Chapter 77: Unwelcome Visitors

The sun had just begun its climb into the sky, casting a soft morning glow over the peaceful settlement. Birds chirped lazily in the trees, and the sound of distant laughter echoed from the children already playing in the open fields. It was another day of calm, of rebuilding and planning for the future. For weeks now, the community had enjoyed this rare period of tranquility, far removed from the chaos that still gripped the world outside their borders.

Gabriella, standing near the central square, inhaled the fresh morning air and smiled. It was hard to believe how far they had come—how much they had built since the darkness descended on their world. The fields were flourishing, the homes were repaired, and the community, though small, had grown into something stable and secure. For the first time in years, there was a sense of normalcy.

But as Gabriella turned to head back to her home, a shout from the guards stationed at the gates broke the peaceful silence.

“Riders approaching!” one of the guards yelled, his voice carrying across the square.

Gabriella’s smile faltered as she turned her attention toward the gates. Unannounced visitors were rare these days, especially ones arriving in a formal group. The people of the community had become cautious, wary of strangers after the ordeal with the bandits. Tension rippled through the air as a few of the community members gathered near the gates, curious about who could be arriving.

As the visitors rode into view, it was clear that these men were unlike the usual wanderers or travelers seeking refuge. Their horses were sleek and well-fed, their saddles gleaming with polished leather. The men themselves were dressed in sharp, tailored clothing—clean and pressed in a way that was foreign to the rough, utilitarian attire worn by those who had lived through the collapse. They looked...official.

Gabriella felt a knot of unease form in her stomach as she watched them dismount near the square. Andrew, who had been working nearby, made his way over, his expression just as wary. "Who are these people?" he muttered under his breath, his hand instinctively moving to rest near his weapon.

The leader of the group—a tall, well-dressed man with slicked-back hair and an air of authority—stepped forward, his cold eyes scanning the faces of the gathered community members. Two more men, equally well-groomed and sharp-looking, flanked him.

"Good morning," the leader began, his voice smooth but carrying a note of superiority. "My name is Victor Carlisle, and I represent the new order—an official government body that has been established to restore peace and order to our fractured country."

A murmur ran through the crowd. Gabriella glanced at Andrew, who raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "New order?" she whispered. "What is this about?"

Victor continued, ignoring the whispers among the people. "I know that many of you have lived in isolation since the blackout, with little to no information about the state of the world outside your walls. But I’m here to bring you news." He paused, glancing at his men before continuing. "A new president has been elected, and with him comes the promise of stability and the reestablishment of law and order."

Gabriella's heart pounded in her chest. A president? Elected by whom? They hadn’t heard any word of elections, no news of the broader world since everything had fallen apart. The very concept seemed ridiculous, given the state of the world.

Victor’s eyes gleamed as he went on, his tone more commanding now. "The president is working to rebuild our great nation. This process will, of course, require the cooperation of communities like yours. And to that end, a new system has been established. There will be a monthly tax—collected from each community—paid to the new government in exchange for protection and supplies."

The crowd erupted, people shouting questions and objections all at once.

"What kind of tax?"

"Money? We don’t have any!"

"Protection? From what?"

Victor raised his hand for silence, his expression calm and composed as he waited for the uproar to die down. When it did, he continued, speaking slowly and clearly. "I understand that the concept of currency has shifted in these times. But we’re not asking for money. You will pay in resources—food, supplies, whatever you have of value. In return, the government will ensure that your community is protected from outside threats and that essential supplies are delivered to you."

Gabriella stepped forward, her voice strong but laced with frustration. "And what if we don’t have enough to give? We’ve barely managed to rebuild ourselves after the collapse. We’re just getting back on our feet."

Victor met her gaze, his eyes sharp. "I assure you, the tax has been calculated to be reasonable based on the size of your community. The government understands that these are challenging times, but it is crucial that we all contribute to the rebuilding of the nation."

A man from the back of the crowd shouted angrily, "And what do we get in return for giving away our hard-earned resources? What protection are you offering? We’ve defended ourselves from bandits and raiders without help. Why should we believe you’ll do anything different?"

Victor’s smile was thin and cold. "You will receive protection from any threats that arise. Bandits, raiders, or even other factions that might seek to take what you have. The government has resources—people, weapons, organization—that you do not. It would be unwise to refuse our assistance."

Andrew, who had remained quiet until now, stepped forward. His voice was calm, but there was steel in it. "You say the president promises protection and supplies, but how do we know we can trust this government of yours? We've been on our own for a long time, and we've survived just fine without outside interference. Why should we start paying taxes now, to a system that failed us in the first place?"

Victor's smile didn't waver. "Because the world is changing. If you want to survive in the new order, you’ll need to adapt. The president offers peace and stability, but those who resist..." His smile faltered slightly, a hint of threat in his tone. "Well, let’s just say that resisting the new government would be unwise."

Gabriella felt a surge of anger rise in her chest. The way Victor spoke—the arrogance, the implied threat—made her blood boil. These men weren’t offering help. They were demanding submission.

"So, let me get this straight," Gabriella said, her voice tight with anger. "You’re telling us that if we don’t pay this tax—if we don’t give you our food, our supplies—then you’ll consider us enemies of this so-called government?"

Victor’s expression remained placid, but his eyes were hard. "I’m simply advising you that cooperation is in your best interest. The government is giving you a choice—contribute to the rebuilding effort and benefit from protection, or... face the consequences of defiance."

The crowd erupted again, louder this time, the anger palpable. Gabriella could see the fear and confusion in the faces of her people. They had fought so hard to rebuild, and now these outsiders were threatening to take it all away under the guise of “taxation.”

Andrew stepped closer to Gabriella, his hand on her arm. "We need to be smart about this," he whispered. "This isn’t just about them coming for taxes. They’re laying the groundwork for control. We need to decide how we’re going to handle this, but it can’t be rushed."

Gabriella nodded, her mind racing. She knew Andrew was right. This wasn’t just a simple demand for resources. It was the beginning of something much larger—something that could threaten everything they had worked for.

But one thing was certain: they weren’t going to roll over and hand their lives to this so-called government without a fight.