The air was sterile and too still, carrying the faint sting of disinfectant that made Vigdis's nose twitch. She paced the small medbay room like a restless predator, the thin hospital gown clinging to her sweat-slicked skin, her bare feet silent against the cold, polished floor. Scars—new and old—marked her hands and feet, ghostly reminders of battles both physical and psychological. Her shoulders burned with the memory of what Elliot had put her through.
Two days since she last saw the boy's twisted grin.
She couldn’t decide if time felt impossibly fast or excruciatingly slow. The tests, the chambers, the heat, and cold—all of it blended together now, a bloody haze she didn’t want to think about. But the marks on her body refused to let her forget. She ran a thumb over a jagged scab at the edge of her palm, her mind turning over the Magician’s last words. “Bury that place.”
It wasn’t as though she disagreed. This Bunker deserved to be entombed, sealed away forever, its horrors rotting in silence. But the how? The thought brought a bitter laugh to her lips. Her axe could carve through bone, but not steel. Magic might rattle the gates, but it wouldn’t crumble them. And yet, the place had to die. She had seen enough to know that much.
Vigdis turned sharply, her green eyes catching the dim light of the room. The motion was fluid, calculated—more a prowling tiger than a woman still healing. She traced the room's edges again, counting steps, her thoughts circling the same unresolved questions. How do you destroy a monster you can’t reach? How do you kill an idea so deeply embedded in steel walls and clean faces?
The soft hiss of the door behind her broke her thoughts. She didn’t stop pacing.
Doug Ross stepped in, the clipboard in his hand as much a shield as a tool. He avoided her eyes, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the monitors beside her bed.
“You’re all clear,” he said, his voice even, professional, though tinged with the slightest disbelief. "It’s a miracle, honestly. No sign of infection. Scarring’s minimal—your recovery rate is... exceptional.”
Vigdis didn’t answer, didn’t look at him. Her bare feet traced the same well-worn path across the room, her shoulders rolling with each deliberate step.
Ross cleared his throat. “You’re cleared medically,” he continued. “Your gear will be brought shortly, and you’ll be escorted topside to join the expedition.”
Still, she said nothing. Her silence was unnerving, her presence filling the room more than her words ever could. Ross shifted uncomfortably, his grip on the clipboard tightening.
Finally, he risked a glance at her. Vigdis’s gaze was distant, not fixed on him but somewhere far beyond, as if she could see through the walls and corridors of the Bunker, straight into the wasteland beyond. Her green eyes burned with an intensity that made Ross flinch and look away again.
“I’ll... make sure they bring everything,” he muttered, his professionalism cracking just slightly. “If you need anything else—”
The scrape of her nails against the metal bedframe interrupted him, the sharp sound cutting through the stillness. It wasn’t a response. It wasn’t even directed at him. Vigdis simply stopped, her hand resting on the edge of the bed as she exhaled slowly, her shoulders lowering just a fraction.
Ross took that as his cue to leave, the door hissing shut behind him.
For a moment, the room was silent again, save for the faint hum of the medical equipment. Vigdis straightened, rolling her shoulders back as she turned toward the door. Her jaw tightened as her thoughts shifted. The expedition. What the hell was it? Why was she being sent topside now, and to what end? The word hung in her mind like a stone, its meaning just out of reach but heavy with implications.
If she still held on to the Magician’s request, the question wasn’t whether she’d bury this place—but what it would cost her to do it.
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The tech lab smelled faintly of machine oil and sterilizing agents, a sharp tang that mingled with the low hum of nearby equipment. Jenny sat in the chair, her stump bare and propped on a cushioned support. Two days of careful treatment had brought some relief, the rough edges of Reed’s field amputation cleaned up by surgical precision. The sting of fresh skin growth was muted, a dull ache that she ignored out of habit.
Across from her, a teenage girl—barely younger than Jenny herself—adjusted straps on a harness with nimble fingers. The kid was wiry, her features sharp beneath the overhead light, and though her hands were steady, Jenny caught the occasional flicker of unease in her eyes.
“How’s it coming along?” Jenny asked, her tone lighter, though curiosity edged her words.
“Almost,” the girl replied without looking up, the word clipped and professional. Her voice had the controlled cadence of someone trying very hard not to fumble under pressure.
Jenny huffed softly, leaning back in the chair. Her grey eyes swept the room, taking in the tools scattered across the workstation and the half-built prosthetic arm resting on a nearby table—a skeletal structure of metal rods and exposed wiring. It looked more like a weapon than a limb.
When the girl finally finished, she stepped back and glanced at Jenny’s stump. “How does it feel?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
Jenny rotated her shoulder experimentally, the harness shifting with a soft creak of leather and metal. The scaled design of the pauldron flexed smoothly, protecting her bandaged stump without digging into the fresh tissue. The left-side straps—reinforced for carrying her rifle—felt sturdy, and the intricate setup of belts designed for one-handed reloading was, frankly, ingenious.
“It’s... better than I expected,” Jenny admitted grudgingly, her fingers brushing over one of the harness’s reinforced sections. “You’ve done this before?”
The girl’s lips twitched into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The original version wasn’t mine. I just upgraded what you already had.”
Jenny studied her for a moment, noting the tired shadows under her eyes and the smudge of grease along her jawline. “Looks like you put some thought into it.”
“It was part of the job,” the girl said simply, her tone matter-of-fact.
Jenny’s eyebrow arched, but before she could respond, the girl stepped forward with a length of strap. “Let me adjust this—your rifle’s weight might pull if it’s not balanced right.”
Jenny didn’t argue, watching in silence as the girl worked. The harness was a marvel of functionality—lightweight, flexible, and equipped with enough storage to make it practical in the field. But it was also a reminder of everything she’d lost.
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When the girl finished tightening the last strap, she stepped back again, brushing her hands on her stained trousers. “There,” she said, her voice firm. “It should hold up. Just... don’t push it too hard until you’re fully healed.”
Jenny rolled her shoulder again, testing the range of motion. It felt strange—foreign, even—but it worked. “Not bad,” she said finally. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Sera,” the girl replied, her shoulders straightening slightly. “Technician Third Class.”
“Well, Sera,” Jenny said, rising to her feet. The harness shifted but stayed secure, the weight evenly distributed across her frame. “You might’ve just saved my life.”
Sera blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected praise. Then, after a beat, she offered a small, genuine smile. “Just doing my job.”
Jenny nodded, her smirk faint but real. “You do it better than most.”
As she turned to leave, she caught sight of the prosthetic arm again, its skeletal frame glinting under the lab’s lights. The sight filled her with a mix of dread and anticipation. It wasn’t ready yet, but soon... soon, it would be. And then what?
Pushing the thought aside, Jenny adjusted the harness one last time and headed for the door, leaving the hum of the lab behind.
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The ruined mall loomed over the desolate landscape, its skeletal frame casting jagged shadows in the fading light. The intricate contraption of the bunker door groaned as it sealed shut behind Vigdis and her escort. Dust settled in lazy spirals, and the sound of grinding metal gave way to silence.
She flexed her shoulders, the familiar weight of her armor grounding her as her gaze swept the area. The feel of leather and steel against her skin was a small comfort after the sterile confines of Bunker 4. The guards who had escorted her remained nearby, their eyes watchful, but their weapons lowered. They had carried her belongings—her axe, crossbow, and pack—but not her weapons. A precaution.
Ahead, a figure shifted in the gloom. Vigdis’s sharp green eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. Jenny stood a short distance away, her rifle strapped to the harness she now wore with practiced ease. Her new uniform fit well, the right sleeve neatly cut away to accommodate her injury. She was fiddling with the straps, ensuring her weapon was secure.
“You.” Vigdis’s voice cut through the quiet, low and edged with suspicion. “What’s this all about? An expedition?”
Jenny glanced up, her grey eyes meeting Vigdis’s without flinching. “How about we first leave this place?” Her tone was even but carried a faint urgency. “Then talk. Or better yet, clear out of this ghost town entirely.”
Vigdis crossed her arms, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Look, girl, I travel alone, and I really don’t care about anything you might say.”
Jenny’s expression hardened. She stepped closer, her voice sharp. “I. Saved. Your. Life.” She let the words hang in the air before continuing, her tone quieter. “That should at least ‘buy’ me enough credit to talk. But not here—not this close.”
Before Vigdis could respond, Patrick’s voice resonated from somewhere nearby. His rich, lilting tone was calm but carried a note of caution. “I’m with her, lass. Not wise to make a decision without more information. The wee lass seems to know something we don’t.”
Vigdis’s frown deepened, but she inclined her head slightly, addressing Patrick under her breath. “Fine. Let’s hear what she has to say.”
Jenny’s eyes flicked toward her, catching the faint movement of Vigdis’s lips, but she said nothing. If she noticed the strangeness of Vigdis speaking to no one, she didn’t let on. Instead, she gestured toward a pile of gear resting against a broken pillar nearby.
“Besides,” Jenny said, her tone lighter but firm, “here are your weapons.” She pointed at the neatly arranged pile: the axe, crossbow, thigh-knife, and backpack. Vigdis noted that none of the items seemed to have been tampered with during their time in the bunker.
She adjusted her gear with brisk efficiency, checking each piece before strapping them into place. The familiar weight of her weapons and pack settled over her like an old friend. For the first time since entering the bunker days ago, she felt like herself again.
“Let’s move,” Jenny said, already turning toward the shadowed outskirts of the ruined town. Vigdis followed reluctantly, her boots crunching over debris as they passed the crumbled remains of old-world streets.
The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the faint whistle of wind through shattered windows. Skeletons of abandoned cars and faded signs whispered stories of desperation and loss, reminders of those who had been left behind. The slogans etched in crumbling walls and toppled barricades—“Let us in!” and “The Future Isn’t For Sale!”—were not lost on either woman.
For Jenny, the scene was no longer a puzzle to decipher but a painful certainty. These people hadn’t stood a chance. Whatever fight they’d waged had ended long before the doors of Bunker 4 had closed forever.
As they reached the outskirts of the town, Vigdis stopped, her gaze sweeping the low ruins ahead.
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The two women stood amidst the low ruins, the fading sunlight casting long shadows over the skeletal remains of the old world. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind through shattered walls. Jenny adjusted her harness, her grey eyes darting toward Vigdis as the taller woman leaned against a crumbled pillar, arms crossed and green eyes narrowing in thought.
“Alright,” Vigdis said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “We’re far enough. Talk.”
Jenny shifted her weight, the rifle strapped securely to her harness brushing against her side. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then met Vigdis’s gaze. “You wanted to know what this is all about? Fine. I have a mission. Prove my loyalty to Bunker 4.”
Vigdis’s brow arched, her lips curling into a faint sneer. “Loyalty? To those bastards? What for?”
Jenny’s jaw tightened. “Because it’s the only way I get that,” she said, gesturing briefly to her right shoulder, where her arm ended in a carefully bandaged stump. “The prosthetic. The tech they’re promising me.” She hesitated, her voice dropping. “And because I don’t have anything else right now.”
Vigdis tilted her head, her sharp gaze softening slightly, though her tone remained skeptical. “So you’re willing to play their game? Do their dirty work? And then what? Go back to playing scavenger with a shiny new arm?”
Jenny’s hand curled into fist at her side, her voice rising. “What else am I supposed to do? Reed’s gone. Everything I’ve been fighting for is gone. This is all I’ve got left.” She exhaled sharply, forcing her voice to steady. “I’m not saying I agree with them. But it’s a chance to survive. To figure things out.”
Vigdis pushed off the pillar, her boots crunching against the debris as she stepped closer. “Survive? Is that all you care about? This place—Bunker 4—needs to go down. Whatever they’re doing in there, it’s rotten. I’ve seen enough to know that much.”
Jenny’s gaze snapped to Vigdis, her grey eyes narrowing. “And what’s your grand plan? Smash it to pieces with that axe of yours? Leave more bones in the dirt? How does that fix anything?”
Vigdis’s expression hardened. “I’ll go back to the Magician. Report what I’ve seen. Let him decide how to handle it. At least I’m doing something.”
Jenny took a step forward, her voice urgent. “What if you don’t have to destroy it? What if we can change it from within?”
Vigdis blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Change it? From within? And how the hell do you plan to do that?”
Jenny’s lips pressed into a thin line as she considered her next words carefully. “My mission. Proving my loyalty. That’s my way in. Our way in. If I’m on the inside, I can gather intel. Find out what’s really going on in there. Maybe even push things in a different direction.”
Vigdis let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re serious? You think they’ll just let you waltz in and start making changes?”
Jenny’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. But I’m not talking about overnight fixes. I’m talking about planting seeds. Giving people like Doctor Ross a reason to question things. Creating cracks in their perfect little facade. It’s slow, but it’s something. Better than tearing everything down and leaving nothing but ashes.”
Vigdis frowned, her arms crossing again as she mulled over the idea. Patrick’s voice broke through the quiet, his tone thoughtful. “She’s not wrong, lass. A sledgehammer’s quick, but it doesn’t build anything. If there’s a chance to turn their own game against them, it might be worth considering.”
Vigdis exhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the axe resting at her side. “Fine. Let’s say I’m willing to entertain this madness. What’s your plan?”
Jenny’s shoulders relaxed slightly, relief flickering across her face. “We start with my mission. If I succeed, I’ll have their trust. Enough to get us both closer to the core of whatever’s going on in there. Then we regroup, track back to your Magician, and figure out the next step.”
Vigdis studied her for a long moment, her green eyes searching Jenny’s face for any sign of doubt. Finally, she nodded. “Alright. Your mission first. But the moment this goes south, we’re done. Understood?”
Jenny nodded firmly. “Understood.”
The two women exchanged a brief, tense glance before turning to face the horizon. The ruins of the old town stretched out behind them, and the wasteland loomed ahead, vast and unyielding. For now, their paths aligned, though neither fully trusted the other. It would have to be enough.