Henry had his suspicions about Gabby, a quiet undercurrent of curiosity that had been growing since she joined their group. She was an odd one out, even in their motley crew. While everyone else tried to catch a few hours of uneasy sleep during the perilous nights, Gabby was always volenteer to stay awake, a silent sentinel perched somewhere, seemingly keeping guard. Then, she would sleep through the day removing any chances for any conversation, Henry had talked and gathered a basic understanding of everyone in their group except Gabby. She had a schedule that was utterly reversed from the usual survives, even he most proactive scout from the Vipers took break after every three hour shift, Henry didn't understood why would someone willingly volenteer for the Guard duty for extra time when you don't even get paid for your work.
And then there was the gun. The Desert Eagle. It was a rare weapon in itself, especially in Canada where handgun ownership was heavily restricted even before the apocalypse. But by the looks of it, and from what Henry had gleaned from Maarg's offhand comments, it wasn't just rare, it was customized, clearly well-maintained, almost a part of her. If she carried such a weapon, and carried it with the casual familiarity he'd Imagined, that also meant she knew how to use the gun, and use it well.
These observations led Henry to two primary theories. Either she had a legitimate, albeit unusual, military or law enforcement background that accounted for her skills and weapon. Or, she had simply taken it from someone or somewhere, an act that could imply a morally ambiguous past, perhaps even that she was a thief. His question about the Desert Eagle wasn't just curiosity; it was a calculated probe, an attempt to understand if the quiet, deadly and calm person beside them was someone to be truly trusted, or someone whose past actions might put them all at risk in the future. The answer would speak volumes about her character.
Gabby's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk at Henry's direct question. "That came out of nowhere," she said, her voice laced with a hint of humor, a surprisingly hilarious tone that lightened the tension momentarily.
Henry, however, wasn't letting up. His smile was forced, his eyes unwavering. "No, it didn't actually came out of nowhere," he replied, maintaining his serious demeanor.
"Hey, Henry, what's the meaning of this?" Jack interjected, his face showing slight irritation. "We're playing a game man, not interrogating criminals, dial it down a bit, will ya?"
Before Henry could reply, Gabby spoke again, a genuine, soft smile now on her face. "It's alright, Jack," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "I don't mind sharing." Her gaze returned to Henry, a silent challenge in her eyes, inviting him to listen closely.
"If it means making less confusion between us all, I can share the story of how I came in possession of this Beauty," Gabby said, a hint of steel entering her soft voice. She patted her thigh, directly over where the Desert Eagle was concealed, drawing everyone's attention to the powerful weapon. The air in the truck was thick with anticipation. Everyone, even Johan and Carla in the front, leaned in slightly, waiting for Gabby to begin her story.
"It's actually a gift," Gabby began, her voice taking on a different timbre, one of quiet fondness with a hint of melancholy. "A gift from my father. He gave it to me for my 18th birthday." "Much before this happened"She
quickly added, then She paused, looking around at their captivated faces, seeing that everyone was still listening intently. A small, almost imperceptible shrug followed. "He was a retired military officer, so he had some connections to get me a gun and the license for it. He taught me how to shoot, said "it's for self defence" She left the full implication of his foresight hanging in the air, a chilling premonition of the world they now inhabited.
Everyone was surprised by this revelation. The quiet, mysterious Gabby, a former soldier's child, gifted a Desert Eagle for her eighteenth birthday? It painted a whole new picture of her past. Questions swirled in their minds, especially in Henry's and Maarg's. Henry, the former law enforcement officer, no doubt had a hundred inquiries about the legality and logistics, while Maarg, ever the curious one, was surely wondering about how old Gabby really was? Both looked around the same age how much was their actual age gap?.
But the game was still going on, and they didn't want to break the rules. The unspoken agreement of "Truth, Paper, Scissors" was paramount to the trust they were building.
"So..." Henry started, his brow furrowed, about to voice one of the many questions bubbling up.
Before he could finish, Gabby cut him off, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "You'll have to defeat me again to hear the next part of the story," she challenged, her eyes twinkling with a rare spark of mischief. Her story was far from over, and she held the keys to its continuation.
Now that her story had already started, Gabby wasn't about to let Henry win. Not only did she enjoy the slight control the game gave her, but more importantly, she wanted to resolve the confusion surrounding her. Everyone still thought she was an arsonist man with psychopathic tendencies and overwhelming firepower for one man. This false identity, while offering a layer of protection, had become a heavy burden. In reality, she had been hiding two critical facts: she was a girl, and she only had two bullets remaining in her Desert Eagle. Revealing her true self, and her precarious situation, would be a massive risk, but it felt necessary for the group's trust.
Henry knew Gabby was holding back more than just a story. He eyed her carefully, a mixture of determination and intrigue on his face. He had to win this round.
"Alright, Gabby," Henry said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes fixed on her. "Truth, paper, scissors!"
He threw paper. Gabby, with a swift, almost imperceptible movement, threw scissors.
Henry's jaw tightened. "Dammit!" he muttered under his breath. Gabby had won again. His attempt to gain more insight into her past had failed.
Gabby's smirk returned, a little wider this time. Her eyes held a flicker of amusement, acknowledging Henry's frustration.
"My turn," Gabby announced, her voice soft but firm. She looked directly at Henry, then glanced briefly at Maarg and Jack, who were watching with keen interest. The tension in the truck mounted. The game was no longer just about lighthearted revelations; it was about exposing the deepest darkest truths.