The ruins buzzed with quiet activity, each member of the group engrossed in their own task as they prepared for the journey ahead. The cracked and crumbling walls of their base offered little protection from the wind, but the place felt alive with purpose.
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Jenny crouched on the ground near a patch of flattened dirt, her rifle balanced across her lap. Sweat slicked her brow as she meticulously worked through the motions of reloading. The awkwardness of using her left hand for something designed for a right-handed shooter was maddening, but she was starting to find a rhythm.
The lever-action rifle clicked softly as she slid another round into place. Her movements were slow but deliberate, and though her fingers fumbled occasionally, each attempt was smoother than the last. She muttered under her breath, willing herself to stay focused.
She paused to check her surroundings, then shouldered the rifle. Taking a steadying breath, she sighted on a distant pile of rubble and squeezed the trigger. The rifle’s kick was sharp, jolting her shoulder, but the shot rang true, sending a plume of dust into the air.
Jenny’s lips tightened into a faint smile. Not fast, not smooth—but effective. That would have to be enough. She set the rifle aside and picked up the knife Reed had given her, switching seamlessly into practicing strikes and kicks against an old wooden post hammered into the ground.
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Across the ruins, Chan hunched over a makeshift workbench littered with scraps of metal, wires, and glowing shards. His fingers moved quickly, tightening bolts and adjusting connections as he worked on some contraption that resembled a cross between a harness and a piece of armor. Every so often, he let out a triumphant grunt.
“There! Huh? Aha!” came his muffled exclamations, followed by the faint whir of something powering on and promptly sputtering out again. Undeterred, Chan grinned and reached for another tool.
Laura, by contrast, worked in calm silence. She crouched beside a series of clay pots and metal cans filled with soil, tending to a small collection of plants she’d nurtured from scavenged seeds. Her hands moved deftly, plucking leaves and stems with precision. She carefully arranged the fresh clippings on a flat stone, grinding them into a paste with the butt of her knife. The faint smell of herbs drifted on the breeze.
She muttered to herself, glancing at a glass jar filled with a murky green liquid. “A little more yarrow... should do it.”
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Near the edge of the camp, Denzel led two dragonhorses into the clearing. Their scaled hides glistened faintly in the light, their eyes sharp and intelligent as they sniffed the air. One snorted, pawing at the ground as Denzel adjusted their saddles. He’d missed the trip to Burgh, staying back to tend the base and keep it secure while the others bartered and resupplied. Now, as he worked with the dragonhorses, his movements were calm and deliberate, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the camp.
“And this one’s for you, Mewlissa,” he said, crouching down to scratch behind the ears of the large tabby cat perched on a nearby rock. Mewlissa stretched languidly before hopping into a small sack rigged to the back of one saddle. The contraption had been designed specifically for her comfort, complete with a soft lining. Denzel chuckled as she curled up inside, her tail flicking lazily.
“You better get used to it,” he added. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
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Jenny moved with a steady rhythm near the center of the base, her left hand gripping the knife with precision as she worked through her strikes. Three sharp thrusts forward—one, two, three—followed by a right kick, then a left. The kicks sent small clouds of dust into the air, her boots skidding slightly as she struggled to maintain balance. Despite the occasional stumble, she didn’t stop.
Her movements were focused, purposeful. Each repetition was faster than the last, the knife catching the faint light as it sliced through the air. Her jaw was set, her grey eyes narrowed. Determination radiated from her with every step, every strike.
Denzel watched from a short distance as he finished tying the saddle bags on one of the dragonhorses. Mewlissa had perched herself in her travel sack on the back of the saddle, lazily watching Jenny’s movements with the faintest flick of her tail.
“Girl’s got grit,” Denzel muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Reed, who was leaning against a crumbled wall with his arms crossed, glanced up from his casual daydreaming. He followed Denzel’s gaze, watching Jenny as she completed another set of strikes and kicked a puff of dirt into the air. She wobbled slightly but steadied herself with a fierce growl of frustration, immediately resuming the sequence.
“Where the hell does she get that kind of willpower?” Denzel asked, shaking his head.
Reed scratched the back of his neck, his expression softening just slightly. “I have no idea,” he said honestly. He tilted his head, his grin faint but genuine. “She’s tougher than she looks, though. I’ll give her that.”
Denzel grunted, his approval unspoken but evident as he returned to tightening the straps on the dragonhorse’s saddle. After a beat, he added, his tone casual but carrying an edge, “Wouldn’t mind trying to break her. Could use a challenge.”
Reed’s grin faltered, his gaze snapping to Denzel. “You’d better mean that in the ‘horse trainer’ sense,” he quipped, though there was a slight tension in his voice.
Denzel chuckled, shrugging as he gave the strap one last firm tug. “Maybe. Guess it depends.”
Reed’s grin returned, sharper this time, though his tone stayed light. “Careful, big guy. She might break you first.”
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Jenny finished her routine, pausing to catch her breath. Sweat dripped from her brow, and her chest rose and fell as she wiped her face on her sleeve. Her left arm ached slightly from the repetitive motion, but it wasn’t the arm that was bothering her. It was the dull, persistent throb coming from the stump of her right shoulder.
Her hand hovered near the edge of her bandages, and she frowned when she noticed a faint stain seeping through the fabric. A mix of dried blood and some kind of pale, watery discharge clung to the edges—a sign the bandages needed changing. She cursed under her breath, tilting her head back briefly to glare at the ruined ceiling above her.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
It wasn’t the pain that bothered her—it was the interruption. She was finally starting to feel like she was making progress, finding her footing in this world, and now this.
Jenny glanced toward where Reed was still leaning against the wall, his relaxed posture making her scowl. Might as well get it over with, she thought, walking toward him.
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Jenny walked purposefully toward Reed, her rifle slung over her left shoulder and her expression set. She trusted him by now—not just for his sharp eye or his ability to survive in the wasteland but for how he’d tended to her since the field amputation. Despite his cocky attitude, Reed had shown a steady, careful side when it came to her wound. She felt comfortable with him, or at least as comfortable as she could feel in this brutal world.
But just as she reached him, Laura intercepted her with a curt gesture. “Let me look.”
Jenny blinked, her steps halting. “What?”
“You heard me,” Laura said flatly, nodding toward Jenny’s bandaged shoulder. “Let me check it. I’m the closest thing we’ve got to a medic here?”
Jenny’s eyes darted to Reed, searching his face for... something. An explanation, a reassurance. Reed shifted awkwardly under her gaze, his mouth opening as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he shrugged slightly, his expression apologetic.
Her look sharpened, silently demanding Why? But all Reed could manage was a faint, almost helpless glance in Laura’s direction. His silence spoke volumes: Just go with it.
With a frustrated sigh, Jenny turned back to Laura and nodded stiffly. “Fine.”
Laura didn’t waste time. She stepped closer, motioning for Jenny to sit on a nearby stone slab. “This won’t take long,” she said, her tone clipped as she pulled a fresh roll of bandages from her satchel and began unwrapping Jenny’s old ones.
Jenny sat stiffly, her jaw tight as Laura worked. The difference was immediate. Laura’s touch was efficient, precise, and utterly devoid of warmth. She cleaned the wound with practiced ease, her movements professional but mechanical. It wasn’t rough, exactly, but there was no softness to it, no consideration for Jenny’s discomfort.
Jenny glanced at the faintly glowing wound as Laura peeled back the bandages. The cauterized edges were scabbed over, the granulation tissue forming in uneven patches. Laura hummed to herself as she studied it, reaching for a small cloth soaked in antiseptic. The sting was sharp and immediate, and Jenny bit her lip to stifle a hiss.
“Still clean,” Laura muttered, her tone neutral. “No sign of infection. You’re lucky.”
Jenny didn’t respond, her mind suddenly flashing back to all the times Reed had cleaned and dressed the same wound. His hands had been steady but careful, his voice low and reassuring even when she hadn’t needed him to say anything. The contrast between his consideration and Laura’s detached efficiency made her chest tighten in an unfamiliar way.
Laura didn’t seem to notice. She finished cleaning the wound and began rewrapping it with fresh bandages, tying them off neatly before stepping back. “There. That’ll hold for now. Try not to mess it up.”
Jenny stood, rolling her shoulder experimentally. It didn’t feel worse, but something about the interaction left her unsettled. She nodded tersely, muttering a quick, “Thanks,” before turning back toward her training post.
Laura, meanwhile, packed her supplies away without so much as a glance in Jenny’s direction, her focus already shifting to the next task.
Reed, who had been lingering nearby, caught Jenny’s eye as she walked past. Her expression was tight, her mouth pressed into a thin line. His lips twitched into a faint, apologetic smile, but Jenny wasn’t having it. She shook her head slightly, her jaw tightening as she walked away.
Reed sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched her go. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, “that went well.”
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Nearby, Chan emerged from the shadows, cradling something in his hands. His steps were light, almost playful, as he approached the group. “Alright, everyone, pay attention,” he said, his grin wide and mischievous. “Jenny, you’re gonna love this.”
Jenny looked up, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her face as she turned toward him. “What’s that?” she asked, her tone skeptical.
Chan held up what looked like a shoulder harness made of dark leather, metal, and carefully fitted straps. The right side was a solid pauldron, layered with plates that extended just far enough to protect her shoulder without restricting movement. The left side was more intricate, with a series of adjustable belts designed to help her stabilize the rifle when aiming.
“It’s for you,” Chan said proudly, stepping closer and holding it out for her to examine. “Keeps your right shoulder covered from dirt or... you know, claws, teeth, whatever. And this—” he gestured to the left side, “—helps steady the rifle when you’re shooting. Figured you could use the extra support.”
Jenny blinked, her grey eyes widening slightly. She set the rifle aside and took the harness in her hand, turning it over carefully. The craftsmanship was rough, but it was clear that Chan had put time and thought into every piece. The leather was reinforced with small metal rivets, and the straps were lined with padding to make them comfortable against her skin.
“Chan...” she started, her voice unusually soft. She looked up at him, her expression almost uncertain. “This is... actually really good.”
Chan’s grin widened. “Damn right it is. Go on, try it.”
Jenny hesitated for a moment before slipping the harness over her head. Chan stepped in to help adjust the straps, tightening them until the fit was snug but not restrictive. The weight of the pauldron settled evenly across her right side, and the belts on the left side felt secure without being cumbersome.
“How’s that feel?” Chan asked, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
Jenny rolled her shoulder experimentally, feeling the way the harness shifted with her movements. It wasn’t perfect, but it was leagues better than anything she could have done herself. “Feels... good,” she admitted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Reed, leaning against a nearby wall, smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head, Chan. She’s just being polite.”
“Polite?” Chan shot back, his grin turning cocky. “This thing’s a masterpiece. I should charge her for it.”
Jenny snorted softly, running her fingers along the edge of the pauldron. “You’re not getting a shard out of me, Chan. But... thanks. Really.”
Chan waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get it all busted up on the first day, alright? Took me hours to put that thing together.”
Laura glanced over from her makeshift garden, her hands stained with dirt. “It’ll take more than fancy armor to keep her alive out there.”
Jenny shot her a sharp look, but Chan stepped in before the tension could build. “Hey, it’s not just fancy. It’s functional. And if anyone’s getting Jenny out of trouble, it’s this beauty right here.” He patted the harness with a sense of pride.
Reed chuckled softly, his gaze shifting back to Jenny. “Well, now you’re officially one of us. You’ve got the gear to prove it.”
Jenny didn’t respond immediately. She ran her hand over the leather again, feeling the weight of what it represented—not just protection, but acceptance. She didn’t belong here, not really, but for the first time in days, it felt like she was at least part of the team.
“Alright,” Reed said, pushing off the wall. “Now that Chan’s got his moment in the spotlight, let’s get back to it. We’ve got a long road ahead.”
Jenny nodded, picking up her rifle and adjusting the harness one last time. She wasn’t sure what lay ahead, but for the first time since leaving the bunker, she felt... ready.
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Reed stood near a crude map scratched into the dirt, a stick in hand as he pointed to various landmarks. The others gathered around him, Jenny wiping sweat from her brow as she joined the group. He had drawn the map on the ground to avoid overusing Jenny’s paper map—its very existence a relic, an artifact far too valuable to risk wear or damage.
“So,” Reed began, tapping the first mark. “This is us.” He drew the stick along a jagged path toward another point. “And this is the Danger Zone. No way around it. Too many ruins and traps to detour through any other route.”
He glanced at the group, gauging their reactions. “Next up, we’ve got Wormwood. Now, we could take a wide hook around the forest—”
Laura immediately scoffed, crossing her arms. “And waste three days? No.”
Denzel grunted in agreement. “We don’t have that kind of time.”
Reed raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “Yeah, figured you’d say that.” He tapped the map again. “Alright, we’ll deal with that problem when we get there. And this—” he circled the final mark, “—is the alleged Bunker 4.