Work Text:
Another night, another sleep inside a bus station. It was the best place to sleep when you didn't have a home - it was warm, and people usually minded their business, though Miles usually kept his stuff close when he slept here. He could never be too careful.
His usual spot here was a small hallway behind the bathrooms. The staff didn't usually check down there, the smell was bearable enough, it was hidden enough to be private, yet easy enough to leave in case of an emergency, and it was big enough to settle down comfortably, but not too comfortably.
The corridor smelt like smoke- that should have been enough to tell Miles that something was wrong. And yet he simply kept on going, until he actually saw the source of the smoke.
A woman was sat in his spot. She'd seemingly made a home for herself there, cigarettes butts littered on the floor, probably a whole pack's worth, maybe more. She had one between her fingers, smoke billowing upwards as she stared up at Miles with deep black eyes, waxy sclera, and not a single shred of emotion. She seemed older than Miles, wise, but a lot weaker. She had dun-brown skin, messy hair that looked like it had been bleached twice in one day and sloppily dyed a myriad of colours, and freckles and acne dotting her face randomly, though Miles could swear that the markings on her cheek looked just like the Big Dipper. She wore a black tank top and baggy jeans, though she had a knit blanket draped over her shoulders and her jeans were stained.
She was just staring at Miles, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. As soon as Miles opened his mouth to speak, she stopped him.
“Go ahead, then. Sit down.”
And he sat, despite himself. The woman smiled, though her eyes didn't, offering him a cigarette as he put his bag down.
“Oh- no, no, sorry, I don't really-”
“Fine, fine.”
She took another long drag from that cigarette, her lipstick clearly staining as she released it from her mouth.
“My name is Beverly, “ the woman said, “now, your name?”
Miles exhaled.
“Uhm… Well…”
“Oh come on, out with it.”
“…Kolluri.”
The safer choice, go with the last name.
The woman's eyes narrowed.
“That's not your name, is it.”
“Well… I don't think your name is really Beverly.”
Miles had just spluttered that out, but the woman seemed a little surprised. Sheshifted her cigarette in her hand, and the air seemed to bend.
“Touché. But that's the name I'm going by, so you're stuck with that, Kolluri.”
“That's what I hoped, yeah.”
“You're real cute. You're also in a pretty shitty place, yeah? You're clearlh escaping something .. you've been spending the night in this dump for what.. two months, a week and three days?”
How did she-
“How did you-”
“Oh shush. You want help, don't you?”
“I-”
“Don't worry, this isn't some cult bullshit, this is actually useful.”
She rummaged through her pockets for a moment, pulling out a folded up piece of paper and and handing it to Miles. When unfolded, it revealed a flyer and a £2 coin. The flyer read,
“THE PHALANX - STRENGTH IN CONTROL.”
Miles looked down at it, then back up at Beverly, then back down at it.
“This seems like a cult-”
“It's not a cult, it's fucking soldiers and shit. They do shit with like.. the space and aliens, and- oh, don't look at me like that, Kolluri, I ain't some rambling shit talker.”
Miles blinked. He didn't even know he was looking at her in a certain way. He couldn't focus. He kept just.. zoning out. Just listening to the woman's words, but not really listening to them. He should be paying more attention.
“You should be paying more attention. Read the damn flyer. Fucking read it. Properly. Closely.”
And Miles did, but he still didn't get it. What was he meant to be looking at here? It was a flyer for an organisation dealing with the protection of the country from.. non-generic threats. And they were willing to hire anyone. Anyone. No experience, no qualifications, no-
“Oh.”
He looked at the woman.
“..You're saying I should ask about a job there..?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged, “What else would I be implying?”
“… I dunno.”
“Yeah.”
“…Hm.”
The woman stared at him, puffing that cigarette all the while. Bev cleared his throat after a minute of silence.
“Why do you want me to take this job, I don't- I don't know you?”
“Look, Kolluri, I'll level with you. I've been.. around. Let's just say, I know your name. And you seem like a good fit.”
“You've been stalking me.”
“No. That implies malice. This is good for you. This will be good for you.”
She leans in.
“The Phalanx will change your damn life. You should join them. You need to join them. Anything to get off the street, am I right? It will be great. You can be a part of something bigger than yourself.”
“I…”
Miles' voice wavered. He felt weird. The smoke was making his head hurt. How had that one cigarette been going for so long? Maybe he was just being paranoid, but there was something weird about this woman.
He blinked, sluggishly, he kept inhaling smoke and struggling to exhale it.
And then he woke up.
Miles didn't remember falling asleep. He could have written off his experience as a bad dream, if he hadn't been wrapped in the blanket the woman had over her shoulders, and if the cigarette butts weren't still littered around.
His head was pounding, as if he has drank too much and had a hangover. And yet his head was clear.
He knew what he had to do.
He stood, bag slung over his shoulder, blanket around his arm, flyer in one hand, coin in the other.
He made his way to the nearest payphone, inserting the £2 into the slot, dialling in the number on the flyer, and putting the receiver up to his ear as he stared down at the blanket. As his call went through, whoever was on the other end asked what he was calling for. He inhaled, looking at the tag on the blanket. He couldn't use his real name, because he woukd be found. He sighed.
“My name is Beverly Kolluri, and I want to join the Phalanx.”