It was funny, because even though they had all been at least partially destroyed in the various Particle Wars and the ensuing fires and inhumanity; cities across the country still attracted good and bad people. As Thalia cautiously traversed the streets of one such specimen she observed signs of good and evil all over. Gang signs scrawled on the walls next to a travelling merchant, caving in to a group of urchin children and giving away ancient sweets for free. Scraggly grass and hardy bushes had pushed through the scorched tarmac to create a strange alloy of man and nature. Harsh dust clouds occasionally whipped through the streets, followed by fresh air and the smell of ash. 

Thalia had found a mother and daughter eking out a meager existence in the bombed remains of a fire station. A line of washing had been hung between the melted husks of two fire engines; the first she saw of the pair was when a crossbow was prodded into her back by a girl of perhaps twelve. Thalia had seen the fear etched all over her face, but eventually persuaded them that she meant no harm. After producing a few of the trinkets she made a habit of picking up from her travels of the wasteland, they both smiled widely and bid her join them. They disappeared quickly into the dark halls of the fire station, picked clean by a generation of looters.

After clambering dexterously up some ruined stairs, the duo ushered her into their living quarters, a small room open to the air on the second floor of the fire station. The whole building creaked but the view out of the gigantic rent in the wall was breathtaking. The bare bones of the city lay before her; sitting like a skeleton in an iron throne. Trails of smoke trailed into the air like flags, when Thalia asked what they were the pair replied that they came from gangs burning prisoners on heaps of tires. Yikes. It was hours after, when they were talking in hushed voices over a hot bowl of rabbit stew that Thalia heard the tramp of boots directly outside.

“What’s that?” She asked, creeping to the parapet. “Raiders, looks like they’re going to Aurora’s end.” The little girl answered, sidling up next to her. Thalia looked down and saw scores of men in dusters and assorted scrap armour covering the road below. “Is that a town?” Thalia asked, looking through a pair of binoculars with one cracked lens which was hung up on a hook. “Yes, about forty people.” The little girl replied. A large part of Thalia’s being begged her not to go. To stay with this mother and daughter for a night or two to recharge. But the promise of recognition and a chance to prove herself had just revealed itself. Thalia quickly thanked the pair, gave them a dollar and left in a hurry, Welrod unholstered.

The street was deserted when Thalia re-emerged onto it, but within minutes of her setting off on their trail, a staccato of gunshots pierced the relative silence. Breaking into a run, Thalia soon found herself confronted with stockades littered with dead bodies. Moving through the corpse strewn entrance like an agent of Hades, Thalia checked each for life signs before looting their bodies for food or medical supplies. At last she came to a man laying next to an ancient riot shield. He had been hit up pretty badly but was still breathing, leaning against a lamp post. Rushing to him, Thalia pulled out her meagre supply of bandage and tweezers before setting to work on the shrapnel that had peppered his flank.