Chapter 02

Making sure to lock her door, Freyja turned to leave the safety of her home. It had been months since she last visited the Station, and the events of the day prior had been screaming at her to visit the place.

A few steps away from the front door, her attention was snatched by a mutated pigeon sitting on the broken dog kennel situated to her left. It chirped a nasally shriek and fled away.

What a joke, she had decided to not look in that direction today, but it seemed that the world had different plans. She sighed a staggered breath, and tried not to dwell on the fogbound memories of her companion. Maybe she should have broken it down when she realized his collar was the only thing she could get back. It did nothing but fix her feet to the gravel. And yet, she felt it a sin to touch it. Nature had claimed her friend, and she left his house to be taken, too.

Freyja forcefully broke herself out of mental paralysis and pushed forward, only to bump into her mailbox, which needed only the slightest nudge to break down. She looked at it, old rust distorted the beautiful paintwork an unknown artist had put onto it. She contemplated whether it was worth fixing, considering the nonexistent stream of mail, and her wavering attachment to the mailbox she'd put together with junkyard scraps.

Nothing felt like it was worth her time.

She'd had a bad dream and woken up with words that stung her ears, Freyja was still trying to find the moment when radio chatter made its way into her sleep.

With slow steps, she began her walk down the hike trail and through the forest of bare trees and chopped trunks. A gust of wind shifted the gadgets that hung on her belt, and she steadied her footing as the trail led to a dirt road. Trucks would use it to transport wares and supplies to the wood factory years ago. But even that had fallen victim to destruction.

The sky had been fortunately clear, and beside the occasional distant gunshots, there were no alarming sounds. It would have been comforting for Freyja, had the mutants not learned to hide and ambush. One glance back, and she could see the wood factory's taller towers from where she stood. She continued with her pace as her eyes searched for movement in the trees.

↞---------------------------↠

"Another job, this early?" The voice came again. And this time, she knew the source. A pocket mirror hidden in the hood of her jacket, carefully sewn in a fixed place.

"No. We're going to resupply." Freyja responded.

"Ah, your favorite way to pass time."

Freyja knew if she could find a reflective surface, she could see the shit-eating grin within the mist that followed her.

"Don't distract me. Or it's another week's diet for you." Freyja warned.

"You know you cannot afford upsetting me twice." The mist spoke calmly, his tone eloquent despite the threat. Freyja only sighed in response. She could already feel a headache coming and it wasn't even mid-day.

"I'm being serious. I need to speak someone, it's important."

Then came a short silence. Freyja thought of books and pencils. The mist thought of a distinctly appetizing scent.

"Ah, of course. It is almost that time of the year again." He spoke with a tone of anticipation.

Freyja gave a short hum in return. The days were indeed getting warmer, seasoned travelers and guests of the station were beginning to continue the long treks they halted once winter came. Spring was right around the corner. And with it came goodbyes. Goodbyes to faces Freyja always thought she would never see again.

It had become routine.


After minutes of walking and listening to the mist speak of things Freyja had no interest in, the small road gave way to the main one, where most vehicles passed through. It connected the eastern base to the western survivors' headquarters. The Station was located in a small town between the two major forces. The third base to the north was long gone, lost to the mutants.

Once on the road, Freyja's eyes snapped to one side as she noticed two figures crossing the long stretch of asphalt. her hand reached for the pistol on her hip as she continued her pace, another hand tapping at the mirror in her hood to silence the voice. Freyja's eyes continued to analyzing the strangers' movements. Calm, hands gesturing as though the two were in a conversation. Each seemed to be carrying heavy backpacks. Likely foreigners returning home.

The two survivors were conversing in a language she could not understand. Yet both of them briefly stopped to greet her with a heavy accent, to which she replied with a nod and a muffled voice through the gas mask. The two then peacefully continued their path.


The mist disliked being silenced like that, so he remained quiet for the rest of her trip. So Freyja listened to other survivors through the radio to fix her boredom. Her interest, or rather, concern, for the injured rookie kept her listening for updates. He had reached safety by the time she saw the train tracks, and received medical attention by the time she was at the Station's big red doors.

The Station was a somewhat hospitable building next to the central train station. It was fairly protected, with barbed wire, boarded windows, guards and a sniper in the nearby tower.

Their first rule had been made clear to any passerby through the intercom; Remain unarmed in the neutral zone.

And so Freyja sheathed her sword, then stepped inside. Although she disliked being empty-handed, the act of sheathing her sword was fairly easy thanks to the prosthetic's versatility. The claws were bound by a mechanism that circled around her pointing finger, allowing iron to mimic the movements of flesh and bone. Although the synchronized movement made pointing at distant objects very awkward, it was much better than the fixed grip of her early prototypes.



The interior matched the exterior. Cracked tiles on the floor, mold on the walls, signs of leakage where the pipes connected to the ceiling, and messy wire-work, done solely for the purpose of powering the light bulbs. Freyja only saw the green paint on the wall in memory. What remained was a worn-out mess that no one bothered to clean. And yet, inside the station, the atmosphere was lively. Various people of different origins gathered around the same tables, shared the same conversations and enjoyed the same meals. A man with a friendly smile sat behind the counter that was once a ticket booth. He had an assortment of weapons, armored vests and daily necessities behind him. Another corner was occupied by the travelling merchant who would stop at the station every three months to sell exotic goods from around the country. A man played an out-of-tune guitar in another corner, a small crowd of people nodding their heads to his rhythm.

Freyja waved a small greeting to the man behind the counter, then walked past the crowd of laughter and foreign dialects towards the secluded area in the left corner. A small corridor that led to the backdoor, and the room which their medic had turned into his makeshift infirmary. She knocked, then swung the door open. The room was in a much better condition. Fresh-looking paint on the walls, two beds and a shelf full of medicine. The medic's desk was clean, save for the few tools he'd frequently use. A young man was sleeping on one of the beds, his arm bandaged. She figured it was the rookie that was bitten.

The medic himself was nowhere to be seen.

She walked back to the area behind the corridor. The light bulb was dead, leaving the duty of light to the sun that came through the dirty boarded windows. A few of the quieter people gathered there. Freyja approached the bearded man with greying hair who seemed absent from the one-sided conversation his friend was having.

"Excuse me, do you know where the medic's gone to? I couldn't find him in the infirmary." She'd gotten close enough to be heard through her mask.

And despite that, there was no answer, the man was drunk, and so was his friend, albeit with less alcohol in him. Neither the good kind. She turned to leave when she saw the less drunken man point toward the opposite side of the room, past the crowd. Freyja realized it was the closest she would get to an answer. And so, disappointed, she made her way back within the crowd and through it. The opposite side of the secluded area was a wide corridor where others gathered. The Station was always crowded with survivors and scavengers seeking refuge.

Freyja noticed a guard standing by the green door to the left of the corridor, which happened to be the commander's room. She could hear words being exchanged behind the door, but they weren't clear enough to be understood.

"Good day. I was told I can find the medic here. Is he inside?"

"Ahab? Yeah, having a very heated debate with the boss. Something about..." The guard seemed to search for words, as though he'd stopped paying attention to the conversation he had to protect. "Resources and medicine. Probably that." He scratched his head, clearly disinterested in the situation.

"I see."

"Sorry, but you gotta put up with the pain until he's free." He quickly added.

"I'm not here for treatment. I need to discuss something with him."

"One of his business partners?"

"Something like that."

The guard offered to call for her when the medic was free, so she gave him a bow of gratitude and left in search of something to do to pass the time. Her list of items to purchase came to mind, she could buy the oil she came for. She could have a conversation with the local hunter, or ask the transport truck's driver for updates on the conflicts in the country. She hoped the medic would interrupt either one of her activities with a quick end to his own meeting.

And so, one by one, the items on her mental list were scratched. Oil was secured, bullets and weapon parts were bought, and new information regarding trade routes were gathered. The western HQ had started the construction of two new agricultural settlements. The west was growing ever still. Freyja's lack of surprise was amusing to the broker who was paraphrasing the news.

She then approached the traveling merchant, fully intending to empty her backpack from the valuables that held no value to her.

A few pairs of bracelets, two necklaces, rings, a few old phones, and other trinkets that she looted from the hoarders. Their only value was the price tag, and Freyja knew better than to take the merchant's word without haggling. Of course, disagreements were bound to happen with the lowballing man. Fluctuating prices and uncertain values led her to trade one of the more expensive-looking rings instead.

By the time her attention was disrupted by the guard, Freyja had traded said ring for a brand new knife which she strapped to her leg. She turned to meet a very displeased Ahab, the bearded man adjusting his glasses as he stepped out of the green door. He looked tired, his coat white only where darker stains parted.

Freyja made no haste in joining the medic on the trip back to his makeshift infirmary.

"Ah, you are..." Ahab gestured with his hand raised, trying to recall the masked woman's name to no avail.

"Freyja." She reminded, having no intention of torturing a man whose plate seemed overflowing with things he never asked for. "Been waiting for you all day."

"You know how the brothers are." He heaved a weary sigh. "Always pushing for more, each in a different way. Both of them equally exhausting."

A few mumbled complaints about the brothers' reckless expeditions were exchanged as the two made their way through the lobby and into the left corridor. Ahab opened his door and gestured for Freyja to enter. As she did, she noticed a few rubles on his desk, along with a note. Upon a closer look, she could read a poorly-scribbled "Took an anti-rad." on it. Ahab noticed, too, but refused to comment on it. It was a regular occurrence for the Station residents to help themselves to the infirmary's goods. The medic would often return to these notes, along with rubles to compensate. Even in the absence of judgement, it was unity that kept people on their good nature. Or perhaps it was fear. No one dared get on the local medic's bad side. No one, except...

"So, what brought you out of your hole?" Ahab sat down on his chair after checking up on the sleeping patient. His words bringing Freyja out from whatever memory she'd found herself in.

Instead of a response, Freyja reached into her backpack, and laid the medical documents on the table. An action that, although surprising from her, was still within the medic's field of expectations. People would often come to him with equipment or medicine, and he would pay handsomely in turn. He took a quick look through the documents, and laid them back on the desk.

"This is more of a chemist's dream than mine." Ahab spoke calmly, reclining back on his chair. "I see the value, but I can't name a price."

Freyja remained quiet, and though the inhuman gas mask gave no indication to her expression, Ahab could tell she was conflicted. The silence that stretched across the room was far from tense, but it was expectant. The rookie stirred in his sleep, the clock handles ticked by, the medic rearranged the papers on his desk. And Freyja continued her train of thought.

The documents were likely being transported to the eastern base when they were ambushed by the hoarders. Bringing them back to their supposed destination would involve her in trouble deeper than she could afford. Ahab was her only hope of turning those documents into solid cash.

The sound of muffled gunshots snapped the tense tranquility. A voice on the intercom followed quickly after.

"Herdling strayed a little too close. All is well." Came the distorted report, the gruff voice needing no introduction as the marksman of the tower. The man then requested a fresh supply of vodka, but the words weren't meant for the medic, nor the outsider.

Knowing the woman in front of him saw no wrong in blanking out to think, Ahab cleared his throat.

"Tell you what." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Leave these here. Some of my colleagues are passing through in a few days. If I manage to find a buyer amidst them, I'll hand you your share."

She sighed, leaning back. There really was no alternative as hassle-free as what the medic proposed. With a quiet nod, she stood up and reached for her pocket.

"I'll have an anti-rad, too, then."

↞---------------------------↠


With a fresh drink, Freyja departed the Station. Her backpack heavy with ammo boxes and canned food, she set foot towards the two-story building to the north of the abandoned trains. It was a somewhat small apartment complex, worn and tired. It functioned as the Station's inn for travelers. A few guards were stationed there, keeping it safe from wandering mutants.

With the arrival of spring, Freyja knew there was a voice she would not be hearing for a while. One that belonged to an old friend, one that always booked a room in the topmost floor.

Goodbyes were due.

She took one glance back at the Station, its lights had faded around the time Freyja finished attaching another scrap of paper to the job board. The note containing her private frequency, and a neat "Gun for hire, cash only." written in black letters.

Another blackout. The old power station was barely functioning. And the bigger settlements around the area charged for electricity as though it was gold. That left the residents without power for increasingly longer times. An issue that deeply troubled the brothers, from what Freyja had gathered.

Nevertheless, she would never consider it her problem unless she was paid to. Until then, she continued to rely on her trusty generator to provide light and comfort to her rustic little haven.