Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While inspiration is drawn from the chaotic energy, events and flashpoints of the late 2010’s political scene, events and conversations are entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Kieran

We’d left Ken’s about an hour and a half ago. I white knuckled the Oh shit handle as we bobbed and weaved around semis up 695. Hell, I was still trying to hold onto the Dunkin sandwich I had before leaving. I felt it turning, like that feeling you get when you look down off a cliff. We were in a race with Aurie, Dan and Crowley to Harrisburg City Hall. Connor rode shotgun. Cody sat in the back with me. Ken had the AC cranked, to fight the heat trapped in his Perry on a ninety-degree day. I was freezing in just a T-shirt. I still couldn’t afford mine. Next paycheck I’d look official.

“Can y’all believe Luke bailed on us?” Connor’s face was buried in his phone. “Fat fuck was so ready to come out but bails on us the morning of.”

“Yeah man,” I said. “We’re without our tank.”

We felt just a little lighter without him in the car. His voice kept replaying in my head from the call last night. I had never heard him that serious, as he walked us through what happens when someone swings and you’re across state lines. What Pennsylvania’s self-defense laws were. How fucked you were if things went sideways. He wasn’t his loud self. Much more hushed, like someone was in the room with him. It was some heavy shit. Now we’re running light, and the other side is bringing numbers. My stomach still hadn’t settled since that sandwich.

Ken glanced back at his mirrors. “We’re ten minutes out, find a safe place to park for me there Connor.” He’d been doing that compulsively, almost manically, every couple of minutes of the ride.

“My people are already on the ground there. Big counter protest across the street from city hall.” Cody never took his eyes off his phone.
“Your people?” Connor asked.
“I’m not wearing khakis for no reason.”
Connor twisted around in his seat and gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

Ken’s voice went flat. “But we’re your people. Right?”

Cody shifted in his seat. “My people are other White people. Just so you know.”

The car went dead quiet, except for road noise. I felt my jaw tighten. A wave of revulsion came up from my chest.

“I’m half Honduran bro.” Connor said, voice tight. “Am I not your people?” Cody shrank back against the door. He looked out the window, avoiding any eye contact. We pulled into the parking garage behind city hall, the engine echoing off the concrete walls and swallowed the awkward silence inside the cab. We got out without another word.

The parking garage felt like a concrete tomb. Outside, the heat rippled off the pavement. The low, angry rumble of a crowd could be heard from several blocks over. Dan and the others pulled in beside us. Ken popped the trunk, and handed us an American flag, and a trump stickered baseball helmet.

“Yall ready?” Ken asked.

Cody hung back. “You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up in a minute.”

We stepped into the baking street. It felt like the soles of my shoes would melt onto the pavement. Connor took point with the flag as we paraded down the empty street. No cars. No pedestrians. Not even birds. The whole block felt wrong. Like everyone, and everything knew better than to be out right now.

I caught myself glancing at rooftops and alley mouths, instinctively. Ken’s mirror checking suddenly made sense. My stomach was back on the cliff. I had a feeling I couldn’t shake.

We were being watched.

The chants swelled the closer we got to the capitol. They echoed in my head, as I felt my heart in the back of my throat. It hammered against my ribs like it wanted out.

“You see that guy?” Crowley nodded toward an alley across the street. White flannel, hat pulled low. Leaning against the row home. First person we’ve seen since arriving. He wasn’t dressed for the weather.

“Think he’s watching us?” I asked.

“Don’t look at him,” Ken snapped, eyes locked straight ahead.

I looked anyway as we rounded the corner. His button down was tucked in. Shoes looked like they just came out of the box. He just stood there. Like he belonged in the shade. He turned his head my direction, slow. Deliberately. A cold spike came up through my guts. My skin prickled like I had just walked through cobwebs.

“I told you not to look at him Kieran.” I snapped my eyes back to what was in front of me. The white marble of the government buildings funneled us towards police barricades. The feeling began to subside, but it still lingered.

Who was that? Who was he keeping an eye on?

“Stop there.” A voice came from behind us, low and commanding. I spun around. A man in full Multi-cam stood about six feet back, full battle rattle with a pistol hanging from his belt. Oakley’s hid his eyes but I could feel them boring into us.

“Who are you with?” He demanded.
“We’re on the same side.” Ken said, pointing to the MAGA hats.
The man didn’t answer. His right hand stayed glued to his belt line. I noticed the earpiece running up from the back of his carrier. Then the circular patch he wore on his armor. A spartan helmet, with two swords crossed. He hadn’t moved. Just stood there sizing us up.

“Lot of resistance?” Dan asked.
“Yeah.” The reply was flat. “Take the stairs up the street on your left.”

“Thanks man.” Ken herded us quickly down the sidewalk. Laughing to himself the whole way.

“Who you with.” Ken chuckled. “Motherfucker comes out the bushes and asks who we’re with.” The red hats and black Perrys should’ve given it away. It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did.
”Yeah man.” I muttered. “Like we’re all on the same side…right?” The question was drowned out by the rumble of the crowd.

We strode out onto the terrace in front of the capitol. Our side was sparse and being audibly assaulted by the black clad mob across the street, but many seemed content to watch the circus. I could feel the powder keg heating up. Everyone else did too.

Cody’s crew lined the steps on the opposite side of the terrace. White polos, khakis and facemasks. Flying flags I didn’t recognize. They looked lost. Like they came to the wrong rally. We hung back, surveying the scene, not wanting to be seen with them. I didn’t see Cody with them.

Past the police line across the street, the bloc was in full roar on the opposite sidewalk. They chanted and bullhorned. Banged pots and pans. They brought the works to try to drown us out. My vision narrowed as I watched them. Many flew black and red flags from pieces of square lumber. Exposed nails glinted off the sun. No face was visible on the other side of the street. Every bit of body language that could be expressed through a face, came out tenfold through the eyes, which burned with something unhinged. Their malice, their rage. They were here for one reason. They hated us. And fuck if they made it easy to hate them back.

A camera lens appeared in my vision. The shutter clicked only inches from my face. Some fat photographer with an undersized white button down and a stupid green sun hat. The shutter clicked rapid fire as he moved on to Dan, then Aurie. Ken was smart enough to turn his back immediately.
The absolute nerve of this fucking clown.

He made no effort to hide where he was going next. He squeezed his way through us, being sure to knock into us with his oversized bag. His lanyard snagged on Dan’s collar. Woulda served the prick right if it got ripped clean off.

“Fucking cowards.” Aurie said. “You don’t see us trying to hide.”

They didn’t seem to mind the attention. I saw a few of the flag carriers hamming it up. Looking stoic. Heroic even.
“There,” I pointed to the one bare face in the crowd. Cody, baby-faced and crewcut. Rocking a crisp white polo with pure venom in his eyes. He didn’t acknowledge us. The photographer was giving him extra attention, to which Cody didn’t seem to mind.
“Even more reason not to trust him.” Aurie scoffed.

“All of you,” Ken chirped. “None of you get seen on camera with those guys.” He was stone cold.
“But Cody’s over there.” I said.
“Don’t care if he is. Today he ain’t one of us. Stay the fuck away. Nothing good will come from it. Understand?”

A chorus of whistles joined the ensemble across the street. On beat and cutting through the low rumble of chants and banging. Ken led us down the steps, to the middle point of the stairs. Connor was beside him, flying the American flag. As soon as we took the spotlight, the low rumble became a single pointed roar.
Proud boy scum, off our streets.
Proud boy scum, off our streets.
Proud boy scum, off our streets.

I couldn’t help but to crack a smile. Crowley and Dan both had the biggest shit eating grin I’d ever seen. It was music composed just for us. In that one little moment, it felt good to be hated.

“Needs more cowbell!” Crowley shouted back. They didn’t like that. The barricade shook violently as the black surged forward. Police collapsed in all around them and plucked a single screaming leftist from the black blob.

“Get fucked!” A shrill voice cried over the low rumble. They dragged him, or her, kicking and thrashing into the street. All they could do was howl and wail as officers fought to cuff them on the ground.

From bottom to top the steps erupted into cheers and insults. Followed up by chants of USA as police led the protestor away. The heaviness we carried on our side of the barricade had finally cracked. I had to laugh. I couldn’t help it. For the first time in months these people were being held accountable. And I was here to see it. They screamed and cried and flailed on the other side of the street. It brought a savage type of joy.

It didn’t last the longer I watched.

“Is this your bag?”

I turned, woman in her forties, blonde with Trump hat. Pointing to a worn school backpack. Charcoal gray, scuffed bottom. Looked packed to the brim.

“It’s not ours.” I said. “Whose bag is this?” I called out.

Something didn’t feel right. How long had it been there? It appeared out of nowhere while everyone was celebrating. My stomach did the cliff drop thing again.

“Step back! Step back!”

Three militia members came rushing down the steps. Without thinking I herded people back. Ken and Crowley fell in beside me. We held the perimeter together, while a member in olive green was on his knees digging through bits of plastic and paper. My heart was hammering. I could feel it in my teeth. Each breath was a constant choice, as the crowd looked on in angst. I had to hold it together. If not for me, for them.

“Clear”
”Clear!” several other voices echoed back. The terrace exhaled. It was nothing. Tremors took over my hands as the adrenaline purged itself from my blood. The bag was carried off and the celebration slowly restarted. This is what it’s about.

They were still freaking out on the other side of the street. Riot cops seemed to have them under control, and they were supported by the mounted police just down the road. A distorted, shrill voice, came through the megaphone.

“Take the streets! Fascists don’t own this city.

They regrouped and marched down the street. All went quiet as the mob disappeared from view.

“Damn man, there goes the show.” Connor was already walking back up the stairs, closer to the shade.

The crowd on our side started fracturing, people drifting for any shade they could find. We sat around the edges of the planter near the podium, as normies and militia types milled about. Cody’s crew kept to themselves in their private corner of the portico. They were still masked up, still flying their weird flags. Still looking like they came to the wrong rally. A few of em started peeling their masks off, revealing the same pasty, sunken-eyed look I didn’t know what to make of. I only knew I didn’t quite like it.

Three dull thumps came over the speaker connected to the podium. “Good Morning ladies and gentlemen.” I snapped my eyes to the podium. “Now that we have some peace and quiet we can get underway. As I’m sure you’re all aware by now, the march has been cancelled. That doesn’t mean the mob has won…”

I only half listened. He went on about speakers and incompatible systems. I didn’t care much. I caught myself drifting back to the far side of the terrace. Codys crew were all still on their own little island. Their leader stood at the front while Cody has his phone out, clearly live streaming. They were gearing up for something

“What do you think they’re saying?” Connor asked.

“Nonsense about how Islam is the way forward for their people.” Aurie chirped. “They aren’t here on principle. They’re here to hate Arabs.”

I watched them for a minute or two. Aside from the occasional cheering from their side, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. It seemed to be wrapping up. The huddle broke and they went back to hanging.

“Don’t you want to know what the appeal is?” I asked.

“Not particularly.” Aurie said coldly.

“You sound like a leftist.” Connor snapped. “They deserve the same right to get heard out as we do.”

“You heard what Ken said.”

“He ain’t here to stop us.” I didn’t have time talk myself out of it. I turned and beelined straight for Cody’s crew. With Aurie cursing behind me with every step I took.

Two masked guys stepped out and cut me off before I could reach the main group.

“What’s up, fellas?” I said, trying to sound casual. “Can I not come over?”

“We don’t want outsiders back here,” the one on the right said quickly, almost jittery. “Don’t know who’s who.”
“Makes sense.” I stood a full head taller than both of them. “Y’all know Cody?”

“Cody?” The guy on the right sounded almost panicked. “Who the fuck is Cody?” They kept shooting glances at each other through their sunglasses, twitchy as hell.

“The guy livestreaming earlier,” I said, pointing back toward our corner. “He’s in my club.”

They paused. Shared another look.

“Oh… that guy,” the second one muttered. “Didn’t know his name was Cody.”

“How do you know him?” the first one asked, voice sharper now. Before I could answer, the taller one laughed.
“You’re with them? Gavin’s little fan club?”

“It’s not just a fan club,” I shot back.

“Yeah, sure it isn’t,” he chided. “You decided to join a drinking club full of degenerates when you could be with us instead.”

“Can you even drink yet?” I replied.

They both started talking over each other, voices rising. I couldn’t follow until the shorter one blurted out, “Why would we want to drink? It’s a psyop to turn our people into degenerates.”

“Cause it’s what normal people do?” I said. They both broke into spastic laughter.

“That’s what your race-cuck founder wants you to think,” the taller one spat.

“What has he actually said that’s so bad?”

They looked at each other.

“W-why would I listen to a guy who put a butt plug up his ass?” the shorter one stammered.

“So you haven’t actually listened to him?”

“No. Why would we?”

I nodded. “Have a good day, guys.”

I turned and headed back to our spot, feeling their eyes on my back the whole way. Dan and Connor both gave me a look like they wanted to know more. Aurie sat there, disappointed underneath his sunglasses.

”So how’d it go?” Aurie asked. I took my seat next to Dan and Connor.

“If that’s our competition, I think we’ll be alright.”

A cool wind blew through the terrace. The first speaker stood eagerly by the podium.

🚨 URGENT: HARRISBURG STAND UP — SHUT DOWN THE ISLAMOPHOBIC MARCH! 🚨

This Saturday, June 10th, ACT for America and a coalition of Trump-loving Islamophobes and right-wing extremists are marching on Harrisburg for their so-called “March Against Sharia.”

This is not about “free speech” or “women’s rights.” This is a racist, anti-Muslim provocation meant to terrorize immigrant communities and whip up hatred. We’ve seen these bigots before. They hide behind fake patriotism while pushing xenophobia and violence.

We are calling on ALL antifascists, Muslims, immigrants, leftists, trade unionists, and decent people to mobilize and SHUT THIS DOWN.

📍 Harrisburg City Hall / Capitol Steps
🕒 Assemble 9:00 AM sharp

Bring:

• Numbers

• Noise (drums, pots & pans, air horns)

• Masks & trusted comrades

• Solidarity

They want to spread fear in our streets? We will show them what real community defense looks like. No platform for Islamophobes. No safe space for bigots.

#NoPasaran #ShutItDown #HarrisburgAgainstFascism #SmashIslamophobia #BashTheFash

If you see the fascists in their MAGA gear, you already know what to do.

Stay safe, stay together, and remember: They go low, we stomp them.

Share this post. Bring everyone. This is what resistance looks like.

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While inspiration is drawn from the chaotic energy, events and flashpoints of the late 2010’s political scene, events and conversations are entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Mira

Just after midnight, I stepped off the bus into the humid summer night after a five-hour shift. My feet were destroyed from walking downtown, guiding tourists to and fro between the supposedly haunted spots in downtown Richmond. I had only seventy bucks to show for it, not that I’d ever done that much better since getting this gig. It remained a far cry from what I made working for Emily.

I wouldn’t do much better than this. Few places were hiring theater majors, much less theater majors with pending felony rioting charges. Most nights I spent what I made on the Uber home from work. If I wanted to keep anything at all, it meant taking the bus, and that made me miss Anna. Every other week, there was at least one mentally ill creep, or worse yet, an after-hours corporate drone too drunk to drive who thought that leering at a young woman on the bus was fair play. I had to wear Air pods just to pretend I couldn’t hear them, not that I could afford to not be able to hear them. That wasn’t tonight, though. Tonight, there was only one man, arguing with himself, easy to ignore. Still, I spent the rest of the ride holding my keys with the teeth sticking out of my fist until I got to my stop. Despite the bus ride, the night was pleasant. It had cooled off considerably, and a cool breeze came in from the James River as I walked down the street back home. The sounds of police sirens and ambulances pierced the air, but from a safe distance. It could have been worse. I could still be rotting in a DC jail; I’d take all the night bus creeps from Richmond to Norfolk over that.

Suddenly, the street lit up red and blue as police cars flew by, sending plastic litter sailing through the air. They weren’t after me, thankfully. Mickey was a miracle worker, but he probably couldn’t help me down here. He got my court date pushed back till after finals week. Kai and Rafi’s lawyer did the same, but I don’t know if their guy was as saintly as old Mickey.

The hearing hadn’t been too bad. The prosecutor changed her tone when the video showed us just standing there, holding signs. My court date served as an excuse for my parents to take a DC trip for a few days, which they clearly didn’t mind. Last thing Mickey said was the prosecutors were talking about dropping charges on all three of us, and who knew how many more? The prosecution’s case was weak.

When I got back, the lights were still on. I crept back inside my house. Any noise I made was drowned out by the TV in the living room. I was certain Dad had already passed out on his chair by then, but out of habit as much as for any other reason, I checked anyway He lay there slumped over in the recliner, his blanket barely draped over his torso. Moist with condensation, a martini glass sat on the end table. It was nothing more or less than a typical Thursday night.

I went straight to my room, forgoing a shower in favor of a quick brush of my teeth. Guiding ghost tours was a “shower before” kind of job anyway. Signal was blowing up my phone. I hadn’t paid much attention to it since the sticker op, nor had I talked or seen Kai much after that, which was purposeful on my part. I made sure to have excuses to not be at the house. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I checked to see if the group chat had any news. Some were planning a trip to Virginia Beach this weekend to counter a nationwide protest. Virginia Beach was nice. Maybe I should go. I blinked my tired eyes. That was something best decided in the morning.

“Hello,” I said, answering a phone call that had no reason to come in as early as it did.
“Hey kiddo, how are you doing today?” The sound of my lawyer’s voice was enough to wake me up completely. “Mickey, hey, I’m good.”
“Great to hear. You’re gonna be a lot better after I tell you they’re dropping all charges.”

My heart fluttered, and I couldn’t make a sound. It was like the air had gotten sucked out of my lungs. All I could manage was what must have sounded like unhinged laughter.

“I knew you’d like that kiddo.” His cadence and tone were typical Mickey—stone cold and sober, but not unfriendly. “Look, it doesn’t mean you’re in the clear. The court still wants you, and all of you for that matter, to avoid any more demonstrations in DC.”
“But if I did nothing wrong why do I need to stay away?”
“It’s a matter of next time it could be different, in the court’s eyes anyway. It’s a load of crap if you ask me, but my advice is to simply be more careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he paused, “It might be best to discuss that with your friends.”
“Kai and Rafi?”
“No, your new friends.”

I let that hang in silence, unsure whether to acknowledge it over the phone
“Be safe Mira. I have five other cases I’m working today. Stay out of trouble, as best you can.”
“Thanks, Mickey.”
“No problem, and if you do get in trouble, I’m here.”

The call ended as abruptly as it had come in. The weight of an elephant had lifted off my chest. No more charges. No more checking in with pretrial services. I was a free woman now. I trotted down to the kitchen, but no one was up yet. Save for the dirty dishes left in the sink, the kitchen was empty. I poked my head into the living room where the recliner sat empty, the TV still on. The Martini glass was still on the table, a sizeable amount of liquid left in the glass. I sighed. I’d gotten the best news I could’ve gotten, but I was left to celebrate by myself.

The sunlight through the large bay window shone on my face as I sat sipping my coffee. The mug was half empty when the first signs of life stirred upstairs. My dad’s heavy footsteps down the stairs announced his arrival before he came into the kitchen.

“You’re never up this early.”
“Good morning to you too.” I said. “I got big news.” He shuffled into the living room still half asleep, mug in hand, barely paying attention.

“They dropped the charges.”

He was wide awake upon hearing the news. “Sweetheart that’s great, that’s great news!” He ran over and threw his arms around me and I smiled. There was still liquor on his breath, but that didn’t stop me from hugging him back.

“We can put this behind us.” He released his embrace. I wanted to believe him. That I could put this behind me. His words didn’t sit easy with me, though.

“You learned something from this right?”
“Definitely.”
“Alright, what did we learn from this?”

I opened my mouth but said nothing, the words caught in my throat while the indifferent sunlight shone through the bay window, heedless of what I’d been through the last six months. I just stood there, quietly amazed, a mute fool in the spotlight.

“We can talk about it when you’re ready.” He gave me a last pat on the shoulder and let the conversation die.

I spent the rest of the morning in a bittersweet solitude. I’d been in my room waiting for Anna to pick me up for at least an hour, lying in bed, rotting, playing the song from the bus on my phone and watching the window for her car to pull into the driveway. I could wait to tell Mom the news—I knew what she would say anyway. She wouldn’t like that Anna was taking me out to Virginia Beach for the weekend, and she especially wouldn’t like that I was doing it to cover the protest happening there. There was a difference between being a protestor and a journalist, not that her mother would likely acknowledge that.

I finished packing right before Anna pulled in the driveway. I walked out the door without a single word.

“Hey, hey! Look at that free woman!” Anna bubbled over with joy.
“Put me on a shirt, ‘cause I did nothing wrong!” I sat heavily in the passenger seat and slammed the door shut behind me as Anna pulled out of the driveway. There was iced coffee in the cupholder, but it had already melted into a light brown slurry.
“What do you want to do to celebrate, then?” She turned the stereo down to give me room to think.
“I want a shake and burger from steak and shake. I want to put my feet in the ocean and—”
“We can do that,” she said.
“And most of all,” I said, “I want to get back in those Trumpers’ faces.”

Anna shot me an uncomfortable look, then studied the road. “I told you I took a freelance job at the Times to go get pictures. I’m not protesting.”
Same thing, isn’t it?” I turned my whole body to face her. “You’re out there shaping public opinion, informing the people what’s really going on. You’re a part of the fight, same as us.”

“That’s not my job, Mira. I do my best to show reality as it is, but even that’s tricky sometimes. I’m the one behind the camera. I show people what I want them to see, but at the end of the day, I do this ‘cause it’s a path towards getting out of my parents’ house. I wish my motives were as grand as they are in your head, but they aren’t.”

I sank back into my seat and watched the road signs and foliage slip by me down the highway. Anna was just another person who didn’t get it.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Mira.” She didn’t look at me, instead keeping her eyes on the road. “I don’t want to see you go down Kai’s path.”
“You know, Kai realized something earlier than I did.” I said.
“What’s that?”
“The ones who go all in are usually the ones who come out unscathed.” She shot a glance at me, road be damned. “What do you mean?”
“All three of us went down there. We held signs and never once got violent. We still got swept up with the people burning limos and chaining metro cars and, in the end, they’ll all probably walk.”

There was a long pause, then a deep breath in. “Mira, you don’t know that. The others are still fighting felony rioting charges. What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying the three of us chose the peaceful way, and I had to pay more bail than the dude in the holding cells who was bragging about torching a limo.”

She didn’t look at me, but the realization I was right slowly dawned on her face, and she didn’t like it one bit. I curled up in the seat and watched the trees roll by the window going down I-64, the uncomfortable silence consumed by the sound of the stereo.

Captured Artifact: Signal Group Chat – ASH Solidarity Ops
Date/Time: June 9, 2017 – 07:42–08:15 EST
Participants: ~28 (Admin: ash_mod; includes “vanta🖤” [Mira], “bayonet”, “necktat🔥”, “rva_bloc”, etc.)

[07:42] ash_mod: RVA crew, final heads up for Virginia Beach tomorrow. ACT for America is running their Islamophobic circus at Mount Trashmore. We’re linking up with Hampton Roads comrades to shut that shit down. No platform for fascists. No safe space for hate.

[07:45] vanta🖤: I’m in. Just got cleared from the J20 bullshit so I’m ready to show up. What’s the plan? Bloc up or keep it chill?

[07:47] necktat🔥: Bloc up if we can. These “Sharia law” clowns are just rebranded white nationalists. Bring masks, banners, noise. We’re not there to debate — we’re there to make them uncomfortable in their own backyard.

[07:49] bayonet: Anyone got eyes on Proud Boys or other fash security? Word is they’re bussing people in from MD/PA. May not be able to make this one but able to support anyone who goes.

[07:51] rva_bloc: I’ll be there with the camera. Need good shots for the write-up. If pigs kettle us again, same drill as J20 — link arms, stay calm, document everything.

[07:53] ash_mod: Legal support is on standby. NLG has people ready if anything pops off. Remember: we protect each other. No snitches, no martyrs, but we don’t back down either. This is what community defense looks like.
[07:53] ash_mod: ABSOLUTELY NO CAMERAS!!! That is basic OPSEC and you know that.

[07:55] vanta🖤: Copy that. Feels good to be back in it after all the court stress. Let’s make them regret showing up.

[08:02] necktat🔥: Hell yeah. See y’all at the rendezvous. Bring water, bandanas, and that righteous rage. Fuck Sharia hysteria. Fuck fascism. The hills rise.

[08:15] ash_mod: Group chat will go dark once we roll out. Signal discipline. Love y’all. Stay safe, stay dangerous. 🖤🚩

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While inspiration is drawn from the chaotic energy, banter and flashpoints of the late 2010’s political scene, events and conversations are entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Kieran

“Dude no Maiden. You never listen to the band you’re about to go see.” I can’t believe I had to reiterate this basic premise of concert going. From the cramped jump-seat of a Ford Ranger no less.
“How’s this then?” A somber droning guitar lead came through the stereo. Backed by a steady drum beat, kick snare double kick. Eighth note feel. An acoustic guitar part came into the mix. Then the lyrics. Sung softly by a man in a folksy style.

“Who is this, Chris?”
”This is Lord Huron.” He checked his phone held on the vent mount.
”I mean it’s good, but it’s not going to a metal show kinda music.”

“I like it.” Mary said from the passenger seat. She was tiny. She should be the one in the jump seat. But Chris couldn’t stop simping long enough to swap seats and spare me the pain. We drove down route 50 heading into DC, on our way Jiffy Lube Live. We passed the New Carrolton exit and took the Richmond exit for 495. It had been ages since I had gone to a concert. I had to get the tickets for Maiden though. This may have been a once in a lifetime chance to see legends in the twilight of their career.

The new group chat was blowing up. Mostly memes and shitposts, but Cody was pushing an event in between the noise. Some rally up in Harrisburg speaking out against sharia law, put together by ACT for America. Crowley the new guy had been active. He roasted me this morning when I told everyone I was going to see Maiden.

Crowley: Damn metalheads. You’re too young to know about Maiden. I’ll tell you about them one day though.

Me: Just how old are you anyway Crowley?

Crowley: Well, I’m 24 at heart…

We made good time after we crossed the Wilson bridge, listening to whatever came up on Spotify shuffle. We stopped at a Sheetz just outside Bristow. A final chance to stretch our legs before getting stuck in concert traffic, which was already building to critical mass. We got our food and a case of Miller lite.

“What did you get Mary?” Chris asked.
“White claw, it’s like a seltzer with alcohol in it.”
“So alcoholic tv static?” I asked.

She laughed and nodded her head. “Did you want to try one?”
“When we get there maybe.” I said.

The truck was sweltering for the remainder of the drive to the venue. The AC didn’t reach to the back of the cab and there was very little breeze. Getting out of the cab felt like stepping out of an oven. The air was finally moving around me and I could breathe again.

“Good heavens would you look at the time.” I said. They both looked at their phones checking the time. “It’s beer o’clock!” Mary enjoyed that joke more than Chris as I got drinks from out the cooler in the bed. Chris was still on his phone looking at something. My phone started blowing up with Messenger pings. I cracked a Miller and took a sip before pulling it out to look. It was Cody sharing an article from CNN. Somebody drove a car into a group of pedestrians on the London Bridge.

Cody: How long you think they’ll take to say this was a terror attack?

“Somebody drove into a crowd on the London Bridge?” Chris said.
“Did they say anything else?” I asked.
“Only that a lot of people were injured.”
“I’d put money saying it was a terror attack.” I said sipping on the Miller can. Chris gave me an angry look and Mary was sipping on her white claw, barely paying attention.
“Why do you say that?” Chris said.

The memories came flooding back. Walking back from the theater after seeing 1984 on stage. The crime scene. The blood on the sidewalk. The screaming as medics hauled parents away in an ambulance. And all the onlookers pretending there wasn’t an issue. But most of all I remember the frantic calls from family friends the next day, asking if we were alright. That could have been us.

“Coz I went to England with the family last year and saw the issues myself.”

He looked confused. He was clearly angry, but I’m not sure he knew why he was. Mary had perked up and was now listening to the exchange.

“I mean do you want it to be a terrorist attack?” He said.
“Why would I want that?”
“I mean, I don’t know. Maybe you just want an excuse to hate Muslims?”
“Are you not even going to hear him out?” Mary interrupted. “He’s seen some shit and you’re just brushing him off.”

He wasn’t the brightest bulb. Even in high school he knew how to get on people’s nerves. His worst trait was always saying what he thought people wanted to hear.

“Chris you’re more involved with the church than I am. You know Father Michael and Monsignor Sisco better than I ever would. How the fuck would you feel if the church had to lock you in during service for your own safety? Because some maniac across the channel beheaded a priest during Mass just a month prior. Who shouldn’t have even been in the country to begin with. How the fuck would you feel then?” He looked afraid. For just a moment I saw him grasp the full weight of the moment I was describing.

“My family and I lived that shit on our trip over there man. Get off your high horse and let’s try to enjoy ourselves tonight.”

The conversation died on that note as Chris excused himself to the Porta-Johns. We could hear the intro to Square Hammer from the parking lot as Ghost was doing their soundchecks. Me and Mary sat on the tailgate sipping our drinks in comfortable silence. We watched the parking lot begin to fill with milling bodies. We passed the time till doors by people watching from the tailgate. It took my mind off my frustrations at him. He lived in our guestroom for about two weeks while he got his shit together after he got kicked out of his last place. And he had the gall to call me a racist? I downed the last of the Miller, pushing the anger down with it.

“Kieran you want a parking lot selfie?” Mary said.
“Only if it’ll make you happy.” She giggled and pulled up her camera.
“Your arms are longer than mine, you take it.”

She leaned in, laying her head on my shoulder. I smelt her perfume and her shampoo. A stranger would’ve mistaken this as flirting. I knew this was just how she was. She did it just for its own sake. It was a cute picture though. One that purged the anger from my mind.

“Aw, that’s a cute picture.”
“Can you send that to me?”

Chris came back, lighter than before. Like the argument never even happened.

“They’re letting people in now guys.” He said. We got up and headed for the gate.

Jiffy Lube Live lawn seats were an experience. It was one of the few venues that had reasonable ticket prices. We staked our claim left of center towards the middle of the field, which was sparse with bodies for the time being. We got our overpriced, oversized drinks and sat waiting for the show to start. My phone was buzzing again from the group chat. It was mainly Luke and Connor asking if I was going to bang Mary tonight. I would have loved nothing more, but I know Chris would never allow that. The sun was setting at our backs, turning everything orange-gold and hazy. The PA music had stopped and a part orchestral part moaning chant track came through the speakers as the crowd in the seats began cheering. I could just barely make out the two masked figures take their places at the drums and keyboard as the track cut out and that iconic riff of Square Hammer began playing to the cheers of the crowd.

The stage was less than impressive in the daylight, with the crowd beyond the pit barely acknowledging the ritual. I saw a few ghost shirts and jacket patches, but everyone recognized that they were here for Maiden. The band played on despite this. Mary was on her phone, barely paying attention to the show, which flew by before any of us realized it. She perked up when Papa told us to go home after and give someone an orgasm. To which she responded to our cheers with a not-so-solid “No”. Monstrance Clock played out and you could hear the pit sing the call and response from the lawn. A final hymn for the faithful there for Ghost. I wished it was a longer set.

“We came here for that?” Mary asked.
“I did at least. Are you not entertained?”
“I’d see them again as a headliner. As an opener it didn’t do it for me.”
“Who needs a drink?” Chris asked. We both nodded and he went to brave the drink line. We sat back down and I felt the thick grass of the lawn between my hands. I took my shoes off and felt it through my socks, I couldn’t help myself.

“I’m glad you brought me though.” She said. “This has been fun despite the bullshit.”

“I’m glad. He pissed me off real bad in the parking lot.” I said running my hands through the turf.
“You know people called you all kinds of things in high school. But they never saw the full you. They never saw the dude who welcomed me into the friend group when I knew no one. And that means a lot to me.”
“It means a lot that you say that. And that you see that-” Chris came back with the drinks, rambling about nothing in particular. Same as he always did when he got drunk. My train of thought got fully derailed. I tuned him out as best I could and tried my best to get lost in the show.

Maiden’s set was electric. So electric that we all forgot about the bullshit in the parking lot. I didn’t take the time to learn the whole lyrics from the new album, but that didn’t stop me and Mary from singing our lungs out. We were all but tapped out after five songs. How Bruce Dickinson could keep up after all these years was a testament to the kind of legend he was. We finally had a chance to catch our breath as the stage lights went red. I knew it was time for my favorite song when I heard the bass intro. There was no way to sing along to the verse. But every soul in that venue sang along to the guitar riff.

Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah
Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh oh-oh-ohhhh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah
Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh oh-oh-ohhhh-oh-ohah

The whole venue was one voice. Being led by the galloping of the guitars. Enthralled at the almost impossible cadence of the lyrics by Bruce.

Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah
Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh oh-oh-ohhhh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah
Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh oh-oh-ohhhh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah
Whaaoo-oh-oh-ohah

Whaaoo-oh-oh oh-oh-ohhhh-oh-ohah

I need somebody to save me

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While inspiration is drawn from the chaotic energy, banter and flashpoints of the late 2010’s political scene, events and conversations are entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Kieran

The sun had set about an hour ago. The whiskey bottle ran dry not long after and we moved to a seafood bar out in the neighborhood. It was dead quiet. We were the only patrons in the bar but we still got side-eyed by the bartender. They didn’t even have Guinness. Disappointing. Everybody else was content with Coors Light. Vince sat next to me at the bar, sipping on a Sprite, while everyone else chattered drunk around me. I tried to force down a Coors, but the piss taste was too strong for me.

“June 25^th is the DC rally in the works. I’m still working on getting speakers.” I saw Cody talking to Ken and Aurie. Wasn’t sure who was speaking. I spun my head back and the whole world felt like it was gonna throw me off it. I grabbed the bar to steady myself.

“Kieran you good?” a voice came from behind me.
“I gotta hold on man.” I said. “Worlds tryna throw me off it.”
Laughter came from all around me.
“Hold on for dear life there bud.” Ken said.

I guess I was pretty drunk.

I got up to piss and almost tripped over my own feet. I’m amazed I made it down the hall. I hung onto the sides of the urinal for dear life, as my senses slowly came back to me. I felt myself walking straighter and the world stopped trying to throw me off it.

“Meet out in the parking lot, we’re about to have elections.” Ken said.
“Get out in the parking lot, we gotta maintain erections.” Connor repeated drunkenly.

The eight of us stumbled out to the lot laughing and goofing. We quickly formed a circle out in the parking lot, Illuminated only by a distant streetlight.

“Alright fellas.” Ken was dead serious. “We’re gathered now to form the leadership of the club. I’d like to put my name forward for president of the club. You’ve seen my credentials in the Facebook group, but I’ll tell you all again. I was on Ron Paul’s campaign in Maryland and have experience running various other clubs. Any objections at all to this?”

“We gotta watch you shit bub.” Me and the rest of the club lost it, as Luke downed the last of his whiskey that he smuggled out into the parking lot. Ruining an otherwise serious moment. He said it clearly proud of himself.

“Bring it back fellas. We gotta figure this out.” Ken managed above the laughter.
“I support that.” Cody interjected. “I’d also like to throw my hat in the ring for leadership. I’m an experienced video maker and editor and can be a huge asset for this club.”
“Well hang on guys, we haven’t talked about how we’re structuring the club yet.” Ken tried his best to bring the conversation back.
“I’ll add this.” Connor had entered the fray now. “The way we did it in Virginia was we had pres., Vice pres. and lieutenants. It’s worked out well for us so far.”
Excited voices all talked over each other. Vince and I remained silent as we watched the scene unfold.
“We need actual positions.”
“I’ll throw in for leadership too!”
“How many lieutenants should we have though? We have three capable dudes here with us right now.” Aurie managed to cut through the crowd.

“My position is we run with pres. VP and three lieutenants. We have more guys asking to join who couldn’t make it tonight and that gives us room to expand.”

“In that case I’ll throw in for lieutenant.” Cody said, as a chorus of voices rose in objection.
“What makes you think you earned that?” Luke said over the crowd. Cody opened his mouth but couldn’t get a word out. “Think cause you make videos you get to lead us?”
“Media is what’s been winning us ground recently.” Cody said. “You all have to recognize that.”

“I trust you far as I can throw you.” Aurie said, his demeanor had changed out of nowhere. “The more I’ve heard you talk tonight, the more I realize you’re a fucking snake.” Me and Vince exchanged confused looks. Cody had gone silent as the cross chatter took over once again. Words wanted to come out, but they died in my throat. Six hours ago we were strangers drinking together in a backyard. Now we were tossing accusations around like we had known each other for years. It didn’t sit right with me.

“I have a solution to this.” I said.
“Shut the fuck up Kieran.” Ken yelled. And I recoiled back into the circle. Unsure of what I did.

The drunken cross talk resumed, as I saw both Connor and Luke begin to sway and stumble. I chalked the outburst up to alcohol. Ken’s voice cracked across the parking lot like a whip.

“VP needs to be more than just a videographer. You want to make videos you can do it outside of leadership. That being said, Joey is my pick for VP. Any objections?”
“None from me.”
“None”
“Nope.”
“No” I said.
“Raise your hand if you’re considering lieutenant.” Ken said once again.
Aurie, Luke and Connor all raised their hands.
“Three hands, three lieutenants. Y’all wanna get this over with or do you want to keep making it difficult?”
Luke wandered over to the grass as the rest of us deliberated. It seemed to be a settled matter. Or one we would revisit when we were sober enough to talk again.
“With that we’re adjourned. Post will be in the group chat tomorrow.”
“Fucking right ni-ghurrk.” Luke lay there in the grass, doubled over, retching and puking up his stomach as the ones who could still stand looked on in horror. I looked over from Luke and saw Connor struggling against the hood of a car. He started puking all over the trunk of somebody’s Subie Legacy. Indistinct voices and random shouting took over the parking lot. Bodies stumbled and shambled as we tried to collect our two drunk assholes. I walked to Connor and threw his arm over my shoulder. Vince came soon after to get the other. Aurie and Cody struggled with Luke. That was above my pay grade trying to get him off the ground.

The door from the bar slammed open as the bartender from inside made his way urgently towards us.
“Y’all gotta clear out. Cops are coming.” He said. We looked at him panicked. “Guys, guys we didn’t call them, but they come around this time of night. Clear out.”
“We’ll be out of here in a minute.” Ken said. Aurie got Luke on his feet, by sheer force of will. He was walking, but still slurring (In more ways than one). Vince and I walked Connor to the side walk. I saw Joey and Ken talking off to the side of the parking lot.
“Is that what y’all are about?” I heard Joey say to Ken. I couldn’t hear Ken over the ruckus. He looked like he was holding it together though.
“I’m married to a Black woman. I have a Black daughter.” He was right. It was bad looks on our first night out.
“I got it from here guys.” Connor said as we got to the sidewalk. “Come with me to the gas station, we all gotta get water.” I looked back at the others. Ken was herding them out of the parking lot.
“We still have another dude we gotta meet tonight.” He barely got the words out of his mouth.
“Where?”
“’Nother bar up the road here, *hick*”
It was already a long night. Looked like it was about to get longer.

Connor was finally walking straight again. The light was back in his eyes too. We could hear life from the bar down the road. No sign of the others yet. The parking lot was packed. More alive than the last spot we were at. The Hideaway was an oddity. A small venue but nestled in the heart of a residential area. If this was it’s typical Saturday night I could only imagine how chill the residents were. We strode up to the front door and Connor lit a cigarette in front of the entrance.
“Thanks for taking care of me back there boys.” Smoke drifted from the cigarette in his hands. “I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”
“It’s what I do man.” I said.
“And that’s what it’s all about in the end.”
“Yo, so what was up with Aurie calling out Cody like that?” Vince asked.
Connor took another drag.
“Dude he was talking how he has a line to Richard Spencer and Vanguard America and shit. Then he was talking how he has a rally planned for next month at the Lincoln Memorial he’s inviting all these people too-“ He trailed off as he exhaled the smoke fully. “I mean I won’t countersignal it but all that shit rubs me the wrong way. Guess it rubbed him wrong too.”

“Spencer was the dude with the haircut who got sucker punched at the inauguration right?” I asked. Connor ashed his cig and took another drag.
“Yea he was,” Vince said. “That whole video was pathetic.”
“Haha yeah it was. Dude who punched him couldn’t knock him out with a surprise punch, then spencer goes and cries on camera. Fucking pussy shit bro.” The door opened, an older couple came out and hung out on the other side of the door as us. I heard Luke before I could see any of them.

“Howdy dick lickers, Luke Dorsey in the house.”

His voice carried all the way down the road. The couple next to us couldn’t keep a straight face. We all had that look of being nervously amused.
“I’m going inside boys, what do you want to drink?”
“Get me a jack and coke.” I said
“Just a coke for me.”
“So two jack and cokes then?” Connor said smiling. We all gave a nod.

They came rolling in from the street. Luke was half stumbling, but keeping it together well enough compared to the parking lot.
“Look at these two dick lickers.” Luke half shouted.
“Look at this fucking gorilla bitch.” I said back, as he threw his arms around me in a death grip. I could barely breathe.
“Careful there Harambe, we’ll have to put you down if you don’t let go.” Ken said, and Luke released his grip. The door closed one more time. As it shut I saw the couple go back inside.
“Look at that guy.” Luke said, pointing to the banner on the wall. It was a headshot of a cartoon sketch giving the ok sign.
“He’s one of us,” he said. “And that’s me being nice.” He slapped the wall.
“We gotta get a picture with that,” I said.

Connor greeted us with our drinks as we made our way to the bar. Vince and I took the drinks and staked out a table in the corner of the room by the pool table. Bar was packed inside with people of all ages. It felt welcoming inside, more than the other place we were at. One guy stood out though. He was way overdressed in a dress shirt and vest, and wore a gray flat cap. The kind that says you’re thirty years old and have been to every brewery in the state. He sat with his back to the wall and was watching Connor and Aurie intently.

I sat at the corner table nursing the drink, melting into the seat as I sipped it. Vince was in the same situation I was in. Everyone else was still going hard though. Joey was playing pool with Luke, who was holding it together decently well. I saw Aurie talking with the flat cap dude. Couldn’t tell about what. Guess that was our new guy we came here to meet.

“You guys better not be done for the night.” Ken said appearing at the table. “We’re just getting started.”

“Thought it ended when dudes were puking in the parking lot.” I said.

“What I’m trying to say is this is a social club. So go be social guys.”

He disappeared when Aurie called him over from across the room. I decided it would be best to hang back. I was already crashing hard on my first real night out with these guys. I didn’t feel like making an ass of myself in front of the new guy anyway. Both were talking to new guy. Ken looked like he was grilling him pretty good cause he looked slightly uneasy.

“Russ said he sent that guy right?” I said to Vince. He looked up from his phone.
“I guess he did? I’m not sure, why though?”
“He just doesn’t look the type to get sent by him to be honest.” I said. “He’s just so aggressively Irish.”
We laughed and went back to nursing our drinks. Connor came over and put money in the jukebox as Immigrant Song was hitting its outro.
“What are you putting on Connor?” I said.
“Our theme song.”

As soon as I heard the steam whistle I knew what song it was. And so did everyone else.

*Check one check one-two*

Connor was immediately swarmed all eight of us. At the top of our lungs we all sang the opening verse.

Singing the song of a fighter, raising children alone in a world of gears. While the world around just didn’t care.

Every patron in the bar watched as we sang the song that started it all. I could feel their eyes. Most of them weren’t ready for it. None of us cared though. We just belted the chorus even louder.

A song of blue-collar courage in an indifferent world.

In that bar, with eight guys who were strangers six hours ago, being watched by patrons of some rinky-dink bar in small town Maryland. I realized we had all become family in that moment. I was finally home.

For the next chapter click here

May 20, 2017 – 22:47 Caller: Anonymous. Eastern District.

Dispatcher: 911, what is your emergency?

Caller: Uh, yeah, hi. There’s a group of guys in the parking lot across from this bar? They’re yelling a lot. Like, really loud…

Dispatcher: Okay sir, can you describe what’s happening? Any weapons? Anyone injured?

Caller: No weapons that I can see. They’re just... standing in a circle yelling about “leadership” and I’m not sure what else. One guy’s screaming “shut the fuck up”, it sounds gang related.

Dispatcher: Sir, are they physically fighting?

Caller: Not that I can see. Oh, they’re yelling racial slurs now. Another guy’s puking on a Subaru. It sounds like a hate crime in progress.

Dispatcher: ...Sir, is anyone in immediate danger?

Caller: I mean, no but…

Dispatcher: Did someone threaten to call the police, or—

Caller: No…

Dispatcher: Sir, this sounds like a noise disturbance or public intoxication. That’s not a 911 emergency. You can call the non-emergency line at—

Caller: Wait, wait— They look like they’re coming towards me. I…

Dispatcher: (audible sigh) Sir. Drunk people argue in parking lots. It’s Saturday night in Maryland. Unless someone’s being assaulted or there’s a weapon, hang up and call the bar to complain. Or go home. Do not tie up the emergency line.

Caller: But they said “cops are coming” like it’s a raid—

Dispatcher: We didn’t get any other calls. If they’re that worried, maybe they shouldn’t be yelling racial slurs in public. Good night, sir.

[Call ended 23:51]

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While inspiration is drawn from the chaotic energy, banter and flashpoints of the late 2010’s political scene, events and conversations are entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Kieran

“Remember boys, no matter what they say, they don’t own the streets.” Russ cracked the Guinness, the pitch black stout disappearing down his throat, like he said that line a thousand times before. Russ, far as I know, had no interest in joining the club. He was just an old head passing down some wisdom from his decades of Hooliganry. I saw him chime in on Facebook in the weeks leading up to this meet. He was an old skinhead who already had a crew, but came by to pass the torch. I was here with my buddy Vince, at his high school history teachers house, at the founding meet-up of the Maryland Proud boys. I didn’t know what to expect, but I didn’t expect the nerves to burn like the rail whiskey at the dive last night.

“True shit brother, Shane making it out tonight?” Ken asked. “I got him working tonight in the harbor. But I got another dude who can meet ya tonight.” I leaned up against the carport, picking at the Guinness label. The condensation prevents it from tearing clean.

“I’ll text you at some point tonight, but I gotta roll guys. Kill it tonight.” Russ says. He makes for the drivers seat as I grab the cooler out the bed of his truck. Me and Ken grab the beer and head to the backyard. As the memories of the previous night come back to me.

We were at a bar. Some basement dive in a new part of Baltimore where the industry died and was getting supplanted by commercial zoning. Shane was another dude from Russ’s crew, he was there last night. And so was Aurie, who’s here now. Then Dan, I think. He showed up for a minute, then rolled. I just remember the panic attack now. Feeling like my neck arteries were gonna explode, the smell of cheap whiskey and cleaning supplies in my nose. Alcohol didn’t help much either. But Ken was there. He talked me down on the sidewalk with the hum of the neon and the scent of piss on the air. Guess that’s the teacher in him, he talks like he’s still the assistant wrestling coach. Still hard to believe he taught my brother history a few years ago.

Party was just about getting underway. Buncha dudes I had never met before. This dude Connor, who Ken knew. Yuppie type, but cool guy rocking the classic MAGA hat. Perry looked sharp on him. Black and Gold was a hard-looking color combo, even in Ravens country.

Loud, fat dude, sipping whiskey under the canopy. Think that’s Luke. He’s the Dundalk guy I’m pretty sure.

Aurie sat on the deck, sipping a twisted tea overlooking the pool. Favorite dude of the bunch, we had a long talk about god knows what last night. Think it was Jordan Peterson, surprisingly. Dude like him, installing floors in the hoods of Baltimore, in a MAGA hat no less. No one from ODU ever even heard of maps of meaning, let alone read it. Glad I left when I did, place went downhill after Ferguson for a guy like me.

Cody was out there setting up his camera equipment under the other pop-up. Like we were the NatGeo feature about a tribal society that communicated only through slurs. Dude was as young as I was, only one younger was my boy Vince-and he couldn’t even drink yet.

We were still expecting more people to show up. I walk over to my boy Vince; he and Luke are laughing it up.
“Either you want a Guinness?” I say holding the cooler.
Luke looks at me confused. “It’s a little hot out for a Guinness isn’t it?” I offered it to Vince, who took it without complaint.
“What can I say man, I like ‘em heavy.” I say. His eyes lit up like cheap neon.
“We’re gonna get along well man.” He says, “I’m Luke by the way, who are you on the page?”
“Kieran man, good to be here.” He gulps down his whiskey after the handshake.
“I haven’t seen you on the page man, how’d you find us?”
“Cause of me.” Vince says, bottle in hand. “I went to Highschool with this dude, he parties like a monster man.”
“That true man? Your bottle says otherwise.” He says, pointing at the naked bottle.
“Hey man, I just turned twenty-one like a month ago. I’ve been drinking shitty vodka and whiskey since I was sixteen.” The Guinness goes down with minor difficulty.

“Dude this is crazy, y’all are babies coming in here.” Luke says putting his cup on the rail. “I’m like the mama bird feeding you your meal here.”

I turn and see Cody getting a close up of Luke flapping and screeching like a Raven.
“Oh shit I’m on candy camera.” He snatches the whiskey off ground. “I’m not the bird mom, I’m the gorilla bitch.” A star was born in that moment. In that backyard with dudes who barely knew each other.

Cody- And action.
[Subject in Full view sitting on single folding chair]

Q- Introduce yourself to the viewers at home

K- Hi I’m Kieran Martin
[Cut]
L- Hi I’m Luke Dorsey
[Cut]
C- Hi I’m Connor Jennings
[Cut]
G-Hi I’m Grant Goldman
[Cut]
Q- Why did you join the Proudboys?
K- Cause of the violence I saw at Berkeley. Girl in a bitcoin hat gets peppered sprayed out of the blue while giving an interview. Disgusting shit.
[Cut]
L-I came to drink liquor and smash commies.
[Cut]
C- This is a men’s club, and I’m here trying to help make better men.
[Cut]
G-I wanted to join a group of like minded people. It’s isolating where I live and I’m here from North Carolina.
Q-Where’s that exactly?
G-Cherry Hill Baltimore.

(two seconds of silence. OFF_CAMERA I’m going to watch you shit! *LAUGHTER)[Cut]

Q-What does Proudboys mean to you?

K-We’re the ones who step up when everyone else steps down.
[Cut]
L-Pounding commies and bad mommies
[Cut]
C- Betterment of yourself and your brother’s as men
[Cut]
G-Expanding the mind, then living your principles.

Q-How do you feel about Donald Trump?

L-He’s the meme-lord the country needs right now I think.
[Cut]
C-He’ll make things better for the underdog, we need a cheerleader for the country right now.
G-Not since Ronald Reagan has any politician ever spoken for a guy like me the way Trump does.
K- To be honest I don’t even like the guy. But no one deserves to be assaulted for what they’re wearing.

[Fade to Black]

It’s late afternoon and we had several rando’s pull up to the house, not for the club, but for the desk that didn’t exist. Somehow Kens address slipped out of the Facebook group and found its way to Craigslist. Everybody was cool about it though. We offered them a drink then sent them on the way. The nerves were gone, four beers and raw conversation was all it took to shake the nerves out.

The roar of a Harley tore through the air and got louder as it came down the dead-end road. Jet black, with saddlebags and a marine corps sticker on the windshield pulled up on the road next to the carport. This dude wasn’t here for the desk.

The bike went silent, as it came to rest on the curb and the man removed his helmet.

“Howdy fellas,” he says. “This the Maryland chapter meetup?”
“It is.” I say back. “Where you coming from man?”

He dismounted the bike, but not before grabbing his straw cowboy hat.
“Harpers ferry, it’s been a long ride. Whatchu boys drinking out here?”
“We got Guinness, Twisted Tea, Coors and Jameson I think.” I said going for the cooler.
“Which of you moans when he wipes his ass then?” Me, Vince and Ken give each other nervous looks. Then Harley man breaks the silence with a laugh.
“I’m fucking with you guys, but only halfway. Get me a tea.”

Aurie came out front, fresh tea in hand. “Got you covered man. What’s your name brother?”

“Joey man, who are you?”
“Aurie on the page.”
“Kieran”
“Ken, mi casa su casa brother.”
“How’d you end up finding us man?” I asked
“I work with Russ-“ He said as he cracked the can. “I live in harpers ferry but he contracts me for a couple months at a time. He takes good care of us.”
“What does he do again?” I ask
“Under water construction mostly.” He starts gulping tea like water after a stint in the desert. “I’m his concrete guy mostly.”
“Fuck yeah man. I’m about to start the welding program at the community college here.” I say.
“Hell yeah man. You get your underwater certs and we’ll probably hire you. Get rid of that thick head of hair and you’d fit in with every other right-wing skin in Baltimore that works with us.”
“That’d be awesome man.” For the first time after many years, hope flickered in the back of my mind. “My parents still want me to try to go to college though. I tried once and flunked out after a semester and a half down in Norfolk. They’re paying for a transfer studies degree at the college too, but I’m paying for the welding classes on my own dime.”
“Admirable brother.” Aurie says jumping into the conversation. “What are you thinking of going to college for?”

The edges of the Guinness label became unbearable to my fingers again.
“I don’t really know yet.” I said dejectedly. “The culture I experienced at college is partly why I’m here today.”
“When did you go to school again?”
“Bout three years ago when Mike Brown got shot.” I said. “Even before that I felt uncomfy. I remember during orientation they made a big announcement to the freshman class about all the services the women’s center did for students. I wasn’t bothered too much until the dude giving the presentation read the slide about why there’s no men’s center.” Everyone was looking on in bated breath. “It was just the way he explained it man. The disgust at how he talked about men and how proud he was to say the women’s center could handle men’s issues better really turned me off to the whole thing.”

Ken was the first to break the silence. “Sounds familiar man. More women are in the education system and can only teach to other women and children. I deal with that shit all the time. History department is usually men and I’ve found my kids way more engaged with history than any other subject. The boys especially.”

“What was it like after Ferguson though?” Joey chimed back in. “About what you expect to be honest.” I said. “I saw a lot of shit after that, the worst was-“

A car pulling down the road interrupted what was a lively discussion. We all stepped back onto the grass as the gray outback came to rest at the curb of the road. Ken made the first move toward the drivers side door as the occupant rolled the window down.

“Hey man, you here for the desk?” Ken said.
“Yeah, where’s it at?”
The driver gave us a confused look when we all started laughing. “So it doesn’t exist. Somebody threw my address up on craigslist as a joke. We’re having a little get together today and got some drinks if you want to stick around for one.”

“Shit man I just drove from Gaithersburg for this thing. Of course I want a beer after that.”

“Come on in, what’s your name brother?” Ken asked, as the outback went silent.

“James.” He said.
He didn’t look the type to join the club anyway. He didn’t even look in the same universe as the rest of the guys who were here. Birkenstock sandals and cargo shorts. A gut that hung out below his button up shirt that rivalled even Luke’s beer belly. Thick glasses and a scraggly beard that hadn’t seen a shaping razor for the better part of a year. He looked almost like a hairier, sloppier version of the Pilsbury dough boy.

He drank Coors light without complaint though. That was his one redeeming quality.

“So what’s the get together for today boys?” He asked gulping from the can.
“It’s our boy Kieran’s twenty-first party.” Ken said.
“Oh happy birthday, how’s it feel to have your first legal beer?”
“Hits different when you gotta buy it.”
James laughed and went back to drinking.

“So James what do you for work?” Aurie asked.

“Oh I work for a non-profit in DC. I’m the donor outreach coordinator for the National Lawyers Guild down there.” He took another swig from the can.

“Oh so you’re a lawyer then?” I asked.
“No not a lawyer, I am a paralegal though. Just doing this because it’s good work and I believe in the cause. We do a lot of good shit for civil rights cases.”

I looked over to Ken, and saw on his face he was piecing together a puzzle I hadn’t quite put together yet.

“Aw that’s awesome,” Ken says. “And what can you tell us about this case?”

“It’s the inauguration day protests. Largest violation of civil rights in the past sixty years I’d say.” My heart sank, as I did a quick check to make sure the MAGA flags weren’t within his vision.

“We have at least three different law firms working pro bono right now, I’m trying to sign on another two at the moment. It’s looking promising so far.” He took a convincing final sip of the Coors light can.

“How far a drive you got back? Traffics gonna be ass I bet getting home.” Ken said, giving him a subtle push off his property.

“Yeah you’re probably right, I’d stay for more but I need to beat traffic. Thanks for the beer guys.”

“Later James.” Aurie says.

He walked through the gate, and the outback spun to life shortly thereafter. He pulled off down the road, out of eyesight. Ken threw his hands on top of his head, looking at us wide-eyed and half manic.

“Do you guys understand what just happened? The fucking enemy walked among us. And I don’t think he even knew.”

For the Next chapter click here.

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Thanks!

[Reply to Post]

Asphalt Warlords is a Work of fiction.
Everything in it is invented, exaggerated, or outright fabricated for the purposes of storytelling.
Real historical events and public figures from the 2017–2021 period are used only as loose inspiration and are subjected to dramatic license, compression, invention, and complete fictionalization. No character in this book is intended to represent, portray, or defame any real person, living or dead. Any resemblance is coincidental.
If it feels real…Well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Mira

The whole house reeked of weed as Kai and Rafi were watching protest footage from Berkeley this past week. I caught glimpses here and there. Signal was blowing up about it. About how mass mobilization shut down the far-right rally’s three months in a row.
“Look look look!” Kai said excitedly, going for the remote to the TV. “This dude swings the bike lock like a mace. Fash piece of shit doesn’t see it coming.” He paused it at the moment right after impact. “Look at the blood spurt out his head.” I winced at seeing the damage. “Holding signs and standing on street corners won’t cut it anymore.” The bong bubbled and Rafi inhaled the pillar of smoke, coughing heavily.
“Why can’t this shit happen here though? We have a ton of closet white supremacists right here in Richmond.” Kai saw me hovering on the stairs.
“You’re not wrong.” Rafi said, still recovering.

“Turn that shit off!”
Anna stormed in from her room, fuming at what she was hearing.

“You see the damage our side did to Berkeley campus? People live there, there was violence against women and you’re sitting there supporting this?” She was almost screaming.
“No one got hurt besides nazis and scabs. That’s the liberal in you talking.” Kai took another hit from the bong. And the ghost white smoke left his mouth once again.

“Kai, y’all are supporting something that will eventually come back to bite us.” She said. “Violence will come back around ten-fold to those who give it.”

“That what your monk said when you got that tattoo?” Kai sneered.

“Fuck you dude. Don’t go there with me.” She was beet red and ready to boil over. “You know damn well why I got this tattoo and I told you that in confidence.” She stomped to the door and slammed it to let the whole block know how pissed she was.

“You fucked up Kai.” Rafi said. Kai sat in silence, repacking the bong. I made for the door to chase Anna down. She was halfway down the block and I had to run after her. “Anna, wait up- “She stopped and let me trot in behind her.

“I’m going to kill him if I go back there now.” She said.
“And I wouldn’t blame you.” I said. “He’s gotten way too into all this the past few months. It’s starting to scare me a little bit.” We kept walking down Carey, in what was otherwise a wonderful spring day in Richmond.

“He knows damn well to be better than that talking to me.” She muttered. “Ever since he got out of jail he’s been way different.”
“Obviously.” I said. “But he has a point.” Defeated, she stopped at the corner of the block. “That’s what hurts the most I guess. This is karma coming around for electing a guy like that.” She looked up as she heard the words.

“Karma?” She chuckled. “We’ll get ours soon if we aren’t careful.”

A cool breeze blew down the street, it carried the scent of charcoal grills with it. We each stood there in silence, not quite sure what to say next.

“I think Kai realized he fucked up.” I said.
“You think?”
“We might as well find out.”

It was all quiet when we walked back in. Rafi was absent from the living room and Kai sat on the couch looking back at us as we walked in. He had the eyes of a puppy that just chewed your couch to bits. A good sign for things to come. We kicked off our shoes and settled in across the coffee table.

“I was out of line about the tattoo Anna.” He said sheepishly. “But I’m owning what I said about the rest of it.” He leaned forward. “Look before you roll your eyes at me I know what’s at stake here. We did good at Berkeley because those people want to take our rights away. Your rights away specifically. By letting them speak they silence voices like ours. That’s why I’m the way I am.”

“Voices like ours?” I gestured to myself and Anna.
“If they had their way, they’d drag both of you back to the stone age. I don’t want that for either of you.”

“And you don’t think we can speak up for ourselves?” Anna said, clearly frustrated.
“I know you can,” he said slightly flustered, “but you need all the voices you can get to do the same.” He leaned back, with that little smirk he wears whenever he feels like he educated someone.

“Mira you get what I’m saying right?” He looked right at me.

“I do, I’m just confused as to why you agree with the methods. We already got arrested once, why do you want to go back there?” He began packing the bong again.

“Mira, I talked with them both in the holding cell and at the center. Everything is telling me that they will take care of us no matter what happens. Now go ahead and rip this and realize we’re all on the same side.” He passed the bong across the coffee table. Anna shook her head, so I was the one who obliged him.

“You know I’d die for either of you right?” He said. I cleared the bong and Anna was eyeing it the whole time. “Fine, pass it here.” She said.

“Glad we’re all back on the same side here.” Kai said.

Soon the house was filled with laughter, and we all pretended everything was back to normal.

I put the call out on signal soon as I saw it. Black and grey outline, on white background. “Defend White Families” stuck openly and brazenly on a bike rack in front of Cabell library. No idea who placed it. Only that they put a razorblade behind it. Almost found out the hard way. A dozen of us had met up in Monroe Park and had been at it for half an hour at least. Removing or covering racist stickers from a college campus.

“Think this is someone on Campus?” Rafi asked.
“Has to be. How else did these end up in the dorm elevators?” I said tearing a sticker with my key.

“This is industrial scale though. We’ve covered from Monroe Park to Broad street and we’ve torn how many?” he said.

They were clustered mainly on the back of road signs and street poles. With the occasional one slapped lazily on the concrete exterior of the Arts building.

“Is that guy watching us?” Kai said. I turned around and saw someone, young, but not quite college young. He was on his phone. Standing there across the street.
“What makes you say that though?” I said back.
“He’s holding his phone like he’s recording us. Or he was a second ago.”
“I think you’re just being paranoid Kai.” I returned to work peeling stickers from property. Kai was still watching the man across the street, and eventually he left.

“We should follow him.” Kai was intense about it. “No, we’re not Kai.” I said. It was too late. By the time I had turned around he was already across the street. Me and Rafi went after him. “Kai wait.” I said. He was at the street corner, completely locked on target. I heard the signal notification come through on my phone. Rafi was a few paces behind me as we were trotting to catch up with him.

“Why you watching us dude.” Kai called to the man, who was walking back toward Monroe Park. He was about half a block away and didn’t acknowledge Kai at all. “I’m talking to you. Don’t walk away.” The man responded with a quick one finger salute over his shoulder and kept walking. Kai pulled his phone out and began to record.

“You think you’re tough huh don’t you?” Kai was neck and neck with him by now. Trying to get in his face with his phone. “Why you following us dude?”
The man laughed in Kai’s face. “I’m following you right now? Right.”

“You down with white supremacy then?”
“Get out of my face dude.” He clawed at Kai’s phone.
“Don’t touch me!” Kai was shouting now. Getting even more in this mans face now. “Fucking racist piece of shi-“

I didn’t see it. I just saw Kai go flying off the sidewalk over a garbage bin. He landed hard on the pavement as the man spun around to deal with us. I don’t think he saw the five or so bodies run out from around the corner. Rafi rushed the man and distracted him enough for the punch that came from behind. He was swarmed immediately. There was screaming, and the sounds of bone on skin. I ran to get Kai. Last I saw the man, the rest of them were kicking and stomping him. I saw faint specks of blood on the sidewalk, and looked away as I dragged Kai by the collar down the road. I didn’t look back.

I didn’t want to look back.

But I still heard them. All the way down the road.

I dragged Kai down the block and around the corner. Where the noise didn’t follow us. He had his feet under him now.

“You alright?” He took an unsteady step and propped himself on a telephone pole. He was breathing heavy.

“I’m alright.” He said. “That’s what community defense is all about Mira.”

Defense? That was supposed to be defense?

So why did it feel like we started a war?

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. If it feels real… Well that’s the point.

Chat Name: ASH Solidarity Ops – Campus De-Fash Alert

Date/Time: April 17, 2017, 20:00–21:00 EST

Participants: ~35 (Admin: ash_mod; Includes known affiliates like “vanta🖤” [Suspected: Mira Symmons, VCU student arrested at J20], “necktat🔥” [Confirmed: Blake Withers], and “rva_bloc” [Unidentified].) Note: Screenshots compiled from public Signal export shared on ASH-affiliated Tumblr (antifa7hills.tumblr.com). Metadata indicates Android/iOS captures; timestamps verified. Redacted usernames for LES distribution.

[20:00] ash_mod: heads up rva crew – fash scum hitting vcu hard. reports of “protect heritage” stickers all over campus: compass quad, cabell library, dorm elevators. qr codes linking to alt-right recruitment bs. pics in the pinned message. this is their play to normalize white supremacist crap on our turf. we shut it down NOW.

[20:01] necktat🔥: saw ‘em on grace st poles. “diversity weakens us” – straight 14 words dogwhistle. pigs won’t do shit, so bloc up. who’s got paint markers? let’s cover ‘em with “bash the fash” or red/black flags.

[20:02] vanta🖤: just ripped one off a bike rack near arts building. had a qr to some wordpress site ranting about “white genocide.” fuckers put a razorblade behind it too. no blood, felt good to tear it, but there’s dozens. we need a sweep tonight – meet at monroe park 10pm?

[20:03] ash_mod: solid vanta – you’re the spark. everyone: masks, gloves, no phones on (signal only). split into pairs: one tears, one watches for pigs or fash. if confronted, de-escalate or dip. this ain’t berkeley yet, but it’s practice. venmo @antifasevenhills for bail top-up if needed.

[20:04] rva_bloc: got a stack from gladding dorm – “unity strengthens” with euro bust image. pure identity evropa knockoff. word is proud boys rva lurking, might be their work. let’s dox the printer if we find leads.

[20:05] necktat🔥: berkeley showed ‘em: no platform for nazis. richmond’s hills will rise higher. who’s got rides from fan to campus? vegan snacks for after – keep energy up.

[20:06] vanta🖤: i’m in for the sweep. felt exposed tearing alone – safety in numbers. this is our campus, not theirs.

[20:07] ash_mod: all: vet new joins hard – feds love sticker ops as bait. no media, no snitches. debrief tomorrow at the spot. smash the machine. 🖤🚩

[20:08] rva_bloc: confirmed, meetup at 10. bring bolt cutters if stickers are locked on poles.

[21:00] [Group activity slows; 5 new joins post-invite]

[22:36] Raphael: Situation on Broad and Schafer. Need backup.

We’ve made it to the second month of 2026. Many of us have resolved to either get to the gym for the first time or have resolved to get back into it. Some of us have probably already fallen off. Either because life has gotten in the way or we just don’t know where to begin.

We are writers, poets and philosophers. Not your average gym rat. We have writing schedules and work schedules. We have piles of books we need to read for book club. We are the baby turtles who couldn’t make it to the sea in some regards. So, I’m here to help us all make it the sea, the harmony between mind and body.

Chaos as an engine.

I’m a Mishima enjoyer. He is the archetypal Warrior-Poet. It’s well documented that he was big into bodybuilding, but I couldn’t find anything specific about his weight routine. So instead, we’re going to touch on his philosophy as the basis for this routine.

Life is chaotic for many of us. I personally work a job where I don’t always know when I’ll be home. I intend this program to leave enough room for the chaos of life. Chaos is necessary for the creative process. But just as in writing, you must be disciplined to tame that energy into something great.

This program does not follow a typical split. For this program, assign a muscle group to any day of the week. And whenever you can make it to the gym, simply focus on those muscle groups on that day. You can follow my days or adjust it to your schedule depending on the gym you go to.

My personal routine goes like this.

Monday-Chest

Tuesday-Back

Wednesday-Shoulders

Thursday-Legs

Friday-Arms

If all the leg equipment at your gym is empty on Monday, that’s when you should train legs, and so on.

The Metaphysics of Training.

Mishima believed you needed a grand mission in life. That you needed a higher purpose to be fulfilled. He took this to a level I’m not asking you to take it to. Bodybuilding for its own sake is a pursuit of vanity. In literary terms it’s shallow genre slop. I’m not asking you to transform your body. I’m asking you to transform your soul through movement, and the body will reflect that.

Muscles are not 2 dimensional. They move your limbs through multiple planes of motion. Your body creates force through multiple vectors and ranges of motion. Often working together with other muscle groups. Each group is part of a larger whole, each serves a different part of the soul. Allow me to elaborate.

Chest- The Heart

There’s a reason why every armed force on earth makes you do push-ups. The pectoralis directly protects the heart. Therefore, training chest teaches you the qualities of overcoming hardship. Anyone who's ever flat benched understands intrinsically the fear of death as you struggle to lift the bar back to the rack. You either overcome the challenge or get crushed by it.

Back- The Power

Training back is the ultimate expression of power. The ability to root yourself to the earth and pull your wants and dreams towards you. It is possession. It’s rowing the longship towards shore. It’s saying to yourself “This is mine, and you cannot stop me.”

Shoulders- The Mantle

The largest muscle group in your upper body. Well-developed shoulders make you visually and physically bigger. These are what you use to carry the pain and grief of the world. That it may be transfigured into something great. Do not take training these lightly. Train them with reverence, that you may not buckle under the horrors of the world.

Legs- Endurance Through Pain.

The physical roots to the earth. Legs are often neglected by the average gym goer. There is a dual meaning to them. The quads are one of the largest, most oxygen draining muscles in the entire body. Most movements that train them require the entire body. Training quads is a lesson in endurance, and fatigue makes cowards of most men and women. Glutes and Hamstrings only grow through hurt. They teach you how to grow through the pain in life. But most are too cowardly to learn these lessons.

Biceps and Triceps- The Harmony of Pen and Sword.

The arms are the vehicles you use to navigate, move and apply your will unto the world. They train you to become action oriented. They are both tools of creation and tools of destruction. They are of love and violence. For poetry and polemic. Cast out the demons that say training them is not functional. They lie.

With the soul mapped to muscle, here’s how we forge them in the Temple of Iron.

The Program

Mankind for centuries has sought greater levels of freedom, only to now find themselves misled by the Archons of fitness. Mike Mentzer had it right when he said, “Don’t be enslaved to the gym.” You don’t necessarily need to spend hours and hours in the gym to make gains. This is a low volume program that shouldn’t take more than an hour to complete. Perfect for an early morning lift or a quick sneak in at peak hours.

Like Nietzsche, however, Mentzer’s philosophy has been misunderstood. You’re not doing 2 sets of an exercise with gas left in the tank after you walk out the gym. You train to failure. SAFELY. I’ll include one program you can do by yourself, and one you can do with a spotter. With movements tailored to each.

If you’re a noob to the gym, most programs give you a range of reps. 8-12 for example. What that means is you pick a weight you think you can do for 8 reps, hitting failure or close to failure. Then over later workouts you try to hit 12 reps to failure. Then add weight and start again. Do this and you’re hitting progressive overload effectively. Now for the program.

Frequency

Mishima routinely lifted at least 3 days a week. It doesn’t matter what days you go. If certain days work better for you week to week stick with that, and rotate through each of these workouts, hitting these as evenly as you can. You can go up to five days a week if you’d like. I do not recommend lifting more than five days a week however, as you will likely be destroyed in your everyday life. Instead supplement that with your favorite form of cardio and try your best for 10k steps a day. This isn’t necessarily a program to make your muscles grow. This is a program designed to feed the fire in your soul to create great works of art for the literary renaissance.

Mishima personally supplemented his lifts with various other activities. Specifically martial arts. I highly recommend everyone try or join a martial arts program at some point. It will absolutely change your life. If you can’t afford an actual fight gym membership. Get a heavy bag. if you can’t afford a heavy bag, a sofa cushion and a partner makes a great kick bag for practicing kicks. If you’re serious about this, you’ll find a way.

The Lifts

Chest Day

In Gnostic myth, the Archons chain the divine spark within the prison of flesh. Chest day is the first strike against those jailers—pressing iron to awaken and protect the unconquerable heart.

Solo

• Machine press 2 sets x 6-8 reps

• Decline Db press 2 sets x 8-12 reps

• DB or cable flys 2 sets x 10-15 reps

• Pushups 2 sets x as many as possible

Partner

• Incline Bench press 4 sets x 6-8 reps

• DB flat bench 4 sets x 8-12

• Dips 2 sets x as many as possible

Post workout journal prompt- Read Invictus. Write about where you feel bloodied but unbowed today or recently?

Back Day

The Archons think they own your fate—bind the divine spark in weakness and illusion. Each row, each pull: laugh at their chains. Root deep, pull harder. Seize the spark. “This is mine, and you cannot stop me.” The power is already yours—claim it.

Solo

• Chest supported DB row 4 sets x 8-12 reps

• Neutral grip pulldowns 4 sets x 6-10 reps or chinups 4 sets x AMAP

Partner

• Deadlift straight or hex bar 6-10 reps then 4-6 reps

• T-bar row 2 sets x 6-8 reps

• Lat pullovers 4 sets x 6-10 reps

• Chinups/pullups 2 sets x AMAP

Post workout journal prompt- Read Walt Whitmans Song of the Open Road. What have you reclaimed in your life recently? What does the shore you're rowing to look like?

Shoulder Day

The shoulders are the means by which you lift up others. The Archons weigh down the soul with illusion, fate and cosmic sorrow. Yet the awakened Mantle does not buckle alone. Transfigure pain into elevation with every press overhead. So that you may bear your own weight, then lift your kin to see beyond the veil.

Solo

• Seated Overhead DB press 4 sets x 8-12 reps

• Chest supported DB rear delt flys 4 sets x 8-12 reps

• DB lateral raises 2 sets x 15-20 reps

Partner

• Barbell overhead press 2 sets x 6-8 reps

• Landmine press 2 sets x 8-12 reps

• Db High pulls 3 sets x 6-12 reps

Post workout journal prompt- Read Shoulders by Naomi Shihab Nye and reflect on what ambition or grief you are currently carrying. In the burn of the press, who did you envision yourself lifting up? Describe what the path looks like when you transfigure pain into strength for others.

Leg Day

The roots anchoring the soul to the material earth. The Demiurge’s forge of suffering and fatigue, designed solely to drain the divine spark from your prison of flesh. The Archon whispers to you, under the bar, that pain is defeat. That burning muscles are chains unbreakable. To train legs is to engage in gnostic rebellion. Transcend the cowardice that binds your soul. And walk the narrow path out of the cosmos. Carrying the spark with you on legs forged in agony.

Solo

• Leg extension 2 sets x 15-25 reps

• Hack squat 4 sets x 6-10 reps

• 90 degree hyperextension 4 sets x 8-12 reps

• DB lunges 2 x 8-15 reps each leg.

• Calf raises 2 sets x 12-15 reps

Partner

• Barbell squat 5 sets x 6-10 reps

• Romanian Deadlift 5 sets 8-12 reps

Post-Workout Journal Prompt Read Ulysses by Alfred Lord Tennyson and write what cowardice did you face today. What do you feel like you're currently running from or avoiding? What illusion of weakness did you shatter today to stand taller than you were?

Arm Day

The final instrument of the liberated spark. The Archons whisper that creation is futile and destruction is forbidden. Reject their suggestions, for these limbs enact gnosis themselves. The biceps curl pen or quill to birth poetry that shatters the illusion itself. The triceps extend the hammer that shatter the chains on your soul. The instruments of love and violence, poetry and polemic. The spark carried upward on legs now reaches out in rebellion. Harmony was never about balance. It is mastery over both creation and destruction to reclaim the cosmos. Wield and forge them with the precision such acts demand.

Solo and Partner

• EZ curls 4 sets x 10-15 reps

• Seated French Press 4 sets x 10-15 reps

• Close grip supinated pull down 4 x 10-15 reps

• Cable pushdowns 4 sets x 10-15 reps

Post-workout journal prompt Read “The Village Blacksmith” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Reflect. Name one act of creation and one act of destruction you did this week. What illusion of powerlessness did your arms shatter today? What deed of poetry or polemic have you done this week? Describe the world you face unafraid when arms enact the sparks will.

Nutrition

The divine spark is secure. Now you must nurture it. Do not taint yourself with food of the material world. The McDonalds and Five Guys of the world are part of the Archons trick. Eat only that which comes from the sacred earth. Whole foods, fresh as possible, not frozen.

I’ll keep this as simple as possible for all of you. 1 gram of protein per 1 lb of bodyweight is the only hard rule for this program. Lose weight, gain muscle, doesnt matter. 1 gram per 1 pound. You’re free to do your own research further into this.

My philosophy for this program is this; so long as you eat clean, you can’t overeat.

With all that said, happy 2026! It’s our year and we’re out here banishing Archons. Let’s do it for the Renaissance.

Subscribe now

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. While inspired by real events surrounding the 2017 presidential inauguration, the J20 protests, and related activist movements in Richmond and beyond, all characters, dialogue, and specific incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real organizations and events is coincidental and not intended to represent historical fact. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

For the first chapter click here.

Mira

The blackberry tea simmered in my mug as the snow fell from outside the window overlooking Monroe Park. Professor Morrison was across the hall getting muffins from the faculty lounge. The SCAI hearing documents rustled in the pocket of my coat when I shifted. It all worked out exactly like Kai said. Just needed to write a reflective essay by the end of the month.

“How’s the tea, darling?” The professor appeared in the doorway.

“Perfect, thank you.”
Holding two plates of muffins, she strode back to her desk. She handed one to me and set one on the desk next to her own mug, the red one with clasped hands with the letters DSA in white. She took her seat, and I took the wrapper off the blueberry muffin.

“You’ve been through a lot haven’t you. How’re you holding up?”
“Never been arrested before. How am I supposed to be?” I fumbled with the muffin, could my stomach handle it?
“Poor thing,” She reached for the mug. “It’s a travesty the precedent this sets for free expression. Not even a week into this administration and already there are human rights abuses.” She sipped her tea and I nibbled at my muffin, hoping it would stay down.

“When I was your age we got Reagan and his trickle-down economics. Not to mention our little adventure in Chile. But by God I miss the man compared to what we have now.” Her voice trailed off and she stared deep into her mug.

“You miss him?” Her gaze met mine as she came back to reality.
“In a sick kind of way, yes. I do. He had class at least. And in a lot of ways was likeable. He never made fun of people with disabilities, anyway.”

“That’s why I was there.” My anger bubbled up. “Everyone can see that” —I clenched my mug so hard my knuckles turned white— “he’s a complete scumbag, and somehow—nope!—that’s not a dealbreaker for seventy million people. Someone had to go there to tell ‘em to their face. Someone had to make it real for them” The Professor’s face lit up, and she grinned the strangest grin, one of sadness and pride in equal measure, holding back tears as the dam of emotions began to buckle.

“The theater department is proud of you, of all of you, Mira. We—me, and the entire department, really, we have a gift. For you.” She slid the drawer under the desktop open and pulled out a manilla envelope. “When we saw your mugshots, we all pitched in.” She slid the envelope across the desk. It was heavy and had a thick belly. I opened it. A crisp stack of bills banded together.

“H-how much is this?” I managed.
“It’s at least a thousand dollars. I imagine you’ve lost any employment you may have had, and you need money for rent and incidentals. This should be your life raft, at least for a little while.” I sat there, in complete stunned silence.
“Have you spoken to your parents about it yet?”
“N-no, I haven’t.”
“Call them today. Let me know how it goes. Either way, I’ll be here for you.”

It was like I was floating. I floated down the hallway, then the stairs and right out the door. The heavy envelope in my coat was the only thing that kept me anchored to the earth. Between Emily and Professor Morrison, I had three months’ rent covered. As I sat there in the snow, waiting for Anna, a dread rose in my chest again.

I rode shotgun in Anna’s Sentra, and we watched the snow fall through the windshield. It wasn’t sticking to the roads yet, thankfully. The defroster blasted; “Ghost” played faintly through the stereo. I’d always counted on Anna to chauffeur me between school and home, and she tolerated my amaxophobia. She and Rafi were saints for that.

We’d shared no more than ten words since we left campus. Every so often, she snuck glances at the envelope sticking out of my coat pocket. I hadn’t told her—hadn’t told anyone yet. Hiding it was easier than explaining.

We turned onto Coalfield, and the dread in my stomach came back as we made the final turn to home.
“Your parents will understand. Keep your head up.”

I said nothing and quickly hugged her before I stepped into the cold night air. I made it maybe five steps before Dad was standing in the doorway. Head down (I couldn’t look at him), I walked up the porch steps.
“Ready to talk?” he asked.

I stood in the frozen snow, and not for a short while, before I looked at him.
“Mira, it’s ok.” He hugged me tight. “Come in, talk with me and your mom.”

I’d already told the story more often than I thought I’d need to. Though I’d gotten better at it each time, it was still exhausting. My parents sat stunned around the coffee table in the living room, processing everything I had just told them.
“We don’t have to pay for your lawyer?” Dad asked. Mom shot daggers at him with her eyes.
I shook my head. “We don’t.”
He grinned. “Everything seems to have worked out. Better than expected.” He chuckled softly.
“Sweetie, this is still serious. Thank God you’re ok, but you’d be better off if you’d never gone there.” Mom said sternly.
“She had every right to be there.”
“I’m not saying she didn’t, Marco, I’m saying what difference did she make by being there? Hillary lost. If we can’t accept that, what good is voting?”
My dad had the same reaction I did. His whole demeanor deflated. I think he got the message.
“Give us some time to talk, Honey,” Dad said.

Only the tones of their voices reached me where I waited upstairs. I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

My room hadn’t changed since I had left high school. My bed still sat in the same corner, and my senior year yearbook was exactly where I left it. I lay there in bed, staring at a different ceiling. The discussion downstairs was getting heated. Boomers struggled to grasp the depth of our collective political situation. Being from Mexico originally, my dad had a better grasp of the stakes. I tried to remember the words to the song I heard on the bus. The melody came to me first, and I couldn’t help but hum it as the fight downstairs escalated. A single line from the chorus was all I remembered.

“Come out ye black and tans, come out and fight me like a man.”

Khaki uniform. Black armor. Rattling, slamming, creaking. The diesel fumes. Bleach.

One line of a song I had never heard before brought it all back to me.

Sometime after midnight, my phone buzzed. It had been buzzing nonstop since I installed Signal.
I have venue for tomorrow. We’re going. You in or out?
I didn’t even think about it.
I’m in.

We’d seen what happened at Berkley. It gave me and Kai and Rafi hope the fascist takeover could be stopped. Kai had shared the footage with us. He plugged us into the signal chats, somehow. Now the three of us stood outside the community center downtown where the fundraiser was being held. I ended the talk with my parents in love. They’d still take care of tuition and books, so long as I avoided protests. Technically, this wasn’t a protest. And it wasn’t in DC. I had every right to support all those unfairly arrested and charged that day.

Snow clung to the mulch and sidewalk in patches, and slush covered the asphalt. The sign outside the center read: Richmond Community Solidarity Night. All are welcome! The parking lot was packed. A cluster of around twelve people in black hoodies, their faces covered, were talking to a WAVY 10 news crew. Uncertain, I stepped forward, nervous, but ready to contribute anyway I could.

A man in a neon green hat held the door for us and we entered the center. Inside the vestibule sat a table, and on that table was a small flag—half black, half red, separated diagonally—set in a mug.

“Who invited you?” A wiry man with tattoos all along his arm, up to his neck, stood to the right of the table behind which sat a woman with a clipboard.
“We were in the signal group.” Kai said.
“Yeah. Who invited you?” the man pressed.
“The guy with the phone number on his arm in DC. Never caught his name. Would have been stupid to tell me, right, considering we got arrested?”
Both did double takes.
The woman smiled and nodded. “You’re good. There’s food across the hall. Debrief starts in an hour.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, herding Kai and Rafi away, but not before I caught the woman flashing the neck-tat guy a nasty look.

We wandered through the center. Bright hair and piercings and tattoos were common. In a way, I was envious. I couldn’t get away with that, not in theater. Who on Broadway would cast half these people?

After a long search, we found the crockpot in one of the backrooms, but vegan chili was the only option. Reluctantly, I took a bowl. Kai took one a little less reluctantly, and we began our wander again.

The center had a strange vibe. We caught the eyes of the more flamboyant people, those who stared at us in silent distrust. Maybe we were the new faces; the more normal folks fell under the same scrutiny. There was very little chatter, but the faraway sounds of folk music came in over portable speakers. Weed was the dominant odor of the center. Not in the way you’d hotbox a room, but in the way everyone there had at least an ounce on them. Noticeable enough the smell would linger for at least a day or two.
“Chili’s watery, nah?” Rafi asked.
“It’s vegan and I can eat it.”
I hadn’t touched it yet, too busy navigating the strange vibe of this place.

We stepped through a set of double doors that led to a basketball court. Inside hung a black flag with a white circle, and inside that circle were two flags, red and black. It hung over the top of the bleachers. A woman dressed in a black tank top was speaking to another person in a black hoodie, his mask pulled beneath his face. She glanced at the three of us. We tried not to make eye contact as we found seats on the bleachers at the other end of the court. Others in the same kind of dress came in and out through the exit doors to the building while we ate our chili with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Over time, the room cleared, and it was just us and the woman.
“Where you all from?” She asked, approaching the bleachers.
“VCU.” Kai said. “Got linked up with your guy with the phone number.”
“You were at J20?” Her expression softened.
Rafi nodded. “How’d you get those law firms onboard?” “They’re doing it for publicity, but we have connections.” The woman visibly tensed and her eyes widened slightly. “Wait, was that your first direct action?”
“First what?” I asked.
“So it was. Welcome to the fight.”
Kai shot me a look that gave me goosebumps. Before anyone could say anything more, six figures in hoodies burst in from the exit door.
“Problems handled, we bounced ‘em.” The lead figure said.
“Any footage?”
“We have their camera.” The man pointed to the rear of the group where one of them held a large camera, the kind of thing you’d expect a news crew to carry.
“Who are they?” Some other masked figure pointed at us.
“They’re cool. They were with us at J20.”

At that, all six of them removed their masks and walked to the foot of the bleachers.
“Oh shit—welcome in, homies. Y’all in the Signal? What are y’all’s name.”
“Mira.”
“Rafi.”
“Bayonet.”
“I don’t think I seen you guys in there. You’re doing the right thing, lurking first.” The man’s face was animated. “You ever see Hammertime on Signal, that’s me.” The rest hung back, less hostile than before.
“We’ll say something about you at the debrief. You’re the heroes here today.” The woman said.
“We didn’t really get, uh, your name.” I said.
“Chelsea.”
“Glad to be here.”

“Welcome all to the debrief of our J20 action. Got a few new faces here, but before we get into it, I wanna go around the circle and have you introduce yourselves.”

We finished our chili and the bodies filed in. We sat under the basketball hoop in a circle two or three bodies deep, giving introductions.

“Mira”
“Rafi.”
“Kai, uh, he/they.”

Chelsea stood “I just wanna interrupt and say those three were with us at the inauguration. Big claps. Or snaps, whichever.”

It sounded like the whole room supported us. I’m sure Kai and Rafi were as confused as I was.

“We have much to discuss. To be equitable, I’d like to invite our women to speak first. To start, Mikayla from DC will tell us about our action up there.” Chelsea took a seat on the floor

“Thank you Chelsea.” A woman, likely Mikayla from DC, sauntered to the center of the circle. “Before I begin, I’d like to ground us with a land acknowledgement. We’re gathered here today on stolen land, and even if your ancestors and my ancestors are the ones who stole it, I don’t think we should forget that.”

Snapping filled the room once again. My palms hurt from it, and I stopped, partly because they hurt, but also because I was the most indigenous one in the room.

Mikayla continued once the snapping died out.

“Most of you know this, but it was an undercover narc from Veritas, someone we let in who we shouldn’t have, who fucked up our disruption of the Deplora-Ball. Someone at the edge of the circle winced, and Mikayla acknowledged it. “It’s okay, shit happens, but this is why you must vet everyone you meet, and vet them hard. One breach of OPSEC is why the heat’s on us now. Shout out to anyone who’s new. If it feels a bit hostile here tonight, that’s why. We have media—not just right wingers, but mainstream too—poking around our activities. Do not trust anyone from mainstream media.” She spoke the next part loudly and slowly. ”Vetted partners only.” She cleared her throat. A few people turned their heads to examine the crowd around them, as though anyone nearby might be an informant.

“As for the inauguration action, I’m happy to report the last of us are out of jail. I want to thank everyone who contributed toward bail. The reactionaries are going to have to try harder than that if they think they’re going to take over our country.” The snapping once again filled the room. She exited the circle and retook her seat in the circle.

“Thank you,” Chelsea said. “Now I’d like to turn it over to James McMillan and our allies at the National Lawyer’s Guild.

The man who held the door for us rose from the floor and took his place at the center of the circle. “Thank you Chelsea. We’ve secured two big law firms from DC with a combined total of over thirty lawyers working pro bono for any of you who got swept up. The size and scale of this arrest is so big we’re working on bringing onboard at least five more law firms. Every lawyer in DC is sympathetic to your plight. We know this administration will flout the law every chance it gets. Good news is for most of you who were there, the serious charges are going to get dropped most likely.” More snaps and claps.

“Thank you, James,” Chelsea said. “Finally, let’s hear from our west coast liaison about our Berkeley action.” She had an air of annoyance this time. The man from the door stood and took his place in the circle.

“What we did in Berkeley can be replicated throughout the rest of the country. This is what effective community defense looks like, and it’s the only viable response to the rise of fascists and racists in our communities. Through overwhelming numbers and decisive action, we shut down Milo the pedo and the Berkeley College Republicans. This is the standard to which we must rise to protect our homes.”

The room erupted in finger snapping. My stomach turned, maybe from what I’d just heard, or maybe from the vegan chili. Talk of action after watching those videos was horrifying, but for the first time, I was surrounded by people like me, people who couldn’t accept the course this country had taken. These people were doing something. They were the resistance. I looked to Kai, who was wearing a look I’d never seen on him before. He was into it. Maybe too into it. Rafi looked on, likely as horrified as me.

“Berkely was the spark. Now it’s Richmond’s turn to burn brighter! Don’t give them an inch! Don’t let off the gas pedal!”

Chelsea frowned, and creases formed around her eyes as James raised his voice.
“That was great, Blake!” She scanned the crowd. “Some of you look worried. Don’t be. We need this kind of fire.”

I shared a tense look with my friends. Blake smiled and bowed before he sat back down.

Asphalt Warlords is a work of fiction. If it feels real…well that’s the point.

Captured Artifact: Signal Group Chat Transcript (Screenshot Compilation)

Chat Name: ASH Solidarity Ops – J20 Debrief Date/Time: February 10, 2017, 19:45–20:30 EST Participants: ~35 (Admin: ash_mod; Includes known J20 affiliates like “Necktat” [Suspected: Blake Withers, previous charges of Domestic abuse and possession of paraphernalia.]) Note: Screenshots compiled from public Signal export shared on ASH-affiliated Tumblr (antifa7hills.tumblr.com). Metadata indicates iOS captures; timestamps verified. Redacted usernames for LES distribution.

[19:45] ash_mod: yo rva fam – the pigs thought they could kettle us into silence on J20 but we came out swinging. six of our own from the seven hills got dragged in chains, peppered, and grenaded by dc’s stormtroopers. but the state’s cracking down only means we’re gearing up harder. fascist cheeto’s first week and already the streets are ours to reclaim.

[19:46] ash_mod: this sunday 2/12, 7pm sharp: ASH workshop at the spot (you know the one – fan basement, bring your own zine fuel). debrief on disruptj20: what went down in the black bloc, how we dodged the feds’ cameras, and why burning limos is just the appetizer. skill-share on mutual aid – legal know-how from the pro-bono wolves, shield-building basics, and signal opsec to keep the pigs guessing.

[19:47] ash_mod: our beloveds are still fighting felony bullshit in court, but we got ‘em covered: $ for commissary, burner phones, and court dates. venmo @antifasevenhills (label it “hill defense” – no traces). last drop raised 500+; let’s smash 1k this time. every dollar hits back at the white supremacist machine that’s been choking richmond since the plantations.

[19:48] vanta🖤: got hit w felony riot too – kettle got me but i held the line. need the legal drop fr.

[19:49] ash_mod: solid vanta – j20 vets like you are the fire. workshop’s no protest, it’s the war room. learn how to dox the trumper scum in your backyard, map the fash meetups (word is alt-right stirring in glen allen), and plan the next wave. fascism doesn’t die in debates; it dies in the streets when we show up masked and unbreakable.

[19:50] necktat🔥: berkeley was the spark – they torched the univ for milo the nazi pedo. richmond’s turn to burn brighter. who’s driving from alex? need rides for out-of-towners.

[19:51] ash_mod: all y’all: this ain’t some lib tea party. it’s antifascists of the seven hills calling the roll – communists, anars, and anyone ready to smash patriarchy, capitalism, and the border pigs. bring food not bombs (vegan only, keep it sharp). no snitches, no cops, no fascists. if you’re new, lurk then link up – we vet our own.

[19:52] ash_mod: the hills rise. see you sunday. in search of new forms of life – or death to the old world. 🖤💀

Mira

The car was dead silent since we got on 95. No one said a word to me since Emily asked me if I wanted anything from the McDonalds in Lorton. I didn’t eat much during my stay at the jail. I could only stomach half a medium fry. Radio stayed off since I got picked up. The smell of old fries was quickly overshadowed by the scent of bleach, and the sweat-soaked mattress pad they gave me in the block.

Jaime and Christian are both asleep in their car seats behind me, Chicken nugget crumbs strewn all about as their little mouths hung open. If only I could do the same.

I kept my forehead pressed against the cold glass, as I watched the urban sprawl pass by my eyes. Every mile marker peeled something away from me. I know what comes when we get home.

Sunlight. Actual sunlight though. I hadn’t seen it since Penn Ave. I could cry if I had anything left.

Trees and forest gave way to concrete walls and overpasses, then buildings. It didn’t feel like a two-hour car ride. We passed over the James River not soon after. Almost home. Almost judgement time. And Mickey couldn’t help me here.

Spring Hill Ave.

The SUV rolls into the driveway. Engine off. Doors unlock with that polite double-chirp I used to think sounded cheerful. Emily turns around in the passenger seat, smile thin as printer paper.

“Mira, let’s talk inside. David will get the boys.”

Here we go.

The lilac and pumpkin spice washed the lingering scent of the jailhouse from my nose. I sat on the corner of the dining room table waiting to learn my fate from Emily. The kids were crying from upstairs as David tried to put them to bed. For the first time since booking six days ago, I felt at peace, despite what I knew was coming.

Emily entered the room holding an envelope and took a seat at the head of the table. I tensed up, my brief peace evaporating into the air.

“You know what I’m going to say right?” Emily said. Matter of factly.

“That I’m leftist scum and you want nothing to do with me?”

She paused for a moment and changed her tone. “You’re not scum Mira.” I looked her in the face. There wasn’t the hate I expected in her eyes. “You’ve been good to us for the past year. I know it’s not easy balancing a course load with our schedule. But you’ve shown up for us so many times and we’re so grateful to you for that. But you know our politics. I just want to know what you were doing there Friday?”

I didn’t have an answer for her. At least not one I could articulate. I sat there in silence, staring right through her.

“Do you think we’re horrible people Mira?” There was venom in her voice now.

“No,” I said. “But all the other ones who were there are.”

“I could say the same thing about the people lighting fires and smashing windows Mira.” I couldn’t look at her anymore. “If those are your friends or the people you throw in with you need to look in the mirror.”

“They’re not my friends.” I wanted to scream. But the words choked in my throat. “I held a sign and ran with the crowd to not get trampled. I haven’t heard anything from my actual friends who came down with me. I don’t know where they are, or if they’re ok. They could be bleeding on a jailhouse floor for all I know right now.”

Her face recoiled, as I watched the gears turn as she tried to figure out her next words.

“For what it’s worth, I believe you Mira. But I can’t have you around Jaime and Christian with an open Felony case.”

There was no hate behind her words, which made it hurt worse. I did my best to hold back tears. She slid the envelope to me as she laid her hand on my arm.

“Here’s last weeks pay, plus an extra three hundred. You’ve been good to us Mira. It’s our turn to be good back.” My eye’s began to mist up and the lump in my throat came back.

“Th-thank you.” I managed. She put her hands on the back of my neck.

“We’ll be praying for you for the charges to go away. Good luck, we’ll call a cab to get you back where ever you’re going to. Have you talked to your parents about this yet?”

“No, they get back tomorrow.”

“You should go home and wait for them darling.

The uber slowed at the corner of Cary and Plum. I was halfway out the car before we had even stopped. Didn’t even say thank you. Rafi’s civic was parked crooked outside the row home, it had a new dent in the rear bumper. It was a relief to see that he made it out of that hellhole.

The house was quiet. The TV was off, and I couldn’t hear any signs of life from the two bedrooms downstairs. The silence was deafening. My ears were still ringing from the noise from the holding block.

The smell of the incense clung to the air and once again brought back the memory of the scent of bleach. There were two dead blunts in the ashtray that weren’t there when we left Friday.

I made my way upstairs, where I saw Rafi passed out on his bed, one arm dangling from the mattress and his shoes still on. I didn’t wake him. A good nap after six days of hell felt like the only human right we had left.

I went straight for the shower and threw the clothes in a pile by the sink and let the showerhead run. I stepped in and felt the water wash the filth away from my skin. The exfoliating soap did the rest, but even that didn’t feel like it was enough.

All I could think of were those nights in the cell. Where the others were screaming at each other through all hours of the night. The fights. The constant cattiness. The fights I saw from a distance. I turned the heat up on the water, trying to forget.

The water on my neck reminded me of Emily’s “We’ll pray for you.” Yes Emily, pray I find rent money next month. The air left my lungs as an Ice-cold chill went down my body. I had to hold in a scream as I braced against the shower wall. The hot water heater gave up. It’s ok, I don’t think I was going to feel clean anyway.

I threw on a towel and made for my room at the end of the hall, frantically trying to find clothes that would hide what happened.

I settled on my ratty VCU sweater and gray sweats and collapsed onto my own bed. This is it. I’m finally home.

What do I tell my professors though? Do I have to report this still? None of that mattered yet. Not until my phone was charged at least. And I was content to just stare at the ceiling until it happened. Picking out little patterns in the texture of the mottled ceiling was the only entertainment I could handle right now. I saw a panda, then a dragon, and told myself little stories about them for what felt like hours until I heard the door open from downstairs.

I broke my trance and ran downstairs and saw Anna coming in with groceries. She saw me in the middle of the stairwell and I saw her face light up, as she dropped the bag, spilling fruit and pasta, and ran to me.

“You’re alive and okay!” She said wrapping me in a tight hug. I gave her a death grip hug back. The first meaningful human contact I had in five days. I would cry but I was tapped dry.

“Anna it was horrible. I’m so glad you chose not to come with us.” I said, releasing my grip. “When did Rafi get back?” The upstairs floor began creaking and heavy footsteps rumbled down the stairs.

“Speak of the devil.” Anna said, as Rafi came into view on the stairwell landing. “When did you get back Rafi?” she asked.

“Got bonded out this morning. I took the Metro back to Alexandria and got my car, been home since around eight this morning.” The cable box on the tv read 4:27 and the sun was already going down through the window.

“When did you get home Mira?” Rafi asked.
“I walked in not too long ago, you were asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I would’ve woken up had I known you were home. Have you heard from Kai yet?”

“I haven’t, you guys haven’t either I’m guessing?” They shook their heads. I remembered my phone was still on the charger.
“Did you call the number that was going around the holding cell?”
“I did, give me a second Rafi.” I said darting for the stairs. My phone was almost fully charged. No texts from Kai, but my school email was blowing up. My heart sank when I saw it. “Notice of Required Conduct Meeting – Arrest Reporting Violation” From SCAI. The school had already found out. It was followed by a flood of emails from blackboard about assignment due dates. Then one from Professor Morrison. “I’m so proud of you”. Even the faculty had heard about us getting swept up. I heard the phone ring from downstairs and sprinted back down the stairs. “Kai are you okay?” Rafi said over the phone. “Put him on speaker Raf.” I said as we all gathered around his phone.
“Yeah I’m okay guys, I just got bonded out. Don’t worry about me I’m getting an uber back.”
“Did you call the number on that guys arm?” Rafi asked.
“Yeah I did, except the guy I got it from is actually from Richmond too. We got to talking and his group does a bunch of workshops on how to protest effectively.”
“Kai do you really want to go through this again?” I asked. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“Is that Mira?” his voice crackled over the speaker.
“Yeah it is.” I said.
“No Mira, you don’t understand. These guys hooked us up with lawyers and money for bail. They hit like Seven G’s for the bail fund in less than a week and they’re having a fundraiser slash workshop for people like us down our way. I think it could be important we go.”

Everyone’s eyes lit up, while there was a cold pit that grew in my stomach.
“Where’s it being held at Kai?” Rafi said.
“Location to be determined, but it’s going to be next month in Richmond for sure. Hey, look my Uber’s here, I’ll see you guys in two hours.”
“Get home safe Kai!” The line fell silent and we were left in silence.

Hours passed. Anna had ordered pizza, one vegetarian and one pepperoni. The simpler the better in times like these. Piccola always was the choice when you didn’t know what you wanted to eat. We all gathered in the kitchen where Rafi and I began devouring the pepperoni pie. Anna hung back and let us enjoy the closest thing to real food we had eaten in six days.

The door opened not long after, and Kai got swarmed by all of us before he even crossed the threshold.

“He’s alive!” Anna cried, as we surrounded him in hugs. We let off when we smelled him.

“Y’all didn’t run out of weed while I was gone right?”
“We’ll run out of lighters before we run out of weed Kai, you know this.” Rafi said as Anna slipped out of the kitchen.

“Did you guys get an email from SCAI?”

“I did, I haven’t read it yet.” I said as my heart sank a little. Kai grabbed a slice of veggie pizza from the box and propped himself on the half wall leading to the dining room.
“I did,” he said. “I think we’ll get out of this ok guys. They’re not expecting sanctions, they’re just mad that we didn’t report we got arrested.” Everyone in the kitchen took a big sigh of relief.

“We did nothing wrong and they know it.” Kai said. “Just tell them we went and held signs, what actually happened.”

Anna returned, bong in hand. And all our stress disappeared in white haze. Finally over. Finally, home.