Tck, Tck, Tck, Tck.



Tck, Tck, Tck, Tck.











As Eli saddled up and started heading back towards Refuge, two men walked stopped across the street from him. "Holy shit Gram, Look!." The younger of the two exclaimed, pointing at Eli as he rose from his chosen spot next to the shady tree, hidden behind some ferns.

"Hey stranger, anything good uh-that-ah-way?" The older man asked, pointing in the direction Eli has just come from.

"Nope," Eli said, shifting the weight of his pack and heading down the grassy roadway.



"Home sweet home," Eli sighed, leaning back in his favorite creaky chair, at his favorite bar in the village; Husky's.

"I heard you had returned!" An eager man exclaimed, causing Eli to look up from the rim of his drink. The man's eyes fell on his pack, "Did you get it?!" He asked excitedly.

"Nope," Eli said. Letting the silence drag on.

"...Well why not?" The man asked, fidgeting in his white coat, "It's quite important to our research!."

"Listen here White-coat," The nickname people gave the scientists when they felt like being rude, "Tell your informant there is a fucking, Trant, Hive, there."

The scientists eyes widened, "I'm s-sorry I h-h-had no i-idea!" He stammered. Eli waved him off and the thin man scurried out of the bar. No doubt to return to his precious farm, or plants, or whatever he did. Eli really couldn't bring himself to care about anything than a soft bed waiting for him down below on level 5.

A woman in a white lab coat leaned over a microscope in a large, brightly-lit lab. It was almost painfully quiet compared to the rest of the bustling village, but she liked it this way, it helped her focus. It was one of the rare occasions when no one was around to ask her this or that, peek over her shoulder, or voice their doubts and concerns with whatever she was doing. Not that she could blame them; the work they do could potentially bring Refuge to its knees if even so much as a vial was tipped over by accident.

"Damn it..." Wen groaned, jerking her head back. In her frustration, she slapped at the table with one thin, gloved hand. The sample she was monitoring was from a plant germinated from Purge-treated seeds, but due to one or more variables, it was still showing signs of viral activity, and lots of it. The experiments were still in their relative infancy, but it was always discouraging to see that some plant species were not taking as well to the treatment as others. For example, many herb varieties were doing quite well, but vegetables were definitely a work in progress. Refuge can't subsist on scallions, for God's sake.

Wen took the plate and practically shoved it into the steel "pass-thru" box for disposal. Good riddance, she thought.

The lock on the metal door made an echoing snap! and in mere seconds, Troy was in her face, staring at her with an apologetic expression. "Miss, uh, Doctor...?"

"Wen. It hasn't been retrieved?" Wen asked, visibly sagging in disappointment. "What's the hold up?"

"Trant hive, the guy said. I don't blame him, those things are nasty, or so I've heard..." Troy said, scratching the side of his prickly, unshaven jaw. "Have you ever seen one of those things, I don't like bugs, I can't imagine--"

"Look Troy, I have a lot of work to do," Wen cut him off. Growing up, she once had a slight Chinese accent, but over time it had combined with a New York accent, giving her voice a blunt edge. "I'm pretty sure you do too. I'm going to finish up here, you go get something to eat. Or some sleep. You look terrible."

Troy shut up immediately and nodded, practically jumping at the chance to have his meal for the day. He pawed around one of the desks for his security pass, and after exchanging wooden "Have a good evening"s, Wen was once again alone in the lab, left with half a dozen other samples that would undoubtedly show the same results as the others. And after that, probably a quick run over to the Slush plant, and then a trip to the seedling nurseries... At least her small tea leaf garden was productive.

On the fifth floor down from the surface in the mall, tucked away in a triangular shaped, corner store that was once an optometrists parlor, sat a crudely drawn sign reading 'Clinic.' The words, hastily painted black onto the back of a mardi gras banner so many years ago, barely hid the formation of the words 'Sunset Eyes' that were in three dimensional proposals on top of the age-old store. Just off to the left hand side of the maw that was the entrance was a chalkboard sign, sitting upright near the wall with its standalone triangular shape. The words in a flitted font, painted on and thus irremovable, said 'Harpers Cafe.' Though instead of lunch specials written in chalk on the board, it proclaimed in flamboyant colors; "and Scouts Inc. Walk-ins Welcome."

Years ago when the outbreak first started, Doctors flocked in and used this small station as their own. It took a long time until they were able to make their way down to the bottom floors where the majority of them reside today, as waiting on soldiers to make sure the bottom-most floors were safe were naturally a priority. Today it only housed one and her family. Yoko Faust, a Japanese-American doctor found her life on the bottom floors miserable, surrounded by coworkers she couldn't stand while her husband swung around like a damn primate, exploring the mall up in the eves. She found to enjoy her space now, and her location was more useful to those without dire injuries that simply needed checking up or stupid questions asked. It may seem harsh to state it as such, but Yoko has lost count of how many times she's been asked to check a rash that panicked the individual and left her shaking her head.

Not much has changed since her moving in with her husband. The soft, sunset hues of the walls of the interior of the clinic always seemed soothing, and with paint so expensive anyways there was never a reason to change it. The white desks that were once used for customers to look at their new glasses with have been moved to the front where a secretary took your name and had you sit on the mismatched chairs of varying color and comfort aligned around the room. Shelves that once only displayed glasses or held posters of too happy models putting contacts in have been replaced with cabinets of the less precious materials such as cotton swabs or medical equipment. To the back, there is a hall leading to stairs that are blocked off from the public, where three doors line the halls. The first door leads to a room where a chair with the typical optical gear lies, and the counter beside it holding a sink and various medical equipment that comes standard in a clinic. The other two rooms are merely a bathroom and a medicine closet, where the more precious medical liquids and pills are stored. This door is reinforced by several locks that not even Yoko's husband can get into.

The stairs in the back lead to a surprisingly spacious second floor. Originally, it did not exist. Nor did the stairs. Thanks to a family friend that was a carpenter back in the day, they managed to turn the attic of the optometrist shop into a living quarters after they found they were going to have a child. The attic has been secured with extra walls, fresh paint, floors trustworthy enough to walk barefoot on, and even a few windows facing out towards the open mall. It's not huge, but it's cozy, like a cottage in the woods. The layout supplied a half decent kitchen, complete with a trash chute, storage closet, and sink. Yoko often told her husband, Benjamin, of how she missed being able to actually cook, something she enjoyed when it was still an option. The second floor/Attic also supplied an office area from which Benjamin and his daughter often worked, and two bedrooms that lay next to each other at the end of the hall side by side.

Within one of these bedrooms, was the ever so charming Lauren, the daughter of Yoko and Benjamin Faust.

Lauren slept on her futon with her sheets tangled up around her body, twisted in such a manner that her hips lay flat but her shoulders were turned to the side. Her small mouth lay stretched open atop her arm, where a river of drool had begun forming new pathways down the length of her pale arm. Her snores were small, but were boyish none the less. A small stuffed owl plushie which looked irritated in ever sense of the word was tucked under the arm opposite the one which had a river of drool wide enough to let Lewis and Clark sail on. She slept soundly, but not beautifully, away. Dreaming of running through trees and falling from great heights not in fear, but in exhilaration.

A dark figure approached her in her sleep, threatening and ominous. Actually it was just her dad, grinning evilly as he raised his hands over her body the grip her tightly. He barely could stifle his giggles as he moved in for the 'kill.'

This really wasn't the first time rumors had almost gotten him killed, nor was it likely to be the last. He'd heard tell of a unit of Marines, still held together, nearby. It was a real long-shot, especially this late in the game, but he'd been willing to believe it. When he arrived, he found that a Marine unit had indeed held together, however that hadn't been as large a unit as he'd thought. He'd watched a squad of 5 Marines enter a building, just for the tell-tale screech of a Trant to follow, echoed by many more soon after. It seemed they'd been particularly unlucky, having stumbled into an awakened hive. Plenty of gunshots followed, but soon enough they began to change to screams, and then nothing. The Captain was all for Semper Fi, however following after them to try and help would've only gotten him killed. Making a note to tell the scouts to stay clear of the building, he began to crawl away, just for a moan to startle him into action.

It seems They were here, which was surprising in all honesty. Generally, They weren't in the same area as something so volatile as a Trant nest, but it seems that rule was being broken here, or perhaps it hadn't even been a rule to begin with. They were one of the infected, perhaps someone who drank the Blackwater before knowing its effects, perhaps infected by one of the many other things around, or perhaps some survivor thought dying to the virus was better than dying of thirst and so drank the Blackwater. However, none of that mattered now, regardless of their past life they were now a threat. Captain Jason Mcintyre, or "Chemo" as his code name had been in the Corps, leapt to his feet and immediately began to back away.

Firing his weapon this close to a Trant hive was a death sentence, and as he counted Them, he found 10 of them. Way too many to tackle in Melee combat, especially when a loud noise could summon more Trants than he could handle. So, he turned on his heels and took off at a light run. Refuge was a long while away, and he didn't want to stop for anything. Of course, that was only likely to happen in a perfect world, and this was anything but. That was symbolized when he heard another moan after about 30 minutes. Looking over, he found a larger pack of them, fifteen this time. Raising an eyebrow, he decided to invest the rounds. Raising the M4A9 Carbine, he carefully aimed down sight at his foes.

He took a breath and held it before lining his sights up on the head of the closest one. Chest shots were a waste of ammo, so he didn't even bother anymore. He fired off a quick grouping of shots, each round racing out to hit its target, until 10 of Them lay dead. They were the easiest threat to deal with anymore, slow and predictable, but given the fact that this used to be New York, they were everywhere. Deciding not to handle the other five, some other poor man could, Jason took off again. He didn't take the time to stop and loot, chances are the area was already picked over, no instead he just kept moving. As evening fell, he arrived at the gate and the guns trained on him. He gave a simple, two finger salute to the man up-top, who opened the gate. Walking through, he went to the checkpoint where he said "Jason Mcintyre."

With that done, he was free to do as he pleased for now. His guard shift wasn't until later, he'd volunteered for the night shift since he was used to night sentry duty even before the Incident, so he was free to goof off before then. He debated entering the bar, but with sentry duty yet to come the chance of getting drunk was too great. With that, he found himself wandering over to the machine shop to do some maintenance. He set the carbine on a table and took it apart, then set to thoroughly cleaning it. This was an important part of being a field soldier, keeping ones gear prepared.

“My feet are so swollen. I have cankles for Christ’s sake. When is this child of yours arriving?” Whining could be heard from a fair skinned Vera for the hundredth time while wiping beads of sweat from along a blond hairline.

Another sweltering day venturing forward to where this supposed Refuge was allegedly constructed. Years had passed since staying behind those semi-constructed walls. It would be an adjustment living under a roof once again instead of underneath lush canopies of overgrown vines. This change, though undesired, was more than necessary in order to safely raise a bundle of joy; and not too soon as only one month lay ahead before the birth. Motherhood. What did the violence drenched young girl know about motherhood? On the job training would have to do since no manual on the subject existed.

“When the baby feels like it. All this walking isn't helping either love? ” A light chuckle could be heard even though the S’torei tried desperately to muffle it before bursting out in full-fledged laugther at his dirt covered girlfriend hobbling through the dense brush. Many would consider this extremely rude but with humor lacking in this foreboding era comedy was raw and immediately taken when it did make itself known.

“Yuk it up while you can, bastard.” Vera tried retaining an angry sneer but ended up grinning and rolling her vibrant eyes at his deep contagious howl.

All too soon chortles curbed as a massive mutated slim spider like mantis scurried toward them in near silence until its ear shattering screeches gave the beast away. Startled yet composed both readied their weapons and fired after taking aim. This—thing had not been seen by either of the travelers before and Vera nearly had trouble containing self-control in order not to scream as the lime and jet colored pest’s expanded limbs kept increasing speed with ease. Sprinting was practically impossible let alone dodging with such a pregnant belly. Mti tried relentlessly to attract pitch beady eyes his way but it almost seemed as if the varmint sensed the unborn child…and craved it.

Both ill-fated lovers knew they could not outrun this monstrosity. Bullets hardly dented its impenetrable exterior and if mandibles could chuckle in amusement they would be doing just that. Swiftly and effortlessly one raptorial spiked leg impaled Mti’s chest cavity protruding through the other side releasing a red splatter. This event happened so fast there was simply no way to act or kill this giant before it inevitably did draw first blood. Words were spoken by the dying man but were silent as the whole world at that very last moment. Paralyzed, Vera looked on in sheer horror. A calming warm smile spread on her other half’s face as did a single tear, which trailed down his tanned cheek. A guardian angel to return home; if only she believed in heaven. Faith never played a big part in her life and with this incident religion could not be further on her mind.

Then blackness.

Gasping, waking in a cold sweat as both hands clenched into tight fists drawing ruby essence from her palms in regards to an all too real nightmare. Ever since that day she failed to sleep routinely. Sometimes only catching two little hours of sleep and remaining exhausted all the while no less. That’s where that precious caffeine powder came in handy. Much needed alabaster dust resembling cocaine frequently sprinkled onto anything and everything. A few people have grimaced watching the pierced woman add it upon flavored slush and meat but in order to stay alert during her hunting skirmishes...no choice but to give in.

Arms outstretched toward the ceiling of a drab living space feeling a tinge of discomfort underneath scarred skin located around her back. Fingers ran over permanent black ink on her neck ignoring ever present back pain as it reminded her of a happier time. Legs kicked off the single sheet over her body, which already began feeling the warmth of the evening. It coated her bare flesh feeling sticky like honey but a few splashes from a sponge soaked in purged water would cool this heat. After gathering simple attire and her necessary supplies from a man-made wooden chest her trader stall would be the next stop.

---

“G’day Vera.” Stated one of her regulars matter-of-factly as he witnessed the brooding girl appear around a corner.

Bi weekly this eager man would appear to trade odds and ends in exchange for unique animal hide and the like from the Russian. He was quite the burly lad with a combed short boxed beard and difficult to miss in a crowd but a loyal customer no less. Tinkering, a habit of his though sometimes his creations ended up being useless and from then on remained heavy eye sores. Much to her surprise the rugged gentleman had shown up a week early requesting a present for his wife of twenty five years. Instead of vocally greeting him Vera simply nodded without glancing upward and continued checking the supplies in her military backpack.

“Come to trade, per usual. Anniversary is comin’ up. Wantin’ to make a stew for the old lady and perhaps a purse out of one of those unique critters you sometimes have in stock.” Thick eyebrows squinted in heavy thought before he chimed up and tapped his noggin’ after remembering with a broad finger. “The red and black one. That uh, dog rabbit thing. A Dobbit?”

Unenthused eyes managed to peel themselves away for a second though her hands had moved on to inserting bullets into the charcoal colored gun blade chamber. Silver and gold engraving glinted throughout the flat of the razor sharp masterpiece. This was not her main weapon but my, was it fun to wield in close combat.

“..So I see.” Each word was prolonged and spoken in an all knowing manner but her tone soon changed to a light hearted oh well afterward. “For shame, come back later. I am going hunting now.”

“C’mon Vera. I don’t go to no other vender for my meat and pelts.” Surely trying to sweet talk the frigid woman seemed like a good idea at the time. When that unquestionably failed, however, the guilt was then spread heavily followed by a subtle taunt.

“You know my free time is limited. Who knows when I’ll be back again seeing as your hours are so unpredictable; one would almost suspect that this business isn't very important to ya.” Woolly arms crossed as he shot her a disappointed gaze in hopes of persuading a different answer out of the platinum blond.

“Yes, yes.” She grumbled in agitation not caring in the least of his futile badgering while making a shooing motion with her hand. “Later…you inpatient man.” After putting a few feet between them she added the last disrespectful bit.

Weathered combat boots crunched the soulless earth below with each progressive step toward the wall. Who knew what kinds of things she would run into out there this time? Always hoping for something larger and much rarer then what her fellow competitors killed. This treacherous burden just so happened to be a “regular” type of job in this day and age but something pressed the bluish grey hued female to risk life and limb. Perpetual revenge…something much deeper than what she led on. It consumed the broken spirited single mother but she did not much feel like a mother since her child ceased to be by her side.

Plain clad Vera passed by an obvious Solider saluting a watch guard on her way out through the heavy duty protective barricade. Never stopping or removing a fixed gaze toward the horizon in order to acknowledge each Saviors presence guarding the massive gate. Probably a decent few had already tried their luck out there today and were turning up short. In spite of their failed but diligent efforts, this stubborn individual would not come back empty handed. Her occupation demanded it since edibles and animal parts were in such high demand. If all else, she would end up camping out there even though that would be a horrible last resort in bleak obligation.

"You come from this direction, they're probably expect you to be coming out of the Wildlands, but considering this place is an island, they won't have much room to make any assumptions. The Refuge should be about an hour or 2 in that direction, to the east."

The boat's captain raised an arm, and pointed his old finger past Ryker, behind him. A conscript finally finished giving Ryker all of his equipment, handing him Isabella, his trusty rifle. He had fitted it with the longer barrel and an ACOG scope sat atop the rail on top. Ryker put the sling around his neck, completing his complete set of combat and survival equipment.

"You should be able to communicate with command with the radio we installed into your left arm. Be sure to keep us updated often. You go quiet for too long, we're going to have to send out search teams. If you're trying to keep your cover up, rescue teams won't help that." The captain gave him a tired smile, before standing to salute. "May the Silver Hand Guide you." His medals glistened in the sun. The conscripts on board the patrol boat all also stood at attention.

Ryker stood up straight and saluted the crew and Captain. "May the Hand guide you all back safely."

The Captain relaxed, and the crew all followed suit, returning to their assorted posts. "Good luck, Ryker. If anyone can do it, it's you." The captain said.

Ryker smiled. 'Thank you, sir." He nodded his head. The splash shields on the side of the boat began to rise, and the Captain remained standing, facing him. Ryker gave one last wave before he turned, and started walking down the pier he stood on, towards the main docks. He could hear the boat's engine roar to life, and starting revving, the water splashing as the boat sped away from the dock. He was on his own now. No more friendlies, only him.

Rotting, overgrown stalls still stood on the boardwalk that Ryker walked down. Their fabrics of fading colors flapped in the slight breeze that blew past them, with discarded stuffed animals and paper cups littering the boardwalk everywhere. To Ryker's right was a large, rusting ferris wheel creaking from it's movement. He put the hood on his trench coat up around his head, and his arms fell to Isabella. He watched as his cloth wrapped arms lifted the rifle up, his fingers finding the safety and flipping it off. Pulling the charging handle back, he heard the bullet chamber, and let the rifle hang around his neck with one hand still on the handle, finger resting on the trigger guard.

His eyes shifted to his left hand, watching it's every twitch and fidget. He was still puzzled as how he felt anything with robotic arms, but remembered what the scientist explained to him. Something about a thin membrane network over most of the arm that sent signals that allowed to him feel. Medical sciences were child's play to him, but Robotic science was a whole new book. He sighed, and pulled his head back up, his walking pace starting up again. He brought his left arm up to his face, and activated his radio.

"Command, this is Romeo Bravo, establishing comms." His voice was still deep and tired, lifeless.

It took a moment, but the operator on the other end responded in his ear bud. "Oh, hey there Ryker! Comms established! Got any questions?" The voice that answered him was a high pitched one, a bit too cheery for Ryker's liking.

"The captain never briefed me on the ROE's." He said quietly, scanning his surroundings. His index finger skirted the trigger guard of his rifle.

"Ah! Well, you're not allowed to fire upon Silver Hand under any circumstances. If possible, avoid firing upon any sort UNAR-affiliated troops as much as you can. Try your best to avoid to shoot any SRF or RA troops, but it's not a huge deal if you can't. Tribals are all weapons free if provoked. Survivalists are expendable, and I'd be surprised if you didn't shoot any of those Loyals."

Ryker sighed at the complacency for civilian deaths by his higher-ups. If the Silver Hand were going to get any sort of heavy influence on the region, they were going to have to start respecting the Tribals and Survivalists more. Even is he wasn't identifiable as Silver Hand, if he was made, any kills he had would fall upon the Silver Hand. "What about Apocanites and Centurians?"

The woman didn't respond for a moment. "Uh.. it doesn't say. That's odd. They aren't usually in those parts, but if you come across any, just try not to shoot them unless they shoot at you first." She giggled. "I didn't get to introduce myself. I'm Mia, and I'll be your personal handler. I'll be here just about any time of the day to help you in your mission, give you some information, or to receive any information you have to report the Silver Hand. I hope we have a happy little partnership!"

Ryker peeked into the dark window, the barrel of this rifle jutting slightly into the darkness. He scanned, and his flashlight slowly rose out of the back of his hand from under a sliding panel. It illuminated the dark room in front of him, and reveal nothing. Once he was sure there was nothing, he continued down the street, eyeing around the street. A stoic expression was cemented in his face. "Ditto." He muttered lifelessly into his radio.

"You know you don't have to hold the microphone so close to your mouth." Mia said with a giggle. "I can hear you just fine with your arm to your side. Just remember not to keep your radio on for too long, it might use quite a bit of your energy,"

"Then how will I know you're trying to contact me?" Ryker said quietly, shifting up to the corner of a building. Mia spoke as he peered around the corner.

"Oh, you'll know. You'll get a very distinct sensation in your arm when I'm calling you."

The street was silent, and Ryker had a long walk through Old Manhattan before he reached The Refuge.

"Well, this is Romeo Bravo, out."

"Out!" Mia replied cheerfully, before Ryker shut off his radio.

He continued down the street, eyeing the large plant that covered the road in front of him. What used to be a T-Intersection in the old world was now a T-Intersection with the massive root of an even more massive plant that has burrowed it's way into one of the taller building on the block. Many, smaller sections of plant branched off of the main stem, all covered in an assortment of various colors, with leaves falling off of it every and again. Ryker simply stood in admiration before the massive plant, which at it's highest point sprouted over, with huge pollen tubes lazily rising out of the top. It's massive root, although, was the more important of Ryker's problems. It was too tall to climb without being a pain in the ass, as most of it's area was covered in thorns. He'd have to go around, but it would probably be a long walk. "Fuck."

---

Ryker had moved to one of the buildings that the pant's roots had grown around, climbing up the vine covered fire escape. Sounds of metal on metal impact filled the quiet air as he pulled himself up the shaky ladders. Snap. The ladder gave way. It was to be expected, as old as it was, but it still took Ryker by surprise. His left hand slammed into the walls, as spikes emerged from his palm, drilling into the wall. Ryker's fall stopped abruptly, pain radiating from his shoulder. His feet came up under hum, his boots scraping on the brick wall as he tried desperately to support himself. Isabella hang from around his neck, softly swinging and bumping into him. A guttural growl escaped his lips as he pulled on his left arm, trying to reach the platform above him, before his gaze turned down to see that the platform he had passed before was inches below his feet. He couldn't help by smirk as he lowered himself down, his arm releasing it's hold on the wall and the drills retracted. He cringed as he stretched his left arm out, rotating it around. "Fuck me." He muttered under his breath. He looked up, seeing his drill holes in the wall.

I really wish my other arm could do that.

”You forgot the flowers.” The guardian replied, not even bothering to look at Eli.







”I swear you're not helping the stereotype about you commanders,” Eli teased.

”It's actually in the training, we're under orders to smoke cigars regularly, makes us look manly.” Davi shot back, exhaling a cloud of smoke and offering the cigar to Eli.

”How big is the pack?” Eli asked, letting out his own puff of smoke. It was definitely stale.

”Heat signatures show the park is saturated, I'm guessing a couple thousand. We haven't found the den, or the mother.” Davi turned to look at Eli, accepting the cigar from him and looking him seriously in the eye.

”Awe, fuck Davi, don't say it.” Eli spoke, a grimace forming on his face.

”Say what?” He asked, playing innocent.





”Fine, don't take your time though, with this number of Darklings, there has to be a den. That's bad news Eli.”

”Yea, I know.” He said, heading back towards the stairwell.





”Expedition Hunt”
”Large numbers of Darklings have been reported in the Manhattan area, signifying a Den somewhere in the city. It's destruction has been fallen upon myself, per request of The Saviors. Payment will be in armory trade credit, split evenly from a writ of credit worth 18,000. Applicants will meet in the courtyard in front of the gate tomorrow morning, 8a.m. - Eli”

"Chikushō!" [Shit!]

Nishino was definitely not happy at the moment, evident by the loud exclamation of her favourite curse word. She all but threw the tiny screwdriver at the metallic wall of her work room, frustration nearly overcoming her common sense that told her not to break her tools, especially not when they were so difficult to come by. She leaned back in her chair, both arms above her head as she stretched and let out another small grumble; the new bomb type she was trying to put together just didn't work. Either the small metal mechanism that was supposed to keep the acid from melting the wrappings was too hard to open, or it opened too easily.

The acid itself was held in a small ball with a mechanism that should open it when it was subject to enough blunt force. A spring in the lock would force the ball open and tear open the wrappings, in which was an explosive charge that would then vaporize the liquid acid, effectively making a small cloud of very unpleasant stuff. She had asked some of the guys in the labs to help her make some sort of acid from the plants outside the walls. They had agreed so long as she brought the plants. They were still working on it, and it wouldn't be before another week or two before they had it done, she suspected, but even so she still wanted the metal case for the acid to be done before that. She had a reputation to uphold, after all.

There was a knock on the door in the front room.

She stood up, grabbing a double barrelled handgun from the desk next to her before she went through the door that lead to the front of her store/home. A middle-aged man who looked to be almost a metre taller than she was stood by the empty counter.

"How's it going, Nishino?" He asked. His name was Nick, and he was possibly the textbook definition of the words "Gentle Giant". She'd never seen him get angry, nor look down on anyone... except in the literal sense. But even despite being one of the few people that Nishino allowed herself to be friendly with, and allowed to be friendly with her as well.

"Doing okay. Trying to get an acid bomb to work, but the casing just won't work." She sighed and dragged her fingers through her ponytail hanging over one shoulder. "You're here for your gun, though, right?" She held up the double barrelled handgun she had picked up earlier, and put it on the table. "Upper most barrel is your usual 9mm bullets, but the lower one is a miniature rocket launcher." She opened a drawer and pulled out four small, oval capsules, putting them on the table. "You'll have to be a little old fashioned and use black powder to fire these, but they pack one hell of a punch... Careful with the recoil, though. Almost broke my nose when I tried it." She smiled wryly and handed the capsules to him. "You got the payment?"

Nick chuckled and fished up a pouch that jingled as if full of coins. It was large, larger than usual. "This here? Aye." The pouch hit the desk with an audible thud, spilling out some of its contents as it opened. Scrap metal, bullet casings, used bullets, and half-broken tools spilled out on the wooden surface.

Nishino sighed, sorting through the contents, lips pressed into a thin line. "Not as good as I had hoped. You couldn't find or spare anythi- Oh!" She picked out a rather long piece of silvery metal. "Is this...?" She looked up at him, eyebrows raised high. "A tin and silver mix? You have any idea how rare this is?" A smile bloomed on her lips, an occurrence which could be called even rarer than the precious metals such as silver and gold these days.

The smile was mirrored by Nick, his large beard bobbing in time with his nods. "Glad you like it. I managed to find some old silver wares on one of the infected when I was outside the walls the other day. Thought you might want them." He chuckled and took the gun, putting it in a holster and pocketing the four capsules. Meanwhile, Nishino had swept the pouch of scrap metal aside, depositing it in a locked code-locked drawer. Even as she bent down to put the payment in a drawer, Nick caught the bandages visible beneath her tank top. Nick shook his head before speaking again. "Bandages again? Why do you insist on hiding yourself?"

Nishino simply gave him a weak glare. "None of your business. If you must know, it's because they get in the way with how big they are." They both knew that was a lie.

He shrugged and was about to walk out when he caught himself, suddenly remembering something he had wanted to tell her. "By the way, while on the way here I saw a Red Poster in The Poster that you might be interested in." She looked up, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. "Some guy set up a poster for an expedition outside the walls. The assignment is to get rid of a bunch of Darklings. An entire nest, and a Mother, possibly."

"Sounds dangerous. What's the reward?"

"18000 armoury trade credit, split evenly among all who join."

She almost gawked. "You're kidding me, right? Do you have any idea how many weapons and modifications I could make with that much?!"

Nick chuckled, running a powerful hand through his beard. "Quite a lot I suppose."

Nishino just nodded, she was already making plans. Or rather, she was making a mental blueprint for a large incendiary bomb. "Yoshi [alright!]. For that much, it's worth the risk. I'll go check it out in a minute. See you some other day." Nick continued to chuckle as he walked out, giving her a small wave before he closed the door. Bless the people that can still find happiness in this hellish world, she thought.

---

Two hours later she was standing inside The Post, reading the red poster about the Darklings. She was still wearing only a pair of tight-fit jeans and a tank-top, although she had put on a leather jacket - open in the front - to cover herself just a bit more. Her two katanas hung by her left hip and a single handgun hung by her right hip. She wasn't going outside the walls just yet so the sniper rifle wasn't necessary just yet, but keeping a couple of weapons at hand was always a good idea, if only to make sure that nothing could surprise her and get away with it unscathed.

"18000 armoury credits divided amongst the applicants, or those who get back alive, anyway. No way in hell I'm missing up on that opportunity." She was already on her way back to her shop-home when she finished speaking. She had bombs to make.

The sky had dimmed, with a very faint pink still in the sky, and the night stars beginning to show themselves more and more. It had been about an hour and a half since his evening drop on the boardwalk, and the sounds of explosions were somewhere far in the distance, not visible. Ryker was perched atop a building, try to spot Central Park, when he began watching some movement through his binoculars, and flicked the night vision on. Something dog-like was attacking an infected humanoid, and dragged it down to the ground, and a few more hounds rushed over to share in the feast. They were Darklings. He'd heard about them mauling some Scouting teams before, and they were ferocious little monsters. Sadly, they still hadn't learned to stay away from spoiled food, and soon started feeling the affects of eating Blackwater infected meat. They soon collapsed, their mouths opening in what he presumed were death cries. The thought of putting them out of their misery crossed his mind, but the distance would probably make for a lot of missed shots, so he decided to save the bullets. They wouldn't show him the same courtesy anyways.

"Great." He muttered to himself. "Another goddamn roadblock."

If there were some Darklings here, that meant there had to be more around somewhere. They never ventured far from their burrow, unless they were hunting or starving, and Ryker still couldn't judge if either of those was the case. He took a few quiet steps to his right to shift his gaze to the around a tree, and found a moderate sized pack of them were moving around. They passed a sign, which conveniently read Central Park 3 Miles with an arrow pointing forward.

Great. More walking. Into a pack of hungry Darklings.

Suddenly, a screech broke the silence around Ryker. He immediately threw himself away from the ledge onto his butt. His hand found his rifle very quickly, pulling it up to his shoulder, barrel pointed towards the sky where the screech had emanated. He saw a huge wingspan fall through the sky, snatching a screeching and whining Darkling straight off the ground and soaring off. The other Darklings all quickly scattered in different directions. Of course, where there were Darklings, there had to be mutated birds of prey. Ryker quickly pushed himself off the ground, and ran to the access door to the roof. Before, he had gotten to the roof using ladders on the outside, but now he had to clear out the pitch black building, or at least it's stair case.

---

The first few flights were empty. The small orb had come out the back of Ryker's left hand came out, giving him a large area of light, making the trip down the stair case a bit less unsettling. A tug on his ankle quickly became a full force pull, sending Ryker off his feet, his left shoulder and side of his face hitting the wall next to him. His leg was pulled further out through the space in the safety rail, until his crotch caught the bar and halted his descent. Ryker cursed in pain, trying to get his other leg under him to push against the pull. He dropped his rifle, and sat up, sticking his lit hand out, peering to see what had pulled him. There, at the bottom of the stairwell, sat a huge plant spore with many, sprawling vine covering the walls and last few flights of steps. It could tell Ryker was looking at it, and let out a sort of guttural noise at him. It tugged at his leg gently, but not aggressively. Normally, these types of plants would be madly tearing Ryker apart to trying to get him down, but this one was... different. It wasn't aggressive. At least not as aggressive. A perplexed look took over his face, and he sat back, starting to think.

The gerbil in Ryker's head finally ran fast enough to power a light bulb, and he began quickly trying to take his backpack off. He unzipped it, taking the bag with dried meats and jerky out, extracting a sizable piece. He bit into it, the savory flavors being very welcome to his hungry mouth. He tore his piece off, and then dropped it over the edge, aiming for the plants mouth. It landed in it's 'stomach' and started being digested immediately, almost bubbling. The plant let out an almost happy gurgle, and it's grip on Ryker's ankle loosened, the vine falling down off of his leg. Ryker chuckled at the plant. It was the first sentient plant that hadn't tried to kill him right off the bat. He took another large piece of meat out of the bag and handed it to one of his curious vines, which carried it to the hungry spore's 'mouth'. Ryker slid away from the edge, and stood up, his right leg a bit sore from being yanked. He slipped his backpack on, and still head a piece of jerky in his mouth to eat. He grabbed his rifle by the forward grip,a nd began walking down the stairs, a bit calmer about the plant that sat below him.

Soon enough, he reached the bottom floor, and the Spore didn't seem to mind him stepping on the vines. They were very resilient, and his light steps didn't faze them. Ryker held up one last piece of jerky for the plant to have, just to make sure it was happy. One of the vines reached out and took it softly from his hands, and another vine came to help tear the piece of meat in half, handing the other half back to Ryker. He smiled and patted the large spore on it's green side. "Thanks, big guy."

Another one of his vines reached out, and opened the door in front of Ryker, showing the dark first floor. Ryker walked forward, and felt one of the vines pat him gently on the back, mimicking the same pat he gave the plant. Ryker gave another chuckled, before the plant gurgled a farewell and shut the door. The smile faded off of Ryker's face as he held up his hand, lighting up the surrounding room. It was covered in a thick coat of dust, and the glass storefront shined in the dim light. Ryker walked over to the front door, shutting off his light checking the street for any dangers.

---

How the Darklings had found him while he was pissing was beyond him. Ryker had walked another few blocks, and finally had Central Park in sight, far off in the distance. He figured he would take a quick piss, until a roaming pack of Darklings, whom had grown more active, ambushed him. A few of them got some nice hits on him, resulting in a nice gash or two on his right leg, and a large cut on the back of his left calve. His resilient backpack had managed to shrug off most of the talons that came it's way, also keeping those talons out of his back. Nonetheless, they had chased him down a few blocks, with Ryker taking a few shots at them that did nothing more than attract a larger number of them. He made into a large building, with the Refuge and it's accompanying explosions and gunfire visible at less than a mile away. The grounds surrounding the wall were impeccably clear of most plant life. Ryker had managed to throw a decent amount of junk and furniture in front of the front door, only for a few Darklings to jump through the windows, and chase him up stairs, until he blocked another door with more furniture. He was now stranded on the second floor of a building, his objective in sight, with his ravenous death waiting for him on the other side of a door.

As he panted to catch his breath, he turned his radio on, and managing to pant out the words "M-Mia. Ryker here."

"Oh hey! How goes the mission?" Mia replied cheerfully.

"Not so good." He panted. An explosion erupted and ratted the building a bit.

"Whoa, what was that! What did you do??" Mia squeaked.

"Me? I didn't do anything! That's the Refuge. They're shelling the shit out of a herd of Darklings. Little fuckers trapped me on the second floor of this building, it'll be a bit until I get to the objective." He muttered, rifle pointed at the covered door.

"We can send a rescue team, Ryker." Mia said, her pitch deepening a bit more serious.

"Nah, don't bother, I'll get out of here, don't waste the manpower. They'll get shredded. Oh, I got some intel for you, too."

"Oh!" Mia chirped."What is it?"

"The Refuge's defenses appear to be much heavier than we expected.. Massive walls, Mounted gun nests littered all over the place. I don't know if it's mines or artillery or what, but something is blowing the shit out of that Darkling herd, and it's persistent." Almost to punctuate his sentence, another explosion rattled the building.

"They seem to burn all plant life around their walls. It's hard to tell from this distance, but that's what it looks like. Completely unobstructed view. I think they have a moat, too, but I wouldn't trust it. That's some medieval shit." He said, shuffling over to the windows.

"Oohhh, interesting." Mia said, seeming to be writing down everything he said."Anything else?"

"Oh yeah, at uhh....53rd and Roster, there is an apartment building. Inside it is a Polymelia-Class plant spore."

"Need it destroyed?

"No no no, it's friendly. First one I've found. Feed it meat and it seems to enjoy it. It seems to learn fast, as it mimicked some of my movements."

"Ooooohhhh!" Mia exclaimed excitedly 'I'll tell the scientists immediately!" she chirped.

"I'll be notifying the scientists at the Refuge as well, if they have any. I hope you understand."

"That's alright." Mia said happily. "We don't have any reason to distrust them. Yet."

"Roger that. Ryker out."

"Bye!"

The radio switched off.

Ryker peered out of the window at the Refuge in the distance. He saw a massive amount of Darklings converging around it's perimeter, and the explosions remained constant, with the machine gun nests ripping open endlessly on the herd. If he ever made it to the Refuge, he was sure in for one hell of a grand tour.

"RAH!"

All Lauren could feel were two huge, spindly spiders on her oddly turned body. Her eyes immediately shot open and she fumbled for the first thing her pale hands could grab--a can opener laying beside her futon. With a great yelp, she threw the can opener with all her might at the opposing force. The projectile met its target, and her dad's already misshapen nose once again became the bulls eye of Lauren's 'pitching arm.' Benjamin fell back and held his face, more out of surprise than in pain. The can opener fell to the ground, falling open on impact as though to hiss at Lauren for her misuse of the tool. Her father grunted and pulled back his palm till just his fingers caressed and rubbed his snout tenderly. His quirked brow mimicking, or perhaps mocking, Lauren's own permanent expression in search of a laugh but was instead greeted with a look of displeasure.

"Dad," Lauren started, her tone full of venom and stale notes as though she had spoken to him about this before.

"Yeah yeah I know. I'll stop." That was a lie. Benjamin Faust never stops, no matter how annoying or how cocky he was. Perhaps it was this trait that caused his daughter and wife so much stress, but he liked to think it was for their amusement. "You ready to go?"

"Give me a moment, would you?" Lauren half hissed and half dismissed her father from the room, waving her small hand at him. With a smirk, Benjamin took his leave, closing the door behind him with just a crack left. Left to her own devices, the small woman at last noticed the displeasing trail of goo lingering down her valley. She took this time to wipe down her arm with a rag and brush her hair with what used to be an extremely fancy comb. Nowadays it didn't have much use, with the diamonds and sapphires that used to adorn the handle no longer so shiny, some missing and some and falling out. Funny how things become less valuable when life is what matters most. Not that Lauren considered this life so different. She was born here, after all. While life outside the walls of the refuge was treacherous, it was more fun than deadly, at least in her experience. On the inside she knew she should take it seriously but she couldn't help it. There were so many more places to go out there, and in here, there was the morning run. Not much else other than what Lauren had already explored. As Lauren looked into the small, foggy mirror in her room and examined the pink, curved scar under her eye, she couldn't help but feel trapped inside the Refuge, like she was just in a cage keeping them out. But who were they, exactly? The mutants, the other people, or the entire world? What could be out there that she hadn't explored, or even seen before?

That was about as deep into thought Lauren would go for the day. Satisfied with how her hair naturally flared out at her jawline, she gave her reflection a wink and shed her bedclothes into something more fitting for where she was going. Black baggy pants, black under armor that clung to her small, nearly curve-less frame and running shoes. She tossed her jacket into her backpack and dusted her hands with the powdered chalk within before moving out the door. As she made her way down the stairs and into the clinic where Yoko Faust was meeting with an early patient, she could see with her hazel eyes that her father was waiting at their starting point right outside the clinics massive opening beside the guardrail. Her mother, Yoko, gave them a glance and a smile, as though to wish them a good morning. Normally she would, but duty calls and she turned her attention back to her patient. Lauren jogged out to meet her dad who's arms were folded and chest was puffed out.

The mall was a bizarre-style mess. The floor plans had bridges going across every which way on every floor, making it the ideal place for the scouts morning run. Being on the fifth floor couldn't have been better either, as it provided all kinds of opportunities to play with and create different scenarios. The only problem for the Scouts Inc. was outdoor training, and it often took time to find a safe enough spot to do their regimens. Lauren dropped her backpack and saluted her dad with an enthusiastic grin.

"Chipmunk, reporting in to Big Lizard." She called, announcing her arrival and using her Scout codename. It was deemed necessary by Benjamin aka Big Lizard that all his scouts respond to him with respect, even his daughter.

"At ease," Big Lizard responded, his hands clasped behind his back. His messy dark hair stuck out like an overgrown plant on top of his head, but it wasn't quite long enough to start falling over on itself yet. His carefully groomed mustache and small beard however, showed he did care about his appearance. He too, wore lots of black, with form fitting climbing pants and a thin turtleneck that betrayed his muscular form beneath his somewhat scrawny exterior. His squinted, dark eyes looked her up and down in 'inspection.' Upon his request, Chipmunk dropped her salute but retained a respective, open legged stance with her hands clasped in front of her. "Sleep well, scout?"

"Yes, sir." She nodded, a smirk slowly crawling onto her face. "But I was woken prematurely this morning, Sir."

"By what, scout?"

"A hulking mass of unwanted interruption, Sir."

Big Lizards face contorted into one that clearly struggled not to laugh at his scouts straight-faced executed dialogue. "Sounds like you need to start waking up more early, scout."

"Sir," Lauren's eyes narrowed. "I firmly disagree, Sir."

Big Lizard couldn't stifle his giggle this time and turned away from her to peer over the railing to make certain everything was in place. "Let us begin then Scout." Without further 'ceremony,' Chipmunk pulled her backpack back on and the two of them leaped up to the guardrail. Below, bridges criss-crossed, people worked, and others went about their day. The two of them spun around to that they faced Yoko inside the Clinic, who had taken pause in her work to fold her arms and watch them. The two of them gave the good doctor a grin before relaxing their bodies and falling back into the maze of the mall below.



Falling was the easy part. It had taken years of practice until Chipmunk learned the most important thing about being a scout. Trust. Sometimes it was trust in others. Sometimes it was trust in what may come in the future. For scouts however, it was most important to trust yourself. Right now, Chipmunk and Big Lizard could be screaming, flailing for their lives as they were shocked into fear that would ultimately cost the their lives. A scout however, doesn't fear the feeling of weightlessness, the feeling of soaring or leaping over great distances. A scout relishes it.

Big Lizard and Chipmunk fell head first from the fifth story two floors down, and in a single synchronized and practiced motion, the two of them grabbed a sturdy pole mid-fall and swung their legs forward, using the momentum to hoist themselves onto the seventh floor. Both of them exhaled sharply as their sneakers hit the linoleum, but took no pause in getting right back up and running side by side at full speed across the bridge from where they had landed. As they padded quickly to the other side of the level, a familiar face joined them, falling in line beside Big Lizard. 'Mink,' she was called. An American woman with blond hair pulled back into a low ponytail and a body that was as sturdy as it was box-like.

"Mink, reporting in!" The woman chimed, her voice rough as she ran at the same speed beside them.

"At ease!" Both Big Lizard and Chipmunk called back to her. Again, all in synchronized motions, the came to another guardrail and grabbed it with their left hand--as they had been taught to use their non-dominant hand so that they could still use their guns when necessary--before hoisting their legs over and dropping to the next level below. The run continued, Leaping over objects and diving around random obstacles. That was the great thing about the mall, you never knew who was going to be carrying around large pieces of sheet metal to dive under or where people would be standing so that you had to dodge them, treat them like the infected and avoid them at all costs. At last the trio arrived to floor ten. Chipmunk was naturally focused on what she was doing, but a thought in the back of her head was nagging at her at the fact that one person was missing. She chose to suppress this and continue on, spinning around a civilian carrying quite the collection of canned food.

It was then that she was once again pounced upon, this time leap-frogged over by none other than 'Sidewinder,' the crews only black member and for today, the final scout that would be training with them. He shot Chipmunk a playful grin over his shoulder, causing Chipmunk to roll her eyes. His flirtatious but not-so-smooth-personality always triggered such a response. Reaching the third-to-last floor where the linoleum evened out without the need for bridges, the scouts ran to the center, panting and all put their hands in the center to chant their motto.

"Climbing to the top!"

It was simple, but it had a deeper meaning. Not only did it show their perseverance to do better, but it was at this moment they would symbolically begin their arduous climb up the sides of the mall and up to the sunshine-filled world above.

---

Lauren rested on a mismatched chair in the post, taking a break from the long free-run her and her teammates had accomplished and sipping her orange-flavored slush. Ordinarily she'd be drinking with Sidewinder and Mink, but they both had errands to run and as always her father was busy with his wife. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the cork board with a big, fat red and delicious looking flier on it. She had read it when she came in but now she mulled it over. Perhaps she would come. Maybe. Probably. Though the last time she'd gone on a code-red mission her dad had been flabberghasted. Lauren rested her head on the bar as she thought things over. Truth is that money and cred would come in handy. Her dad didn't like to admit it but he was no good when it came to handling the division of bullets and firearms, something they direly needed.
She closed her eyes and sighed. It was time to step up... and show her dad she could be ready to take on Scouts Inc. if shit hits the fan. She was, after all, not a child anymore despite her choice of juice-like slush. Big Lizard was getting old, as proof by the flecks of gray along the perimeter of his hairline. Lauren opened her eyes and sat up. Her decision was made; and tomorrows schedule included Darklings.

Even with the heavily fortified walls of the lab, the large, open room was filled with the sounds of buzzing, rattling, and tinkling equipment and glass containers. The pauses varied from a few seconds to several minutes, but when they thought it was over, the slight vibrations started again. For the most part, the scientists were used to this sort of distraction, but it was lasting a lot longer than it usually did. Something was going on outside, and whoever was supposed to alert them to these things was apparently running very, very late.

They tried to focus, and for a while, it seemed like they were being reasonably productive; the new batch of samples were responding well to the Purge treatments, and Wen expected that they would be able to start them in the nurseries soon enough. It continued like this until one scientist's tray of tools was sent spilling across the floor after a particularly forceful rumble.

"I can't work like this," Troy said, throwing down his clipboard with an obnoxious clatter. Of course.

Wen rolled her eyes, but she too pulled away from her work to look blankly at the flat, metal wall, where the vague sounds of explosions seemed to be coming from. "What is going on out there...?" she mumbled to herself.

The door opened, and a scientist walked in with a slip of paper in his hands. He wasn't part of Wen's team, and had a different security clearance badge on the pocket of his lab coat. "Doctor Lai, a word with you?"

Wen's team looked at her expectantly as she pulled off her gloves and tossed them into the disposal box. She approached the man with a cautious look in her eyes, wondering why he couldn't say anything in front of the rest of them. It wasn't easy to read the chicken scratch on the torn piece of paper, but thankfully it was short, apparently scrawled quickly to be passed along.

"darklings outside wall take caution, group forming to destroy den. probably coming home late"

"Who wrote this?" Wen asked, closing her fist to turn the slip into a crumpled ball.

"My wife, she was heading up to the wall and wanted to let me know what she was up to. It's not really a secret that there's fighting going on outside, but we scientists would probably be some of the last to know if it wasn't for her."

"Well, thanks. Is that it?" Wen asked, placing a hand on her hip.

"Yep, that's it. See you around, Doctor."

The scientist left, and Wen tossed the paper ball into the trash. Troy slid off of his seat hard enough for the chair to roll to the side, and sidled up to her in less than five steps. "So, are you going then?"

"Troy, you're so damn nosy." Wen hissed, resisting the urge to slap at his arm. "Do I look like a damn zoologist?"

"Well..."

"No. I've got plenty to worry about here."

---

Wen had to psyche herself up for a good five minutes before she felt herself capable of walking outside of the lab. The occasional gunshot or grenade from that distance was no problem, but she imagined there would probably be some casualties today. Darklings were nasty things, from the very little she had seen of one back in the lab. And that one was dead.

It wasn't as bad as she expected; one would think it was a completely normal day. Shaking her head, she headed down the road toward the greenhouses. The heat was especially stifling today, and it was then that she realized that she had forgotten to leave her coat back at the lab. She shrugged it off and folded it over one arm.

Upon advancing farther into the primeval terrain of a deadland, safety was not guaranteed when stepping foot outside those resilient walls of refuge. No adventurer could rely on watchtower guards out here fully, and wits along with weapons were two important factors for survival. Hence the two aggressive tomahawks gripped securely within both her hands, which sliced stocky vegetation covering a secretive route. Relentlessly hacking and slashing her way through these vines that grew at such an alarming rate. Sometimes enduring further travel along this dense landscape in order to find thinned out or sick vines. Each cleave that separated these vines from their roots resulted in altering them somehow to which they grew stronger occasionally, and additionally destructive. The dying ones sometimes fought back but their actions were nothing her duel tomahawks couldn’t take care of.

Glistening moisture that had once settled atop her skin and dripped down her slim neck began to evaporate. Temperatures dropped slightly at night and she welcomed the change in degree but felt a slight chill adjusting to the switch. Sleeves were soon rolled down while cautiously keeping a close eye on a few non-aggressive animals. Unique specimens strolled along the grimy area of overgrown flora but the predators of unusual size always loomed deeper in the darkness. This was about the same hour it had once arrived to destroy everything she deeply cherished. Only confronting one since that heartbreaking event years earlier and coming to the conclusion that they were either extremely rare or highly adapted hiders. How could a giant praying mantis/spider at least nine feet tall and the length of a polar bear hide? Good question. She sought the answer but has since had no luck in discovering this monster.

With no reason for it to appear by buildings the next best spot would be near outskirts of flooded areas for advantage of camouflage. Tonight would be irresponsible to continue heading there as she noticed a group of starving darklings was already stalking her frame. As soon as Vera readied her tomahawks once more a familiar ear shattering screech echoed and ricocheted off crumbling city walls. Causing the mange infested wolf like beasts to cower with tails tucked between their legs and yelp as if injured. They bolted to the opposite side of where the warning cry sounded and she felt relived yet flustered. Within a single turn of event so much meat had scurried away and vanished into obscurity. Undoubtedly interested she sought the need to investigate what made that noise. A view from above would prove resourceful as she could also take a shot if the unknown brute was within her Dragunov killing sight.

Instinctively she wandered to the first nearby building closest and through a maze of pitch black passageways. Slipping on night vision goggles made this pursuit much easier while trekking about numerous empty doors or holes in the moldy walls until she stumbled upon a roadblock. A ginormous plant remained stationed in the middle of this room as attached tendrils curled casually around a staircase railing. Carefully reaching behind to retrieve her gun blade Vera stood like a stature as it simply swayed carelessly in it’s own element. One lengthy vine began inching toward her but stopped before changing direction to latch onto something in her bag. Retrieving a piece of jerky only to then pat her on the shoulder in thanks? Vera would have dropped her jaw in bewilderment if she could display such emotions but tilted her head to the side curiously before moving. She cast a backward glance at the plant once more before it opened the door for her so she could pass...she would not be trying to walk up these stairs regardless of how cordial this king plant was.

Mixtures of squealing howls were enough to know exactly what lay ahead down a few blocks; more darklings, hideous canine creatures with mange. These things were everywhere so there must be a burrow of them someplace nearby. They also must have found something they wanted desperately but could not reach it. This would be a perfect opportunity to retrieve some game to take back. Returning home empty handed was not an option, and she followed the sounds. Entrance into the front door of the building was impossible but pieces of shattered glass lay strewn next to a broken window. Her blade scraped away all standing shards so she could hop over. Agitated snarling grew while ascending up two flights of weathered steps. Ahead, pawing and gnashing conspired at a tightly concealed door was a couple of hairless canines jumping over each other, and using serrated talons to unsuccessfully claw entry.

Vera took this moment to aim before chucking a tomahawk with full force at one’s neck as it attempted to leap up at the door frame. Shooting them would certainly bring about more no doubt and that would not be wise. After steel collided with flesh her free shot from their distraction ended and she snatched the tungsten hunting knife from a holder wrapped around her thigh. Startled the abnormalities recoiled to the side a bit before their cloudy eyes witnessed the third mutated mutt suspended and pinned against the door. It’s emaciated body trying to wiggle free in vain from the sharp stake end of her weapon only worsening the impalement. In rage they sprinted forward with one leaping for her torso.

With swift movements she dodged while swinging her second tomahawk so it would create a fatal laceration along the hound’s neck. Immediately it collapsed to the first floor level gracelessly after missing its target and overshooting the railing. The other managed to find an opening and landed a heavy lunge knocking the Russian to the ground with a thud, and sending her axe across the air away from her weary body. She had no choice but to lie on her back holding its mangy head upward as it continued to snap at the air combatively. Vera shifted her head slightly on one side to avoid thick drool seeping from the corners of this creature’s gaping jowls. Using energy reserves she thrust a quick stab to the darkling’s jugular vein with her knife, it began to bleed out rapidly and die within seconds. This was a favored method and did not ruin what she needed to do with the corpse’s hide.

A gloved hand latched onto its scruff while standing and she also took a few minutes to retrieve each weapon. After lowering the second darkling body she was able to burst straight into the door after a few tries and kick weak furniture away with her foot. Halting, she stared at the discovery before her; a human, imagine that. She did not expect this in the least and arched a brow. “Huh.” She simply said before casually dropping two freshly killed darkling carcasses’ to the ground and moving to the window this mysterious man was near. She did not seem to care that he was there or why, figuring it was not her place to ask. Binoculars replaced night vision goggles as she intensely focused gazing into them.

“Der’mo.” She cursed under a heavy breath and narrowed intense eyes in ire after placing the item in a compartment on the side of her SRF military backpack.

Anyone would assume the fierce blonde belonged to that particular federation by that bag though her family passed that down to her, making the decision that she had no other choice but join their cause eventually. That was not what she ended up doing obviously and partly she just wanted to rebel. She was not one to live in regret but perhaps if she had made that choice to just follow her families footsteps she could have saved Mti from an unfair demise…Savin would not have been born then, and she began to rethink that situation again. Her fingers would never have run along his growing curly locks or gazed into those large cinnamon colored eyes. He looked just like his father but was a beautiful mix of the two who differed physically.

Splotches of deep garnet had managed to splatter a bit across her over-sized moss colored combat jacket and just below her jaw. This substance did not faze the harsh woman as she let the remnants of it linger without bothering to wipe it away. As long as none of their putrid blood not slip into her eyes causing irritation the essence caused no issue--it added a bit of color to her pale complexion is all. She removed a trove of tools and items a hunter would use to stow away their prize such as a compact bin and dehydration salt.

Within a brief matter of seconds she had put together an agenda of the man only briefly looking him over. In her mind she already had many exit strategies in case a monster would show itself or if this man turned out to be a psycho. He did not look like a cannibal but who truly knew these days? In order to survive she had learned the hard way and failed many times and expected to continue to fail. She knew better than to refuse help but rarely asked for it. She also knew to take all information with a grain of salt. In this world one must look out for number one and cut all ties with empathy. She was not a completely soulless bitch and would lend those in need a hand but trusted no one and held no loyalty to anyone either. Not exactly a mercenary for hire but she did expect things in return. This man owed her even though she had not spoken of debt—yet. She was sure their paths would cross again for him to pay up and it would most likely not be for money.

“Leaving would be wise. More darklings will arrive and I doubt I’ll be around to save you this time.” She said straight faced while slicing into her first darkling kill. Vera’s humor was deadpan as no one could read her emotions, or know if she was serious or joking.

Nimble fingers dissected the creature with quick ease and exact precision. By the way she confidently separated skin from muscle like a pianist composing a masterpiece one could tell she made a living doing just this.

“Here.” She tossed him a can of scent-killing spray without looking. “Use before you go to refuge, I only assume that is your destination but that can helps, sometimes.”

Within a matter of moments the first hide was successfully separated from the bizarre animal and she started on the second. Every moment remaining in one spot lessened her chance to escape without detection.

The rather explosive light show still hadn't let up, and it had slowly become entertaining for Ryker to watch as droves of Darklings charged at the Refuge, only to be evaporated by the raining artillery. One particular high flyer made him chuckle quite heartily, before the more aggressive pounding at the door caused him to fall silent once more. He enjoyed his rest, but the Darklings and the slowly bleeding cuts on his leg couldn't go untreated for long. Trying to stitch wounds on the back of his leg wasn't exactly an easy feat to attempt, so self-treatment was out of the question. He flicked his right index finger, and the short need quickly emerged from inside his finger. He lowered his hand down to his thigh, and punctured his skin, feeling half the dose of morphine escape his finger, and Ryker gave a shuttering exhale as a slight warmth spread across his body, and everything felt way better. The cuts on his legs stopped hurting, his shoulder's stopped aching, everything felt nice. And that was a merely a half dose. He knew that they gave him that arm so he could help others and save lives, but he wouldn't be surprised if he ended up using all the morphine on himself. His light bulb turned on again.

With a flick of his right ring finger, a small dispenser emerged. It was a medical jelly dispenser. They hadn't given him any extra tubes, so he'd have to use it sparingly, but his legs were good enough reason to use it. He reached down and slowly pulled a thin stripe of jelly over his two cuts, stopping the bleeding, and it would've cut the pain too if he hadn't already used some morphine. That would speed up the healing, at least. Another explosion shook the building, and the scratching and clawing at the door came back into his consciousness. It was weaker, although. He turned away from the window, as the scratching disappeared, hearing some thumping and squealing. He raised his rifle up, pointed at the door. The door broke away from it's hinges, and Ryker could feel his trigger finger twitch, a hair away from discharging a round. It was a woman who knocked down the door.

Wow. It's been a while since I've seen a woman.

He stopped checking out the woman's figure to make sure he wasn't about to fall victim to some sort of raider or black widow. Two darkling corpses slid off of her shoulder and plopped with an audible thud. He walked over to Ryker, not seeming to pay attention to him. His trigger finger stiffened, but before he could fire, she pulled out a pair of binoculars, and began to survey the Refuge, just as he had before. Being closer gave Ryker a better chance to examine the woman. After the usual, through examination of what her body and figure had to offer, his eyes finally came up to her neck, examining the large tattoo on it. S'torei markings.

"Tribals are all weapons free if provoked."

Mia's words, filled with ambiguous threat, echoed in his head. He could shoot this woman if he wanted to. Nothing bad would befall him. All it took was a few squeezes... He threw the thought out of his head quickly, but it still lingered. Tribals were weapon-free for a reason, they weren't to be trusted. And Ryker didn't care for them much himself either. Nonetheless, the woman had just eliminated a pain in Ryker's ass, so she was helpful for the moment.

Good looking for a Tribal woman. Best ass I've seen on one yet.

He smirked to himself as she turned around, his eyes falling to examine he walking in finer detail. He remembered he had been pointing his rifle around the whole time, and finally let his arm relax, the barrel of Isabella pointing towards the ground. The woman went over to her kills, and brandished a knife, beginning to slice into the animal, flaying the skin off of it.

A hunter? Here? Weird place to get food for your family. if you even manage to make it back.

Ryker took a short breath, and started to speak, but almost as if she knew he was going to talk, the woman cut him off.

"Leaving would be wise. More darklings will arrive and I doubt I’ll be around to save you this time.” She said, in a quiet, heavily accented voice.

Tribals didn't have that sort of accent. That was Russian. Almost to confirm his new suspicion, it had registered that Ryker had seen the woman tuck her binoculars in a pack marked with the SRF logo. Another piece to the crudely made puzzle that he was trying to piece together. The SRF and Tribals hadn't had the best of relations lately, so the mixture of the two in one woman was puzzling. He knew now that she as Russian, and had ties to the SRF, but what were her connections to the S'Torei?

It didn't matter. She interrupted his thoughts with an accented "Here." and tossed a can at him. He caught it with his left hand, an audible Pang! as the metals made contact. It was a can of scent-killer, used to get around animals without being smelled out. “Use before you go to refuge, I only assume that is your destination but that can helps, sometimes.”

Ryker looked down at the can, a look on his face, He sprayed a generous amount on himself, and tossed it back to the Russian. The smell was rather unpleasant.

"Thanks for the save. Name's Ryker. Yours?"

The Spark

---

---

REFUGE

---

The Spark is learning...

---

ELI

---

”Hey Terry! Electrocute me at least three of those rodents and put them in shells 'ey?”

A large, bubbly woman burst from the back of the shop, dressed in a greasy checkered shirt with a red banana around her thick neck. The woman was large, but bubbly in a happy sense.

”I saw yah notice, I knew yah'd be by today,” a plate of steamy tacos found their way to the counter, “Yuh always come by before a big thing like that, as if you couldn't die peacefully without knowing how my not-a-rodent tacos tasted.” She said in a thick brooklyn accent. It was also true. Eli dug in the pocket of his duster, setting a box similar to the one that held Davi's cigars on the counter. She looked at it curiously, opening the lid. Eli smiled when he saw her eyes widen.

”It's payment and a gift, call it customer satisfaction.” He stated. Inside the box were three small bottles of a coffee liquor he knew she absolutely loved, and a writ worth 30 credits, covering the cost of the food. She took the writ, held it up to the light to check it, and smiled broadly. ”Thankya Hon, you know how to make an old woman smile.”







”Goodmorning!” He said loudly, formally, like a drill instructor, “Just so we're clear, this IS a suicide mission!.” He said the last bit with heavy emphasis, which resulted in the statement's intended effected. Immediately four people turned and left, taking their measly gear with them.

”I'd like to retract my earlier statement, this is not a goodmorning.” He stood in front of the group, looking at each of them in turn. He saw some familiar faces, some he had heard about, but the vast majority he did not know.

”What about the suicide part? Are you retracting that?” A short, wide-eyed asked. He looked like someone had armed the workers of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. ”No, that is a fact.” Eli replied calmly.

Another man stepped forward, dressed in bits of leather and pieces of car tires covering his shoulders, ”Ya? And what makes you so sure of that spaceman?” The cheap shot remark at Eli's gear was wasted. He smiled at the man, “You caught me, it's not suicide, at least not for you. Denied.”

The man grumbled a few obscenities and stormed off to whatever hole he had crawled from. ”Anybody else?” Eli asked. The short, pudgey man who had spoken up early turned to leave, along with three others. The others looked adamant in their participation for this event.

”You're not going to get a speech, if you do as I say most of us will come back from this. In the event that you weigh the group down, I will leave you. If you become a burden, I will leave you. If you become annoying, provided I don't shoot you, I will leave you. Anybody else want to leave?” Nobody moved. This was good, Eli liked resilient people.

”You,” He said, pointing at a the literal definition of a samurai, at least she looked like one. Hell she was even Japanese to boot, ”Why exactly are you here samurai? I doubt it's honor.” Eli said, blatantly throwing that jab at her. She seemed to take it stoically, unflinching.

”"The reward, mainly. Good materials are hard to come by, so getting a cut of 18.000 credits that I can use? No way in hell I'm gonna say no to that." She glanced away, just for a moment as she spoke. It was a curious tell, something you looked for in liars, but Eli was no interrogator, despite the charade he was putting up.
"What makes me think you won't become dead weight" He asked, staring at her intently.

"Mention one guy here who can repair a weapon on the field should it get damaged. Right, I thought so. Plus, a sniper is never deadweight, nor is someone who can kill without a sound." She said haughtily, apparently quite confident in her abilities. He also liked that, confidence. He moved on.

”And you?” He asked a rather tall, dark skinned gentleman. He was dressed in fatigues but bore no markings. Eli could almost pin him as a Savior.

”Ex-Ranger, I fought my ware here from Missouri with nothing but a knife, after being left for dead.” He man said. He stood formally, like a soldier, Eli wondered why the Saviors hadn't brought him in. Perhaps he fancied the high paying contract work more.

”Brettan Ruge' , I've heard rumors of you.” Eli said, before moving on.



”The Samurai, The Ranger, The Medic, The Russian.” He said aloud, watching as each stepped away from the crowd in order. He saw some dismayed faces in the crowd, but he didn't care. This was survival.

”The Female scout, to be the lead. The Male scout, to be her messenger. Any problems?”

Nishino's morning started out like any other. She woke up, brushed her hair, bound her chest, got something to eat, and brushed her teeth. Like soap, toothpaste was still in fairly high commodity, and even though not everyone used it she still found it necessary to keep to some level of hygiene - Post-apocalyptic world or not.

She breathed deeply through her nose before spitting out the remnants of the mix of toothpaste and saliva, dark brown eyes meeting their own reflection in the slightly cracked mirror hanging in front of her. She placed the toothbrush back in the glass on the sink, then tucked a lock of raven hair behind one ear, giving herself a small smile. The world might be a hell to live in, but she certainly didn't look like some wretched demon or whatever - No. She thought herself rather pretty, definitely one of the better looking girls of the Refuge.

What? Can't a girl admire herself a bit? She thought, silencing the voice in the back of her mind shouting something about arrogance. She shook her head, and rinsed what was left of the paste out of her mouth, taking a small drink afterwards before walking into the workroom through the door in the back of it. Her home had once been an antique shop, complete with a rather spacious backroom and even larger front room with shelves lining the walls and floor. A million and one odds and ends had been at display, only for everything to have been stripped down for materials when the Refuge started construction. In her time living in the Refuge, Nishino and her parents had split up the front room into two, one being a living room and the other a sort of lobby. Following the death of her parents, Nishino had converted them into a workshop and a proper shop respectively, using an old wooden desk she found in the backroom which she now used as a bedroom; she counted herself lucky that the shop had a functioning toilet, although, she still had to use the public baths, or borrow Nick's. She preferred the former, despite Nick being a great guy.

She had quite a while until it was time to meet up for the Darkling Hunt, but it wouldn't hurt to be early. Especially not if she wanted to get a spot, since she expected that quite a few people would want to join - the reward was high, after all.

She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding - probably some small amount of anxiety that everyone felt before a big show-down - and walked over to a large cabinet in which she kept her armour and weapons. Opening it, she was greeted with the sight of a samurai-esque armour, complete with a couple of katanas standing beside it. The samurai illiusion, however, was shattered by the presence of a large, black sniper rifle, a handgun, and a collection of plum-sized bombs - the bombs and the gun, as well as the ammo for the weapons, being located on a shelf above the armour and swords.

She took it out and took on the chestplate first, tightening the iron-reinforced leather straps to keep it on her. Next came a pair of arm and leg guards, as well as a pair of fingerless gloves. The katanas were strapped to her left hip, the handgun to her right. The smaller blade - the Wakizashi - was strapped to her back right at her tailbone. She slung a bag filled with canned food and slush, and other necessities, onto her back, followed closely by the sniper rifle. The bombs and what ammo she had was put into easily accessible pockets in her bagpack.

Small she may be, she was still well trained and the load on her wasn't all that bad. So with a determined expression, if a little excited, she went off towards the meeting place.

---

There were more applicants that she had expected. She'd expected perhaps ten, but it turned out to be nearly double that amount. Miss Fortune smiled upon her, though, as she ended up as one of the ones the Expedition Leader chose for the job. She had answered all the questions he posed her, even if one of them wasn't answered with the entire truth. She had almost grimaced at that one, only managing to keep a straight face by turning away.

She stood straight with one hand resting on the hilt of her katanas, dark eyes following Eli - even if she didn't yet know his name. Yet. She could see by the way he moved that he was experienced when it came to fighting, or at least survival. Regardless of which it was, she knew he wasn't a complete newbie like many of the applicants had been - a degenerating comment, sure, but true nonetheless. As she did so, she mulled over what he had said and the rest of the group that would accompany him. They were diverse, which was good; each of them with a variety of skills that would aid them in this way and that way.

A crease on her brow did appear on her face, however, at one of the things he said. She shouldn't be surprised that he referred to her as 'Samurai' given her choice of attire, but to not be recognised at all? It certainly wasn't something she expected.

"I have two questions. First, what's your name? And second, does the phrase 'The Crazed Weaponsmith' mean anything to you?" Am I arrogant? Perhaps. Or perhaps I just want to be recognised for something I actually am rather than a name that explains little aside from my choice of armour.

Lauren's footsteps were shrouded in silence as she crept past her parents room. She rested her hand against the door frame outside their bedroom and peered in with, what she hoped wasn't, a parting glance. Yoko and Benjamin Ritsu lay together on their black futon, covered in a thick, warm looking blanket which hid both their naked bodies from their escapades the night prior. Benjamin tightly held onto his wife from behind, who stirred, only a little, to snuggle closer to the man who held her. Lauren's small mouth turned up into a smile, one bittersweet enough to leave a sour taste in her mouth. Then, without ceremony, she pulled on her pack and moved silently down the stairs and out of the Clinic. Today would be the first day she'd ever skip a morning 'run' with her squad. As she moved out of the large maw that was the opening, she looked around at the bizarre style mall with a sigh. She'd have to avoid climbing in her usual manner, that being swinging like a lunatic from one pole to the other, or using the holes in the walls to leap upwards towards the opening that was the entrance to the refuge. It would just draw too much attention and eventually alert her father to her whereabouts. Instead, with heavy feet, Lauren trudged up the many stairs to the way out of the refuge.

--

Lauren continued this way all the way to the rendevous point, keeping her head low like a dog that had received a swipe to the head for being bad. When she heard a man talking however, she looked up with a heavy heart.

And turned around midstep.

Oh no, He's Hot! Her eyes had practically bugged out at the sight of the attractive male talking almost down to the others and her heart thudded loudly in her ears. Since when did men get so attractive?! She could have sworn most of the people known for their career as 'models' had died according to her mom. She considered approaching him, her cheeks beat red... but then a thought trickled into her head like a small pool of dark ill will.

You're not pretty enough for him.

The thought set her shoulders to a slump and for her blush to fade just a little. Her calloused hand raised up to her right, chocolate colored eye and traced the curved scar beneath it. It was ugly; or so she believed. Besides, the fatigues on that guy just screamed loner. An attractive, mysterious, tall, dark....

She shook her head to dispel the less than pure thoughts in her head. He's WAY out of your league girl.

With a small intake of breath and an attempt to adjust herself, Lauren slunk into the crowd... perhaps almost purposefully straying to the front, where he could see her in all her black-jacket-black-sweats-black-hair-pale-skin-'glory.'

---

Time passed as Eli said his piece, noting to her that she would in fact be the first to go, and the other scout to be the one which followed up behind her. She blinked. Wha... senpai had noticed her? SENPAI HAD NOTICED HER! She could barely contain her small squee of happiness as the other scout eyed her curiously, thinking he'd seen her before but not quite able to put a name to the face.

For Wen, her schedule was more or less a never-ending cycle of inspections and usually-disappointing discoveries, with nothing but her own thoughts to accompany her while she walked from place to place. The botany labs and the greenhouses had two entirely different teams that had very little overlap, and neither team wanted to know what the other was doing. Except for Troy, anyway, but Wen found herself avoiding his company with increasing frequency; he was a jumpy, excitable man with little regard for her personal space, and there was nothing he needed to know about her other than the fact that she is his boss.

The greenhouse complex was one of her favorite places in Refuge. It was made with a shocking amount of care and attention to detail, and the space was divided neatly into several quadrants, with further divisions for at-risk seedlings. Although it was muggy as hell and the ceiling was a tad low, she actually looked forward to her daily inspection. The people worked diligently and quietly, and Wen thought that the mere sight of thriving plants was a sort of beacon of hope.

One of the technicians, Marlen, spotted her and goose-stepped over another kneeling on the ground to open the door. "Doctor Lai, you came right when we were moving the QVs." she said, pointing a dirty, gloved finger toward the back of the greenhouse. A beeline of technicians carrying pots were moving to a more sheltered area.

'Questionable Vegetation', when there are concerns in the speed and level of growth in engineered seedlings that have been cleared for greenhouse growth.

Wen followed the woman to the QV area, where every leaf and vine was enormous compared to its more 'natural' counterpart. It was ambitious and exciting to oversee such a potentially-dangerous project, but at the same time, it was frightening to know that the entire nursery would need to be completely destroyed should something go wrong.

She spent the next house looking over each and every row of plants, inspecting the leaves and looking over the detailed records of their growth cycles. Every now and then, she would order an entire row of plants grown from the same batch of seeds to be taken out and eradicated, much to the distress of the greenhouse workers. By the time she left the greenhouse, the sun had gone down and the QV area had a mere tenth of the plant matter that it did when the day started.

---

Wen returned home, empty-handed and with a pounding headache. She stopped by the labs to drop off her coat and ended up spending an extra twenty minutes listening to the repairman chatter about his kid while he fixed the security gate. "A backtalking little shit," he said. "But I love that kid, he don't know it but I do. I hope I never see him on that wall, can't shoot for shit with his BB gun..."

She yanked the clips and ties out of her hair, letting it loose. It was a relief to be at home for the night, but it was so depressingly empty that she felt heavier just looking at all of blank space. New wallpaper to replace the old, peeling one, maybe a nice little coffee table... Or better, something to put in the vase on the windowsill. Wen was determined to keep it there in the event that she could put roses in it someday. It was something she promised her mother when she was still alive, as roses were not only her favorite, but were also bizarrely the most dangerously mutated flower variety that she had seen.

The gunshots almost sounded like fireworks as Wen spent the rest of the night with a cold can of soup and a half-finished book of Sudoku puzzles.

---

It was straight to the labs again the next morning, and Wen was more absorbed in her work than usual. Instead of making a pointed effort to ignore Troy's "jokes", she actually feigned a laugh, which caused him to scratch his head in confusion and retreat back to his desk. Getting her annoyed was the fun part, not telling the joke on its own!

It wasn't a bad morning, all in all; there were fewer compromised samples for once, and it made filling out the papaerwork easy. A checkmark was always going to be faster than a detailed report and disposal order, and having it run through the full channel to get verified and signed-off at every step.

Vera could not help but sense an indecisive gaze and weapon upon her, scoping every inch of her bundled figure out like a new type of species. Although highly skilled in ignoring such unwanted attention she herself could not help but briskly glance over his athletic frame curiously too. Sticky blood stained his attire most likely from those stray darklings catching a whiff of fresh meat. Alarming how bold these animals were beginning to act. Even tiny usually non-aggressive critters were gradually wavering into hostile carnivores, preying on beings twice their size.

Pang!

Once again inquisitive orbs took the time from focusing on skinning to gaze up at the stranger after hearing an odd sound, a metallic aluminum on steel noise that should not have been made from a hand catching something. His were indeed different, something she certainly had not seen around before. Surely those came in handy. While in mid thought he tossed the can back and she barely caught it. it brushed past the side of her thumb causing the item to twirl in mid-air for a moment before she lowered her hand to then catch it successfully before it plummeted toward the ground. She placed the can back in her military pack. She returned her gaze to the mutation below and began where she left off.

“Thanks for the save. Name’s Ryker. Yours?”

She was afraid he’d want a formality, that’s why she had subtly hinted that he takes off but unfortunately that was not going to be the case. She debated whether to indulge the ruggedly handsome man or not and finally decided that if she were to run into him again, he should know the person he owed.

“Vera Pavelevna Lavrin.” Clear constraint was smothered over her quick and unfriendly answer while fingers promptly sliced sections of meat to compress into small bins.

“Your wounds need attention.” She commented simply.

His wounds would need to be stitched regardless of what looked to be a thin layer of ointment halting further bleeding, and it just so happened that Vera came prepared for such occurrences. There was simply no possible way for him to bend over backward in order to use the first aid kit so she would have to aid him. Without wasting another minuet she removed a canteen of slush, the sewing kit, and a soap bar to cleanse her hands before attempting to stitch his lacerations closed. Since the water remained infected one had to make do with what was on hand. Stormy hues stared at him patiently, waiting for the unique wanderer to find a comfy position for her to assume the painful treatment.

The accent in her name was thick enough to cut with a combat knife. She was definitely Russian, something you saw very few of in the Silver Hand. Ryker didn't care much for Russians, let alone any outsiders, but she saved him so he could use her for now. Now she was offering to stitch his wounds up, which surprised him even further. She started taking various things out of her backpack, the usual things for wound stitching. She scrubbed her hands as Ryker tried to think out how to go about the whole operation, With the room being bare of any sort table or counter, he'd have to simply lay on the floor, and hope the morphine dose didn't wear off before the woman started stitched.

Nah, wait a second, fuck that. Way too exposed. He said, rethinking it. While it was the most comfortable position, the most comfortable positions were usually the most exposed and vulnerable.

He knew that tribal women were usually good with medicine; he had learned a few of his little tricks from tribal women. Although, the Russians, however, didn't always have the best record when it came to medical successes. If the situation were different, Ryker would've probably refused the stitch-up from some mix-breed outsider, but he didn't have much of a better choice, so he'd take it or now. He lowered himself onto his butt, and shifted onto his right side a bit, rotating his left leg, getting his cut off the floor, and exposed.

"It's really just the left one, the other one isn't too bad. It'll heal." He said, with a smirk of uncertainty on his face. "I appreciate it."

A faint aroma of cherry flavored slush permeated musty air from cleansing her crimson stained hands. It was kind of nice, the tart smell, but all too soon it vanished. Heavy metallic scents concealed any lingering sweetness, a mixture of fresh blood from both the mechanized stranger and both darkling kills. When living this life one becomes used to many obscene sights and smells, and eventually grows accustom or numb to all of them. Existence would be odd without an outbreak, could she live a cushy lifestyle if all is said and done…frankly, she was not sure.

“Don’t mention it. I am sure you’d do same for me.” She plainly said with a skeptical glare clearly stating a false remark.

After situating herself on steady knees she rolled up his pant leg and then readied the suture. Nimble fingers began sewing his skin closed with ease. This whole ordeal appeared unnervingly normal to the blond woman who refused to show any sort of emotion other than caution--but who could blame her? A thought of robbing him blind honestly did occur but lucky for him that was not in her character anymore. Those days of raiding weak travelers with The Martyrs came to pass since giving birth. Savin would have been so proud of her for this selflessness she was showing and that thought made her shoulders relax a bit in contentment.

“It’s not my place to say but Darklings will make the rest of your travel nearly impossible tonight, leaving in morning would be best bet…I will be going to Refuge tomorrow as well.”Not one to outright ask so subtly her words hinted that he could tag along with her if he wanted. Without resistance the curved needle glided through the last bit of flesh as she tied a tiny knot and sliced the access line with her survival knife.

Even with how effortlessly the needle slid through his skin, the sting still made it through somewhat. Not enough to make him react, but he felt it. Just by the looks of it, it appeared that it would really hurt in a bit. The cherry scent was nice though, and it reminded him that he had a canteen of his own slush on his hip, which he grabbed and sipped from. The sweetness, which unfortunately only tasted faintly like mango, slid past down his tongue and down his gullet, leaving a refreshed feeling behind. He slid the canteen back into his belt holder, realizing she has spoken and he hadn't really responded.

"You seem pretty confident in strangers, something you don't see much of." He smirked.

Before he knew it, she was finished stitching up, and made a comment about the Darklimgs and how she was planning to get to the Refuge the next day as well. He slowly got his good leg under him, slowly pushing up, the woman helping him a bit. Once he got steady, he looked down at his rifle and muttered a curse, prompting the woman to kneel down and hand it to him, no particular look on her face. He took it softly in his metal arm, and looked back up at the woman.

"Yeah, we should probably move to the closest building to the Refuge we can get into to settle into for the night. Barricade it up real nice, wait for the herd to thin out, whenever the fuck that's gonna be..." He said, his eyes breaking from hers to look out the window. Another explosion vibrated the building, earning a slight twitch from the both of them. There hadn't been one for the last few minutes. The herd was thinner than earlier, but still too solid to run through. Ryker sighed, limping over to the window.

Looking past the slight reflection of himself in the glass, the Refuge sat in the distance, standing among a backdrop of crumbling and overgrown buildings around it. They had managed to rid most of Central Park of vegetation, but it constantly preyed on the outside edges of the park. Funny how the roles reversed.

Ryker flicked this left index once again, the needle revealing itself on the tip of his finger. He stuck it in his thigh, the same time a very obvious, very particular sensation overtook part of his arm. His ear bud, which he had forgotten about, and the woman seemingly hadn't noticed, began to ring in his ear. He quickly feigned a scratch to the side of his head, subtlety slipping the small thing out of his ear. Really, Mia, right now??

From her peripheral vision she gauged the unusual man who remained still without wavering an inch. Having preformed this procedure on herself many a time, most anyone would be expected to flinch but he remained impassive like she did. Even as he commented about her assurance of unfamiliar people she did not crack a smile but flicked her eyes toward him as he smirked one of his signature expressions. Once again she took a bit of slush and soap to cleanse her hands free of sticky blood and rose after packing all her necessities away including the compact bin of darkling meat and hide.

"Yeah, we should probably move to the closest building to the Refuge we can get into to settle into for the night. Barricade it up real nice, wait for the herd to thin out, whenever the fuck that's gonna be..." She heard Ryker wonder.

A few minuets of silence gave the Russian time to quickly navigate a memorized map in her mind before giving a vague suggestion. "There are many deserted warehouses around, I am sure we will find one suitable to bar up. Bag straps were hoisted upon her shoulders ready to take leave. "We need to move now, no time to waste." She added with urgency.

This was an interesting turn of events; she had gone to hunt for a spider-mantis but ended up with a full grown man instead. Internally she shrugged as he seemed decent enough for the time being and another set of hands—metal hands at that—would be quite useful. Before leaving Vera scoured the dim area in search for anything of use but nothing particular came into sight, nothing worth weighing her down further anyway. While Ryker stood stoic near a smog covered window her legs already begun strolling fourth through the door she had managed to burst through.

Keen eyes glanced over the side of a vine entangled railing to stare at a compressed fur-less canine body flattened by the fall. It had remained dead thank goodness and the descent down rotten steps seemed safe currently. She was not sure which building would be best to rest their heads but remembered an old abandoned zoo that may work wonderfully in central park. Fences still surrounded an enclosed area and they could surely find a means to barricade themselves in one of the specialized exhibits. After waiting a few steps below she glanced back to see if Ryker had caught up no to avail and she thought this peculiar. Backtracking a little bit she rested against a wall with crumbled drywall and waited near the previous door to see if she could hear him. Her arms folded patiently wondering what had caused his delay.

Dropping the ear bud into his pocket, Ryker switched his radio on for a split second.

"I can't talk right now." he whispered quietly into his arm. Mia was able to utter a high-pitched "WHA-" that he couldn't hear before Ryker shut his radio off, starting to rotate on his heel, matching gazes with Vera, with her arms crossed. He gave a nervous smirk, hoping she hadn't heard him say anything. "Just, uh, enjoying the view."

He started limping over to the door she stood in, his rifle hanging across his chest. "You're a marksman, I can tell by that sniper rifle, why don't you try to find a bit of vantage point and cover me while I move, considering I'm a bit at a disadvantage here." He said, referring to his stitches.

His voice was a muted incomprehensible mutter from the other room and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously as he finally emerged. Although she did not speak of the matter that particularly odd moment would not be forgotten. His anxious facial expression gave way to a multitude of questions the Russian had in mind but never pried in anyone’s affairs, lest they begin to do the same. Meanwhile Vera adjusted the carbon colored rifle and nodded at his suggestion, descending steps with an ever watchful gaze for critters roaming by. She would wave for him to follow or give a sign for him to progress no more if something showed the blond interest.

This went on for a long while as they trekked through overgrown flora tirelessly until happening upon a dangling sign that read “Central Park Zoo”. There were many enclosures to choose from but the reptile habitat was closest. A crowbar was necessary to pry open the stubborn frame but once successful her hands held open the door for him to wobble inside. They could begin barring up that entrance-way just in case something had been following them. While surveying the new area combat boots crunched over pieces of glass somehow destroyed by an incredible force. The reptiles long since passed or evolved into something much more atrocious were nowhere in sight—hopefully.

Vera lugged over a large piece of timber from inside a snake cage, it dragged along the blood stained floor before resting against the door. She was notably exhausted and had been for some time. Plagued by insomnia and night terrors the quiet woman rarely caught up on any sleep. This night would be no different except she would be sharing a space with a man. She had not been alone with one since Mti’s death but did not seem noticeably uncomfortable by Ryker’s presence. It wasn’t that she was not given the opportunity but simply she was too busy.

Slowly lowering down the stairs into the enclosure, the barrel of Isabella pointed slightly into the dimly illuminated pathway they had come from. Ryker's eyes scanned aggressively into the dark, trying to pinpoint any sort of movement and put it down before it got too close. Vera made it into the enclosure, and pointed her rifle past Ryker, the barrels barely visible in his peripheral vision. Ryker grabbed the door, and shut it quietly but firmly. Vera dragged a piece of wood past him to barricade the door as he walked in and examined the place. Vera's fingers slid off her over-sized jacket to get more comfortable laying it across the cold ground. She then slipped off the band holding her long hair into a tight ponytail and ran fingers through, combing out pieces of earth. Skin lightly gleamed, sticky to the touch, and layered with a multitude of unappealing grime from this series of events. Even a tough wilderness woman like herself would have killed for a nice warm shower right about then but as to be expected, this would not be happening so soon.The thick plate glass at the front of the exhibit had somehow been smashed and shattered open, probably do to rabid looters or monsters. It was a huge open flank in their room, but if they hid in the back and stayed behind some of the large debris in the room, they could stay hidden. His eyes drifted upwards, and something caught his eye. It was hardly visible, but something was there. Ryker took a step forward, His rifle was slouched a bit downwards, his right hand being the only one carrying it's familiar weight.

Ryker took one slow paced step after the other, raising his hand, with the orb of light arising out of the back of his hand, brightly illuminating the wall. Revealed in place of the shady silhouette was a rolled up tarp, bundled up above the broken window, running it's total length. At it's end was a small rope, which appeared to release the tarp, and also whatever could be hidden in it.

"Vera." He said flatly, his stern voice echoing slightly in the empty room. "Be ready for whatever's in the tarp." He said. He turned to see that Vera had taken her jacket off and was combing through her hair. She stopped, and grabbed her rifle, readying it, aimed at the tarp. She simply nodded without saying anything. Ryker returned the nod, and turned back around, slowly pulling the rope off the ground. He readjusted his right arm, orienting Isabella's barrel towards the tarp.

A deep breath entered and exited Ryker's lungs as he stared at the tarp, then his hand with the rope in it. He stiffened his arm, and finally yanked the rope. All across the wall, the tarp fell over the hole in the wall, revealing a tarp made up of mainly large patches of different colors and qualities of tarp, crudely sewn together with various different threads. Over most of the tarp was nothing but smack dab in the center was a spider, the size of cat with spikes covering most of its abdomen. Its legs were covered in poisonous spines which glowed dimly of different bio luminescent colors. Ryker felt a knot rise up in his throat, followed by a burning in his stomach. He took a step back.

"F-f-fuck." He said, terrified of the poison crawler that sat in front of him. He swallowed, memories of a family of them tearing one of his old Silver Hand squads, dissolving them with their digestive juices from the inside out. His stomach churned, but his eyes remained glued on the arachnid, which stared back at him, slowly moving one leg towards the floor. The Isabella's barrel started to shake slightly, until finally Ryker swallowed and stiffened his body.

"Vera, when I say, shoot the SHIT out of that little thing." He said, a bit of fear in his voice.

Vera replied with a silent nod, the poison crawler very slowly lowering its fifth leg on the ground, readying itself to pounce.

Ryker chomped down on his teeth, before finally shouting "SHOOOOOT!!"

Luckily Vera was able to slowly ready herself in a crouching position, sitting on one foot with her other knee pointed to the ceiling. Her elbow rested on that knee while a focused gaze was set through the scope, a prominent cheekbone resting against the stock and ready to fire on Ryker’s command. A deep steady breath was inhaled, only audible by herself as she prepared to kill this son of a bitch. "SHOOOOOT!!" When the words belted from Ryker’s lungs her finger immediately pulled back the trigger, she could now exhale as the round pierced into the center of one of this eight legged critters eyes. A harrowing screech echoed off each crumbling wall as the luminescent creature aggressively leaped forth leaving a trail of shiny poison upon the concrete.

Experience, which would be many people’s assumption of her fearless attitude but that, was only part of it. With nothing really left to lose she placed everything deep within her into each dangerous encounter. Savin could be on any part of the equator by now or worse yet…she dare not think about that. Her decisions were gutsy for said reason yet verging on reckless. Not exactly wanting to die but every time death stared her in the face she had no reason to wince. This mysterious stranger on the other hand appeared to have something to live for. An obvious give-a-way could be found in his stuttering speech and cautious body language. Must be nice, the need to live she had thought.

Swiftly her hand pulled back the bolt that refiled the cartridge to shoot once again and hopefully find its killing point, unaware of how her current partner in this dystopian world was faring. Supposedly well since there were other bullets firing with great speed into this bleeding arachnid. Before this wounded monster could land on or near one of them its body was propelled back by great force from one of the shots. Eight legs squirmed toward the cracked ceiling until they curled up in a signature dead spider pose, and stopped moving all together. Vera was satisfied, another one down and to be added to her collection of treacherous goods for sale or trade.

This creature would be excellent to dissect and take back to Refuge but the process would need absolute precision but still be quite risky. Never had she seen one up close before let alone sliced through one’s abdomen or cephalothorax. An anatomy lesson would follow as she took out all necessary tools, gloves, bins, and goggles to start carefully pulling this thing apart. Without shame she stood after placing her rifle away to start work before catching a couple of hours shut eye. There was nothing to say during this time even though many would have surely commented on what had just happened. “When the sun comes up we’ll take off again.” Was all she mustered.

---

No matter how much he struggled, Ryker, couldn't raise himself any sort of distance off the ground. It was morning now and a cough brought out another throat full of blood, which shot out of his mouth and flowed over the edges of the mouth. He winced in pain hopelessly, finally looking back up at the horror that sat above him. A poison crawler sat there, continuing to stare him in the eyes as it's barbed legs impaled Ryker's abdomen to the ground, an indescribable pain emanating from his stomach. Ryker couldn't help but sputter as his short breaths shot out of his lungs as small sobs. A drop of crimson was trailing down his cheek when he began to speak.

"P-please." He said, raising a quaking arm towards the crawler. It seemed to be offended by his begging, screeching and rearing back, Ryker matching with a pitiful scream of horror. The crawler brought it's mandibles down hard on Ryker, burrowing into his chest.

Ryker let out a roar of pain, his extremities beginning to wriggle around in the dirt, struggling to get the monster out of him. He desperately tried deploy something from his arms, but all that greeted him was the beeping of his low battery alert. Ryker began sobbing more openly, in a miserable mix of pain and fear. The cries seemed to reach the ears of the crawler, who pulled it's blood and gut covered head out of Ryker renewing a wave of pain, worsening Ryker's guttural sobs and gags, blood flowing freely from mouth. The Ryker could barely raise his head up in time to see the monsters mouth open. That only meant one thing. Digestive acids.

Ryker started to yell curses and the monster within the second the monster's head lowered down again, digging deeper into Ryker's chest. Ryker could only grunt, before his body began to tingle and then burn. It was an ineffable burning, with Ryker letting out a final scream, before a mixture of acids, blood, and dissolving organs flew from his mouth. The acids fell all over his face, burning away his skin, the pain unimaginable. Ryker tried to move his arms, but they sat motionless, the batteries finally dead. A last few tears came from his eyes, before the acids began to burn away his tear ducts. Soon after, his brain liquefied, and his dissolving body sat still, being devoured by the crawler.

Ryker began to scream again, this one finally shaking out of his nightmare. He sat straight up, the light in the room blinding him. Once he gained his vision back, he quickly scanned the room, seeing only Vera, looking at him no different than usual. She had a nearly understanding look on her face, until she finally opened her mouth.

"Your weapon." She said calmly, in her accented voice. She raised one arm to point towards him.

He hadn't noticed, but when he looked down, he saw his rifle in his hands, pointed at Vera. His arm was slightly trembling, but his trigger finger was nearly pulled all the way. After staring at his hand for a moment, he finally loosened up and lowered his rifle, the barrel hitting the floor.

"S-sorry. Can we get going now?" He inquired in shaky murmurs as they began to pack up and head back to Refuge.