Lucian was back on the road, trudging through the dust and praying it didn't rain, lest the dusty road turn into a mud bath. The overcast weather had other plans for him. He managed to scavenge a few local cux berries before setting off. There was a scattering of flint in an area where a camp had previously been set up, presumably for meat cutting. Lucian fashioned the flint into a utility knife and now carried the tool, not intending it as a weapon. He didn't believe in weapons. Later that day he came across a deer herd, hunted one, set up camp, skinned, and smoked it. Smoked meat lasts longer and is excellent for traveling. With a kind of survival satisfaction, he tucked the food into his makeshift pouch and put on his hastily made cloak.
The sky opened up, but it was not the sun that came out, it was rain. Cold rain. Lucian wasn't happy, the initial survivoresque dopamine hit wore off, and he was hunched over as he trudged to the canopy. Water poured down in sheets, drenching his filthy clothes and soaking his shoes which were already worn. The pitter-patter of droplets falling off leaves onto other leaves, some striking stone, others pooling into puddles or rivers; coursing through grass and dirt. Lucian's hair was saturated, excess water dribbling down his face. His hair stood on end as nature robbed him of heat. The peaceful moment was interrupted by gunfire. Lucian dropped down and got behind thick foliage, glancing between the shifting leaves to get a glimpse of the attackers. The metallic noise of reports echoed through the forest, each shot like a hammer to an anvil, splitting eardrums. Water-soaked grass wetted the deerskin cloak adorning Lucian's body. Suddenly a woman came sprinting through the forest, right for Lucian.
Her voice was loud and emanated leadership: “I got one! Hold off the fencers till I rob this guy clean!” In a marginally quieter tone, she demanded Lucian give up all his valuables. It didn’t go over well.
” Hand over ya shinies” She snapped sassily, lazily waving a dust-covered M9 with duct tape on the grip and a scratched-up body. It was once painted a mud brown, but most of it was scratched off, even gouging lines into the bare metal.
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Anyone could tell she was a bandit, or at the very least a suspicious individual. She had a frayed and burnt grey cloak, and her dull, brown hair was cut short. Knives poked out of her cloak, a vial of blue liquid sitting snugly in a concealed pocket. A flask hung off her side, opposite her worn leather holster.
Lucian was dumbfounded, this was certainly not what he was expecting, he managed to utter a simple “I...I don’t have anything. I lost everything when I got..”
One of her ears had a red feather dangling from it. Lucian was certain she had more weapons than were visible, probably stuffed down shoes or hidden pockets.
“I don’t care what happened scav. Got any arms, coin, or anything that’d fetch a price? I’ll kill ya if ya don't give me it.” She pressed the barrel to his chest while lighting a snout with one hand. She put it into her lips and a flame lit, hovering just above her index finger. It burnt the paper covering, turning it brown and igniting the substance inside, she took a drag and the front glowed brightly. In an instant, the flame dissipated, vanishing with a mental flick of her thought. She exhaled smoke on Lucian’s face and impatiently prodded him with the barrel.
Lucian put his hands into his pockets, pushing the storage unit through the small hole in the pocket subtly and breaking the stitching. It fell into his pants and remained there. He swiftly turned his pockets inside out, dust scattering on the ground.
The raider sighed and patted Lucian down, unstrapping his flint knife, glancing out it, and chuckling. "What is this piece of crap? A flint knife?? Is this a joke?." She threw it on the ground and snapped his flint spear in half as well. She took out his wirecutters and examined them, confused, before dropping them. "Yer actually poor as shit scav! Damn!" She ground her snout on his deerskin coat and threw it on his shoes. The scavenger locked eyes with him, her tanned, dirt-streaked face showing a range of emotions. Disgust. Pity. Confusion.
Her sudden shouting made Lucian flinch, "For fucks sake! I'm going, I'm going! Don't leave without me!"
The bandit turned to leave but looked at him once more. She pulled out one of the knives in her cloak and tossed it to Lucian's feet, before running off, leaping across branches and debris to regroup.
Gunfire continued but got more distant until it stopped altogether. Lucian was left alone, the after-rain fog hanging low in the air. He was devastated. The reality of the situation came crashing down on him. He almost died after all. He sat down. As the sun crept down he collapsed and curled up, clutching the knife and willing himself to sleep and forget everything.