Chapter Text
Dead weeds and brambles crunch under your boots as you move through the sparse, bare trees. The sun is high in the sky, giving you a good view of the run-down diner at the base of the hill you’ve just finished climbing. You shade your eyes with your hand as you squint down at the building. Sure enough, you can spot them.
Ghouls. It looks like about a dozen of them. They aren’t doing much except lumbering around, which means they haven’t noticed you yet. Good—you don’t feel like dealing with a horde chasing you. Not that fun, at least in your experience. Sighing, you grab your gun from your back and crouch to brace the rifle against your knee. The screen of your scope is zoomed in on one of the ghouls as you peer down it.
Taking a breath to steady your aim, your finger wraps around the rifle’s trigger. Your shot rings in the air as the first ghoul goes down. Well, now they notice you. You just have to hope you have enough distance to take them down before they close the gap. The bastards are fast, but you must’ve killed hundreds of them by now.
The tense moment of silence as the rest of the ghouls rear their heads toward you is cut short by you shooting another square between the eyes. Here comes the charge. As you fire to take out another one, the rest begin to sprint toward the hill, arms flailing. You pivot your feet slightly on the ground to prepare to stand and run if you have to as you take another shot. Four down now.
You sink your teeth into your cheek as you unleash a rapid hail of bullets into five more of the ghouls. The remaining two are almost up the hill by now, and at a shit angle on top of that. You stand up quickly, moving your head back from the scope. At fifty feet away from you, one of the last ghouls collapses as you shoot it. At twenty feet away, the last ghoul goes down. You watch as it hits the ground. The damn things don’t even bleed—not any blood left in them.
The best way you could describe their anatomy is like a decaying pumpkin. It’s disgusting—to think they were once just as human as you. The air is still as you move to survey the diner again. All clear. As you pass them to travel back, you poke one of the dead ghouls with your boot. Yeah, it’s dead alright. You let out another sigh as you continue walking. Another one for the books, you suppose.
.
“Did it go through?” The man asks as he finishes fiddling with his small tablet-like device.
You watch the screen of yours, seeing the payment notice pop up.
“Yup,” you slide the tablet back into the holder on the side of your belt, “All good.”
“Thank you so much, miss,” The man takes your hand to shake it with both of his.
You pinch your lips together, nodding briefly before he lets go. “No problem,” You say.
The man’s daughter peeks out at you from behind her mother. “Does this mean we can go home now?” She asks hopefully.
“Yes, it does,” her mother pats her head, “All those nasty ghouls are gone now.”
The young girl’s eyes light up as she turns to you. “Thank you, miss!” She beams.
You give her a faint and slightly awkward smile. “Don’t stress it, kid,” you wave as you turn around, “Stay safe.”
“You too,” The girl’s father says, waving as you leave.
There’s no guaranteeing that they actually will, but you’ve done your job. The wastes are cruel and unforgiving, but life finds a way. You hike across the uneven and broken asphalt of an old highway, making your way to the nearest town. Hopefully, you’ll be able to get a half-decent meal and an actual bed to sleep in there.
The sun is starting to set by now. If you pick up your pace, you might be able to make it before nightfall. However, it’s not all that important to you. Light or dark, the waste is just as dangerous.
.
You squint up at the guard tower beside the gate to the town. The floodlights make it hard to tell if someone is up there manning the post.
“Hey,” you call up, “You fall asleep or something?”
“Hold on, hold on,” A man’s voice slurs slightly. He’s drunk—great.
A man with cropped blond hair and a thin mustache peers down at you, leaning over the railing of the tower. You almost think he’s going to tumble off, but he stays balanced enough.
“Whaddya want?” He barks.
“A pony,” You respond dryly. The quip flies right over his head. You roll your eyes. “Obviously, to be let in, dumbass,” You gripe.
“Riiight,” he drawls, swaying slightly as he stands up straight, “One second.”
Some security they have here, you think. He was damn lucky you didn’t have bad intentions. This area isn’t known to have many raider gangs so maybe that’s why security is so lax. Regardless, the motors in the metal doors of the gate whir as it opens up for you. You sigh, walking inside. The gate slides shut again behind you. You shoot the guard another glance, seeing him returning to his chair to presumably fall back asleep.
Most people are asleep by now, but the bright neon sign above the bar still flickers the word “Open”. You enter, nodding to the bouncer as you hand him your rifle. He takes it without saying anything to bring it to the lockers. You’ve been to enough of these places to know the drill by now. Pushing aside the bead curtain, you walk into the main room of the bar.
There’s a good amount of people here, some even in similar hobbled-together armor like yours. “Bounty hunters” is the general term the public uses for people like you. Really, you do more than just hunt bounties, but you don’t care enough to correct people. Sitting down at the bar, you hail the bartender.
“Something I can get you, miss?” She leans against the counter.
“You guys serve food?” You ask.
“Some,” the barkeep shrugs, “Nothing too filling.”
“Just has to be food,” you say, “Don’t really care about much other than that.”
She nods. “I’ll get you something,” She heads off to the small backroom.
As you wait, you take a moment to survey the people in the bar. Some people are probably residents of the town, some drifters, fellow bounty hunters, a staffer or two, and a few girls talking to different patrons—their smiles fake. Not too hard to guess what they’re doing, but you’re not one to judge.
The bartender comes back with a bowl of soup, placing it in front of you. “Here you go,” she says, “Managed to find a can of cabbage soup in the back that was still good.”
“Thanks,” you reach for the tablet on your hip, “How much?”
The bartender puts up her hand. “On the house,” she waves you off, “You look like you need it.”
You let out a half-chuckle. “You’re pretty good, huh?” you slide the bowl closer to you, “Thanks.”
“No worries,” she straightens out, “A can of soup won’t set us back all that much, but if you order anything else, I expect payment,” She smirks.
“Will do,” You hum, amused.
You eat quietly, continuing to people-watch. A group of three gruff-looking men sitting in the corner catch your attention in particular. They’ve glanced over at you a few too many times to be coincidental. Clinking your spoon into the bowl as you finish eating, you spin the barstool around to lean back against the counter. Your eyes lock with one of the men as you raise a brow at him. You don’t have the patience for subtleties.
The man holds your gaze, his two companions looking between you both. After a moment, he stands up and starts moving toward you. He stops a few paces in front of you, looking down at where you’re still sitting on the barstool.
“Need something?” You tilt your head slightly.
He takes a moment, narrowing his eyes. “You one of them guns for hire?” He asks lowly.
“So they tell me,” you shrug, “Why? Do you need to hire a gun for something?”
“I might.”
“Very specific,” you snort lightly, “Wanna talk outside? I’m done here.”
The man takes a second, glancing back at the other two who came up to join him. “Sure,” he nods.
You stand up, giving a small wave to the barkeep as you follow the three men past the beaded curtain. They stop at the door with you to wait for the bouncer to retrieve your weapons. The three of them all carry crude pistols, but they’ll get the job done when needed. The bouncer heads back into the locker room to grab your rifle, coming back out to hand it to you.
You don’t miss how the three men eye it—it’s a pretty impressive gun. You should hope it is, given how much time you’ve spent modifying it. Once all of you have your weapons returned, you exit the bar with the three men. The presumed leader of the three turns to face you as you make sure your rifle is in order.
“Alright,” you look up at him, “What do you need?”
“You heard of the old factory up north?” The man asks, “They used to make cars there.”
You pause for a moment to recall the area. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” you shrug, “What about it?”
“The place has got some… unwelcome guests, if you catch my drift,” He lifts a brow.
“Are they armed?” You ask, adjusting your fingerless gloves.
“Yeah,” he answers, “Don’t play nice, either.”
“Raiders?” You tilt your head slightly.
“Pretty much.”
“Alright,” you nod, “How many are there?”
The man pauses, turning to the other two. One of them speaks up. “Twenty-something? I think,” He estimates.
The group looks at you. From their faces, you’re guessing they’re waiting to see if you’ll back out.
“I can manage that,” you say nonchalantly, “Price is three hundred credits, take it or leave it.”
“Three hundred?” The man who’s been silent so far scoffs.
“Did I stutter?” your eyes lock on his, “That’s the price. If you don’t like it, find someone else. That simple.”
The head of the trio jabs the one you’re glaring at with his elbow. He turns back to you as his two companions fall back in line.
“Fine,” he says, “We’ll pay when the job is done, deal?”
“Sure,” you cross your arms, “However, I’ll tell you this—and I tell this to everyone who hires me. If you lie to me, or you don’t pay me, I kill you. No excuses.”
The leader looks almost amused for a moment as you stare him down. You’ve seen it before—people who think you don’t mean it when you tell them your rules. You lift your brow at him, watching as his expression snaps back to stoic.
“So,” you tip your head back slightly, “Do we still have a deal?”
“Yeah,” the man says, extending his hand to you, “Deal.”
You’ve never understood why people feel the need to shake hands, but you do it anyways. Having shaken on the deal—whatever that signifies—you nod and turn to make your way to the hotel for the night.
“I’ll meet you at the bar at 8 p.m. in three days,” you say over your shoulder, “If you aren’t there, I have ways of finding people,” you turn to walk backward for a moment, “Kinda my job,” You shrug with a faint smirk, turning around to continue to the hotel.
.
You’ve been on the road for a day and a half. You were lucky enough to find a relatively safe camping spot last night. Who knows? Maybe that luck will keep up. You almost laugh at the thought.
Coming out of a marshy area, you spot the smokestacks of the factory you’re headed for. The sun is just starting to poke out from over the horizon as you shake the mud off of your pants and boots. Ducking behind a tree, you pull out your rifle to survey the area through the scope. Two, three, five… five. Five people outside. Each of them has some kind of firearm, but none look to be on too high alert.
You try and determine who’s closest to the doors, and who might be near an alarm system. Not like a gunshot couldn’t be heard from inside, but you don’t feel like drawing even more attention than you have to. You lock onto someone on the top landing of a metal staircase going up the side of the factory. They’re right next to a door, so they’d be able to get in quickest if shooting breaks out.
Speaking of shooting, you don’t feel like wasting any more time. You’ve got enough cover and distance to leave them scrambling for long enough, so might as well get started. With that, the first shot fires.
The other four guards freeze up as they hear the sound of your gun going off, looking around somewhat frantically. They haven’t even noticed their dead comrade above them—shame. The one by the large metal front doors goes down next, then the one posted by a small guard booth. The remaining two are more than aware of what’s happening now. It’s almost a pity that they won’t be able to do shit about it.
Before they can even begin to process where the shots are coming from, the last two guards are dead. You move toward the stairs leading to the side entrance, listening and watching to see if anyone will come out of the factory. You hear the front doors start to roll open as you make it to the top of the stairs. Pressing your back against the door, you watch below you as you wait for someone to come around the corner of the building.
Sure enough, two more come around to search with their guns raised. Two shots and they’re out of the picture. Now comes the hard part, fighting when they know where you are. With ghouls, it’s easy, since a ghoul can’t shoot you. You yank the metal side door open by the handle as a group of raiders runs around to fire at you. Bullets ping against the metal behind you, rattling the panel of the door.
You take a breath and duck out for a split second to take a quick shot, hoping it connects. You duck into the building as you hear some of the raiders running for the stairs. Quickly, you take a small explosive from your jacket. You flip the switch on its exterior and set the disk-shaped bomb in the entrance. Landmine placed, you take off down the catwalk inside the factory to get some distance for when the raiders reenter the building.
This game of chase is your specialty—in both ways. You manage to hide behind a rusty metal desk as you hear the bomb go off. In a doorway like that, it also works to make an obstacle with its victims. You peek around the desk to see two of the raiders piled in the door, having been caught in the blast. They trip another one, allowing you to fire a bullet into his skull.
Both options for the raiders are crappy. Get bottlenecked in the door, or come in from below where you have the advantage of being higher up. You suppress a smirk, it’s almost comical. Looks like they’re choosing to backtrack and use the main entrance. Fine by you. You’ve got a magazine and some grenades with their names on them.
The ensuing carnage is practically humiliating. Explosives catching clusters of the raiders and well-placed shots from your rifle taking down the remaining ones. In the end, there are about three who turn and run. Not a bad idea, if you’re honest. However, you came here with a job to do. Take them out, plain and simple. Charting your course quickly, you dart out from behind the desk to hop over the railing of the catwalk.
You grab onto a metal pipe below you, swinging to jump down onto the ground. Through the large open doors, you can see the three fleeing raiders. Like fish in a damn barrel. Looking down the scope, you fire three bullets, each burying itself into one of the raiders. Then, the air is still. Your ears begin to ring faintly again as the quiet sets in—a side effect from the sheer amount of firefights you’ve been in. At this point, you can’t remember life without it.
Regardless, the job was done. You keep your rifle out for a bit as you begin walking back, in case someone had slipped away. Thankfully, it seems as if you got all of them. Now begins the walk back to the town. Maybe it’s an omen, but thunder rolls in the distance as it begins to rain.
.
You wait by the entrance of the bar, leaning against the wall with the hood you’d sewn onto your thick leather jacket pulled up. The rain has picked up in intensity since last night. Some people think that rainwater is toxic, but that’s probably an outdated fear. A holdover from the war over a hundred and fifty years ago—the one that made the world this way. Maybe it’s true, but you’ve never been bothered by the rain.
What you are bothered by is the fact that the street clock is ticking further and further past eight. You’ve been standing here since half past seven. You’re not naïve enough to miss when you’re being stood up. Well, you did warn them.
Pushing off of the wall, you make your way over to the guard tower. That drunk is there again tonight, and he was conscious last you checked. Luckily, he’s still awake as you reach the base of the guard tower.
“Hey,” you call up at him, “Got a second?”
The guard leans over in his chair to look at you. “You need something?”
“Yeah,” you put your hands in your pockets, “Did you see a group of three tough-looking guys leave recently? They carried pistols, looked like they hadn't bathed in a month—that kinda stuff.”
He thinks for a moment, scratching his chin. “Now that you mention it…”
Your ears perk up.
“Yeah, I did,” the guard recalls, “They actually left a bit before you came back in. Maybe around…” he hums as he thinks, “Six or so?”
Not as bad as it could be—you’ve tracked farther. “Don’t suppose you know where they went,” you take a shot in the dark, “We were supposed to meet up, but they’re a flighty bunch.”
It isn’t exactly a lie, but this is business not court.
“Think I saw them head that way,” the guard gestures with the beer bottle in his hand, “They your friends?”
“Associates,” you correct, “I’m gonna see if I can catch up to them, care to open the gate?”
“Sure,” he shrugs, “Don’t get eaten.”
“Don’t plan on it,” You nod, striding out of the door as it slides open.
It’s sad, you think, how easily this could’ve been avoided.
.
“You bitch!” The leader of the three men who’d given you the job howls, “You broke my fucking leg!”
“Really?” You tilt your head, “I thought that was your nose,” Your voice drips with sarcasm.
The man’s lackeys are already dead on the ground, bullets lodged in both of their skulls. You take a step toward their leader as he tries to scoot backward from you on the ground. His hands scrape against the wet twigs of the forest floor, dirt and pebbles digging into his palms as he tries to scramble away from you. Your pace is slow and steady, keeping the distance between the two of you the same.
“So,” you lace your fingers behind your back as you continue to stalk toward him, “Remember what I said? About not paying me?”
“I told you,” he sputters, “We just needed to get the money from someone!”
“Bullshit,” Your tone drops as you stomp on his broken shin.
The man shrieks in pain. You know his type all too well. They find some mercenary to do their dirty work and then run before they pay. It’s not as if they don’t have the money, they just think they can get away with it. Well, tough shit, because that doesn’t fly with you.
“When I said ‘no exceptions’, I meant it, jackass,” You snarl.
You take your hands from behind your back to pick up your rifle where it’s hanging from its strap across your torso. Aiming the barrel loosely at the man, you tip your head back slightly.
“Now then,” you say cooly, “There’s a very simple solution,” your gaze darkens, “Pay me what you owe me.”
The man’s eyes are wild with fear. “Fine! Fine!” He blurts, “Just don’t kill me!”
“Now, that really depends,” you shrug, “Doesn’t it?”
He fumbles for the small tablet device in his pocket, taking it out with shaky hands. You wait as he messes with the knobs and buttons on the side.
“There,” he says quickly, “Three hundred, right? It’s all there,” His voice is still panicked.
Slowly, you take out your tablet from your belt. Confirming that the money is there, you slide it back into its holster.
“Now, what was so damn hard about that?” You look down at the man.
He doesn’t answer, waiting for you to stop aiming your rifle at him.
“You know what else isn’t hard?” You tilt your head slightly.
He shrinks back. “What?” He stammers.
Your expression goes cold. “This.”
Birds take off from the trees as the shot from your rifle rings in the air. The man lies dead in front of you, killed instantly. You sigh. It really didn’t have to end this way, but you did warn them. And unlike some people, you don’t go back on your word.
.
The small campfire you made is nothing but charred sticks by the time you wake up. You’re a few miles deeper into the sparse forest, just drifting. As the sun crests over a hill, you sit with your back against a tree messing with your transmitter tablet. You’ve modified the radio on it to pick up on farther away transmissions—specifically distress signals. Typically if you can catch a distress call, there’s good money to be made there.
People know that no one in their right mind will swoop in to play the hero without some sort of reward promised. Exploitative as it may seem, those in need of rescue are willing to offer a lot to their saviors. It’s not often that you manage to get there first, but with no active jobs, it’s worth a try.
Pretty soon, you start to hear distorted words through the static. Tuning the radio, the words become clearer and clearer. Someone is repeating coordinates with a hint of panic lacing their voice. After they state their location, they begin their message.
“Hello, uhm,” the voice says, and you can hear gunfire in the background, “We’re under attack by a horde of ghouls. We—” their voice gets distant suddenly as you can hear them shouting, “No! The other machine gun!” They return to the microphone, “Sorry—I mean, we need any help we can get. We’re willing to pay,” they pause again, muttering something you can’t make out, “Five hundred credits to anyone,” an explosion, “Jeebus… uh, to anyone that can help,” another pause, “Please.”
You can hear a deeper voice say something mumbled before the original speaker pipes up again.
“Uh, this message will repeat,” they say, “Signaling from—”
You click the radio off. From the location given, you’re not that far. You set off, picking up your rifle in your hands to have it at the ready. Pretty soon, you can hear a distant explosion followed by gunshots. How many of these damn things were they fighting? Your question is answered for you as you spot a group of what must be around fifteen ghouls running toward the fighting. Some place to settle.
No time to waste. Dropping into a crouch, you start firing on the cluster of ghouls. They’re too far to manage to get anywhere near you by the time the last one drops. After it does, you take off running toward the given location. You skid to a halt as a walled-in fort comes into view in a field ahead of you. Sure enough, the walls are being swarmed by ghouls. What the hell did these people do?
Doesn’t matter. You glance at the tall tree next to you. It’s bare, but one shove from your boot shows it hasn’t rotted yet. Clicking on the safety of your rifle and swinging it onto your back, you start climbing up as fast as you can. Pulling yourself up to sit on a sturdy branch high enough up, you hook your legs around the limb. Grabbing your rifle, you press your back against the trunk of the tree and flip the safety back off.
Peering at the display of the scope, you start what seems like an endless target practice exercise. Ghouls drop life flies as you and the few people on top of the wall wail on them. Through the scope, you notice some of the ghouls have begun piling up on top of each other—alive or dead. One manages to clamber over onto the wall, beginning to scurry toward one of the people fighting.
You let your empty magazine drop as you swiftly click a new one into place. You see the man the ghoul is charging whip around to clock it in the face with the butt of his shotgun. As it tries to swipe at him, you fire. It drops, and through the scope, you can see the man notice you. He turns away, shooting the ghouls who’ve now discovered the “ramp”.
As good as your position is, it’s not the quickest form of support. You’re going to have to get closer to really help as best you can. Cursing, you grab the branch and release your legs to flip down to the next limb. You hop from branch to branch until you hit the ground. Raising the rifle again, you focus your fire on the ghouls that are running for the pile-up as you move forward. If you can keep the bodies spread thin, maybe you’ll be able to avoid another breach.
It’s not just the people that have noticed you now, it’s the ghouls too. You can deal with that, you don’t like it, but you can deal with it. A group of the damn things breaks off from the rest to charge you. The ground around you is bare, but just ahead is a patch of dead bramble. Reaching into your pocket, you take out a match and strike it on a rough patch of your jacket.
You toss it in front of you as the ghouls start to close in. They let out mangled shrieks as the flames erupt. One of the best things you’ve learned is that ghouls are terrified of fire—saved your ass more than once. The fire isn’t high enough to block your view, letting you shoot down the group of ghouls in front of you without issue.
Now you just have to find a way to get that pile dealt with. At this point, it’s just corpses. Some of the ghouls had tried to follow the ones that chased you but faltered upon seeing the fire. You hear a shotgun go off as one of the withered bastards drops. The man on the wall catches your gaze across the field, turning away to fire at another ghoul. You follow in turn, shooting any that you can lock on.
There are a few other people on different parts of the wall’s perimeter, doing what they can to hold off the ghouls on their sides. Something metal gets pulled up onto the wall next to the man with the shotgun. Two people pop up next to what turns out to be a large machine gun. A tall man with slightly shaggy dirty blond hair and someone with a pair of goggles that they push up onto their forehead. The taller man stays on the wall while the other figure hops back down.
The blond starts firing—and that’s your cue to get the hell out of the way. You sprint to the side, moving away from the storm of bullets that comes from the machine gun turret that’s been set up. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that you can make a break for the ramp of ghoul corpses. Weighing your options in that split second, you decide to take the risk. The rifle is built for long-distance, yes, but being on that wall is a hell of a lot safer than being in the open.
Halfway up the pile, you pivot to slam your boot into the face of a ghoul that came up behind you. As you push it back you raise your rifle to shoot it in the chest. As it drops, you get yourself onto the wall. You make a mental note to never stand on corpses again—uneven footing and all that. Without sparing a glance at the others on the wall, you open fire again.
.
The field is littered with the corpses of ghouls when the fight ends. Your shoulders tense for the kickback as you shoot the final one lumbering out from the trees. Soft ringing returns to ears as everything goes quiet. You steady your breathing carefully, trying to keep your composure. Normally, ghouls don’t bother you. Yet, you’d never seen this many of them at once.
Looking out, there must be upwards of a hundred of them. Ghouls swarm like this when someone royally pisses them off, so what did this small settlement do? You turn to face the man who’d been using the machine gun. He sniffs the air briefly, his mustache shifting under his nose. The dirty blond turns to the man with the shotgun, who practically looks to be half his size. The shorter man lets out a sigh, letting go of his gun with one hand to push back his jet-black bangs.
“Are they gone?” Someone calls from inside the walls. You recognize the voice as the one from the radio.
“No thanks to you, Shitty Glasses,” The black-haired man gripes, calling back to them.
“How was I supposed to know that would happen??” They defend, placing a hand on their chest.
You spot the goggles on their head, but more noticeably the patch over their left eye. They and the man continue to bicker back and forth, but something else catches your attention. The dirty blond man by the machine gun walks past you to help someone up the ladder. A man with lighter blond hair and a missing right arm nods in thanks to his friend before turning to face you.
“I must say,” he says, “That was certainly an incredible display of skill.”
“Uh, thanks,” You glance back and forth briefly, thrown off by how formal his tone is.
“My name is Erwin Smith, and I happen to run the settlement you just helped save,” he gives you a small smile, “Which I’m very grateful for.”
“Yeah,” you draw out the word slightly, narrowing your eyes at him, “So about that.”
“Your payment, I assume?” Erwin raises a thick brow.
“Spot on,” You point at him.
“Of course,” He nods.
He sends you the money without issue. Which is good, you don’t feel like threatening these people. As he finishes, Erwin looks you over.
“You know,” he begins, “We could certainly use someone like you around here.”
You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. That had to be a joke, right? After a moment, you realize it wasn’t.
You let out a disbelieving chuckle. “Yeah, right,” you scoff lightly, “You want me to settle here in Ghoul City?”
Erwin laughs faintly. “I know it wasn’t the best first impression, but it’s usually rather peaceful around here.”
You blink. “Riiight. Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t settle places. I go where the work is, and the work here is done so…”
You turn around to walk to the ladder by the gate when Erwin speaks up again.
“I have another job,” he offers, “If you’re interested.”
Turning your head to face him, you squint at him skeptically. “That being?”
“I’m sure you noticed, given you used them to get up here, but there’s a pile of ghoul corpses we need to dispose of.”
“You’re gonna have to pay me a hell of a lot of money to get me to drag all of those away,” You cross your arms.
Erwin shakes his head. “You’d have help, of course. With the threat gone, I can get Levi, Hanji, and Miche to help you.” He gestures to the black-haired man, the person from the radio, and the man at the machine gun respectively.
You pause. It isn’t enjoyable work by any means, but none of your jobs really are. You sigh.
“Two hundred,” you say eventually, looking Erwin in the eyes, “Deal?”
Erwin smiles. “Deal.”
You’d run over your rules with him, but he’s already proven to make good on his payments. Plus, you’re pretty tired.
“Another condition,” you hold up a finger, “Give me half a second to rest.”
“Of course,” Erwin agrees, “I wouldn’t make you start right away after all of that.”
You nod slowly, still trying to figure out why it looks like this guy is plotting something behind those blue eyes of his. After a moment, you continue to the ladder. As your feet touch the ground, someone slides up behind you. You turn around and come face to face with the person Erwin had referred to as Hanji. Their singular eye is wide with excitement as they extend an eager hand to you. Again with the shaking hands.
Tentatively, you place your palm in theirs. They clasp their other hand over yours as well and give you an enthusiastic handshake as they begin to introduce themselves.
“Hi!” They chirp, “Names Hanji, Hanji Zoë! I’m so glad to meet you!”
“Hey…” You shrink back slightly as they bounce your hand up and down a few more times before letting go.
“Oh man,” they flap their hands a bit in front of them, “I’m just so glad my signal worked. I’ve been working on that radio for ages,” they giggle, “Thank you so much for helping us, you’re incredible!”
“It’s no trouble, really,” You pull back a bit, trying to look for an out.
“Oh!” Hanji straightens out suddenly, “Where are my manners, I forgot to ask what your name is.”
You blink. “Ah, right,” you raise your shoulders slightly, “People call me a lot of things but, uh, I tend to go by Nyx.”
“Awesome!” Hanji trills, “Did you pick that, or did someone give it to you?”
“Uh,” you glance to the side, “I picked it? It was a while ago, but it kinda stuck.”
“Cool!” They beam.
Hanji takes in another breath to speak when someone comes up behind them and bonks them on the head with their fist.
“Oi, Glasses,” you spot the man Erwin had said was named Levi behind Hanji, “Give her space to breathe, idiot.”
“Owww…” Hanji rubs the top of their head as Levi walks away. They turn to you again, taking a step backward. “Sorry,” they chuckle, “Why don’t I get you something to eat?” They smile.
“Sure,” You nod slowly, following Hanji as they lead you further into the base.
The camp itself is pretty well-sized. There are several tents and sheds, as well as a small shooting range. At the center is a tall radio tower with a little booth at the base. People are returning to their tents and shacks with exhausted expressions. A few enter what looks to be a medical tent with some minor wounds. It’s a rather open space, but it has the basic components of a town.
Hanji leads you to a portion of the fort with several picnic tables. On the edge of the area is a small makeshift pavilion covering a grill as well as a cooking pot being held over an unlit fire pit. There are a few boxes of rations, one of which Hanji begins digging through. They toss you a bag of trail mix, giving you a thumbs-up as you catch it.
They still look like they have more they want to say, but they opt to wave a bit awkwardly and then scurry off. You lean against the edge of one of the tables to eat, just taking in the settlement around you. At some point, you notice Erwin and Levi talking across the camp. Levi glances over at you, but he looks away as he notices you watching him.
You’ve never understood the problem with getting caught looking at someone, but you don’t understand a lot of social things. Not that they ever really mattered to you. Being honest and protecting the things that are important to you—that’s what matters. Things like politeness don’t really factor into that sort of thing.
At some point, Hanji comes back to tell you that Erwin has decided to wait until evening to move the bodies to give people time to rest. Fine by you. The thought that he’s trying to rope you into his little club is still nagging at your mind. Then again, if he’s paying, where’s the harm? You don’t expect to get attached to this place—you don’t do that.
Well… not anymore.