upstairs, carl's room -- for trudy

He's got everything he thinks he's going to need for a possible extended stay out in his world spread out on the bed in front of him; two empty duffel bags sit on nearby chairs, waiting to be used. Clothes, laptop, a few assorted books and maps, cash, his weapon and three spare magazines, chargers for electronics, running shoes and combat boots, toiletries, notebook, and a handful of various odds and ends all have to go into the bags, but he hasn't yet started packing.

Carl is simply standing at the end of the bed, looking over the items.



(In reality, he's looking through them. Instead of what a man would need for a temporary trip to look for work with an aid organization, he's seeing a cache of firepower and explosives. Battle gear and body armor, tactical tools, dossiers and intel reports.)



He's so focused on what he's not really seeing, he doesn't hear Trudy come into the room behind him until she shuts the front door -- and he jumps slightly, realizing where he is.


This is Milliways. Not your house in North Carolina. You're not prepping for a mission.