the drunk who everyone thought was passed out walking out of the booth with his pants around his ankles and a definite bulge in the polka heart boxers as he turned towards the bathroom. The woman turned and walked out the door, only to get dragged back in by a pair of women who stepped in the door just in time to watch the drunk man fall over in the back corner, pants still around his ankles.

The 3 women made a strange group. A blonde that stood only 3 ft tall and looked like a child wearing her mother's dress as a gown. The woman who entered first, a redhead wearing a dress that could pass for lingerie if she hadn't worn a bra and bootie shorts underneath. Last was a tall brunette, an Amazon that stood 6'8 in her flat shoes, wearing a dress that was probably normal length but looked dangerously short on her tall frame.

"No way am I staying here." The redhead said as she tried to turn her friends away. The short one proved strong enough, or enthusiastic enough, to turn the redhead and push her towards the bar. The girls sat down with the tall brunette sitting closest to Roland with 2 stools between them. "I thought we were going to go meet some guys?"

"Did you really want to talk to any of the guys at that club?" The blonde asked with an annoyed sigh. The look on the redhead's face clearly said no.

"What can I get you, ladies?" The bartender asked from a distance, voice raspy from heavy coughing.

"3 long island ice teas." The short one said with a positively radiant smile. That wasn't a compliment, she was just smiling so big and bubbly and happily that the lack of a glowing cartoon special effects was a mystery.

"We have several varieties," Bart said, regaining his composure. "I suggest checking the menu, some of them are expensive but well worth it."

"How expensive?" The tall one asked. Bart reached for a menu, but Roland reached over the bar to grab another bottle.

"Their drinks are on me." Roland said as he poured his drink. The redhead scoffed while the blonde let out a pleasant squeal.

"Great." The redhead said angrily. "Not here 5 minutes and a guy offers to buy us drinks because he thinks he'll get lucky."

"Men don't only think about sex you know." He took a quick drink, knocking back the glass like it was a shot.

"I have yet to meet a man at a bar who didn't offer me a drink because they wanted sex."

"Sounds more like you meet boys in those bars, not men. But if it makes you feel any better, then you should know that I'm mainly offering because I have more money than I care to spend. Even if you don't say a word to me you'll be better company than-" He gestured to the drunk in the corner who now had his pants all the way off and was trying to put them back on for some reason.

"And now he's bragging about how much money he has."

"You are free to pay for your own drinks if you so choose."

"A drink always tastes better when it's free, so I'm in. But if you try anything, I'm gonna kick your ass."

"He's pouring the drinks, and I'm sitting way over here. Now chill out, order a drink, and enjoy your night."

"And on that note." Bart interrupted, trying not to grin. "If I might suggest a drink."

"The most expensive thing on the menu." Roland interrupted in the same cautiously cheerful tone as Bart. "Go ahead. Can't take it with you."

"Why do you sound so grumpy?" The short one asked.

"He's from the west coast." Bart said quietly. All the girls looked at Roland, who just drank his rum.

"I'm also shipping out in the morning," Roland said with a sigh as he flashed his cuff at the girls. Looking almost like a pair of handcuffs with the star of a specialist ranking, the cuff was a dead man's switch capable of delivering 3 flavors of death at the press of a button. High powered electroshock, lethal injection, or high powered explosive that would leave only a red cloud behind if it were tripped. The public didn't know about the specifics of the cuff, only that if his heart stopped beating it would send a signal to the cuff and end him. But he wasn't going to fill them in on the fact that there was enough plastic explosive wrapped around his wrist to kill everyone in the bar. "So I'm looking to have a good night."

"By buying some ladies' drinks in a bar?" The tall woman asked.

"Well, I won't deny that a night is always better spent in the company of lovely ladies, but I figure if my gloomy ass isn't going to enjoy one of my last days in safety, then somebody else should."

"Cheers to that." The short blonde said as she jumped off her stool, scrambled around the tall brunette, and jumped into the seat next to Roland. "So you get to go outside the wall, right?" She asked as she leaned in the spit up drink and recoiled.

"Yeah," Roland said, handing her a napkin.

"What's it like out there?"

"I'm sure you watch the news. They do a report on things out there now and again."

"But that's the stuff they want you to see. A lie to make the people complacent. I want to know what it's really like." Roland smiled as Bart served the drinks, undoubtedly the most expensive version of their iced teas.

"It's not something you can explain, more something you have to see."

"Well, you can tell us about it at least." The tall one said.

"I can tell you a story about the stuff that happened out there."

"Isn't that stuff classified?" Bart asked, looking down the bar as though he expected someone to be there.

"Most operations outside the walls are public records. There are some that I've been on that were classified, but I have plenty of stories that aren't. I won't be saying any real names, that has to stay confidential."

"Why?" The redhead asked before sipping her drink.

"Because he's a Carrier." The brunette said coldly. Roland nodded.

"Yep," Roland said with a shrug. " But most of the things you hear about Carriers is a lie."

"Like the fact that you're contagious?" The redhead said, moving away slightly.

"Yeah. Do you honestly think anyone would even consider letting me into a populated area if I was an infection risk? There are viral cells within my body, but they're inert."

"Can they be reactivated?" Bart asked, picking up a glass to polish, using a disinfecting wipe he pulled from beneath the counter.

"I don't want to sit here all night playing 20 questions so I'm just gonna run through the big ones. Yes, the cells can be reactivated if I so choose to but activated cells stay under my control so long as they're in my body or within a limited range. Any cells outside that range or I stop maintaining active control over will go back to an inert state by default. If it's not active and in a proper environment, it won't survive more than a minute and inert cells die immediately. Inside a non-infected person, the inert state will die in a few minutes, and even if I implant active cells into a non-infected I lose control and they revert to an inert state and die shortly after.

There is a very minor chance that it could cause an infection when close to large numbers of infected, but it will cause a violent immune response that would kill the person before they could succumb to the infection anyway so it's a moot point. It's true we can do some incredible stuff, but whatever you're thinking isn't close. To sum it all up, we aren't a threat, people just find it hard to come to terms with what we are. Any questions?"

"Is it true a Carrier can grow wings?" The blonde asked, before sucking down her drink through a straw.

"Or throw fireballs?" Bart chimed in.

"Yes to both but not in the way you think."

"So are you gonna tell us that story?" The brunette asked. Roland smiled at her and began to weave the tale, half losing himself in the memories, half censoring the story to avoid saying too much.

While not classified, it was clear that his experiences needed to be kept away from the public, so he would have to indulge a little.