“Come on, Ex, tell me what do you really think about this?”

The streets of the commune were mostly empty; most of the people given sanctuary by Veronica that day had already been provided homes— reappropriated from those who abandoned Liberapolis. Those who couldn’t find homes yet gathered around burning bins, the flames casting ruddy smears across the night-blue canvas.

Trace Taylor walked as she talked to her AI.

[I see no downside to agreeing to Veronica’s proposal,] Ex said. [You will earn experience for fending off any monsters threatening the commune. It will be a mutually beneficial arrangement.]

“You’re thinking about it the wrong way, Ex. Aren’t you supposed to be more human now or something? Can’t you empathise with me for a moment?” She rolled her eyes.

[Negative.]

There was a pause. Trace waited, but Ex didn’t continue. “…are you going to elaborate?”

[Negative.]

“Alright, fuck you too, I guess.” She turned a street corner, halting when she caught sight of a food truck. A rumble rose out of her stomach— she hadn’t eaten anything since Veronica saved her. Even then, all she ate was a single granola bar.

With some slight apprehension, Trace approached the food truck as an obscenely delicious scent wafted out of its window. Mexican food, she surmised. A frying pan sizzled within, the sound of it like a dancing treat being dangled over her eyes. She wet her lips as she spoke.

“Excuse me?”

Trace saw no one around. There wasn’t a crowd forming a long line in front of the food truck like she thought there’d be. A gruff man poked his head out of the food truck and frowned.

“What do you want?” he said, voice flat.

“Oh, erm…” She quickly looked over at the menu, tracing a finger in the air as she went over the options. “I’d like to have a number—"

“We’re closed.”

“Oh,” Trace repeated herself. She stood there in a slight daze, her hunger overpowering her shame. She opened her mouth once more. “I have money—”

“I said: fuck off,” the man spat, slamming the shutters down.

The redhead blinked. Her empty stomach was suddenly full of irritation, and she scowled. “What a prick.” She started around for the other side as her hands balled into fists. “Fucking dick!”

[What are you doing?]

“He could’ve been nice about it. Why the hell did he have to be so rude? I’ll give him a piece of my mind—”

Before she could rap on the backdoor, someone drew her attention. “I do not think that it is wise to pry. Because he simply wishes not to die.”

Trace recognised that prancing, rhythmic voice anywhere. Her anger was instantly redirected as she snapped around, drew her pistol, and aimed at Adair. He backed up as she snarled.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“I hope to make amends to you today,” he said hurriedly.

Adair wore a thick autumn trench coat over his thin frame— a second layer of clothing to keep him warm during the cool night. He reached for his coat pocket, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t you dare try anything funny.”

He raised his arms placatingly. “I come and mean no harm to you, I say.”

“Why are you here?” she interrogated him, edging forward with each word. “What did you do to Veronica?”

“The gift I bear was passed from her for you.”

“Gift?”

Nodding, Adair pulled out a can of chilli beans. “There’s more she gave that I have brought here too.”

Trace was dubious of his intentions, but if he really wanted to hurt her, he’d have done it while she was distracted. So, she cast aside her animosity and lowered her weapon for the sake of her hunger.

“Fine.” She ushered him forward. “Come on, hand it over.”

He hesitated, eyeing her holstered weapon. She glared, and he quickly handed her the can. “The rest is hiding with-in-side my coat.”

Is that even a real word? Trace cocked a brow, and he continued.

“I can assist to bring them to your home.”

Her gaze bore into him questioningly. “And why would you do that for me?”

Adair averted his gaze and scratched the back of his head, trying to muster up something. When nothing came out, he sighed and bowed his head.

“I mean sincerely to apologise. Because of me back then you nearly died. I was afraid and scared of being killed; upon reflection I am feeling guilt.” He looked up, eyes locking with Trace. “To trust someone like me is surely hard, but I am truthful when I speak my heart. To come admit one’s sin: to say I’m sorry.”

Trace shifted back. She thought he was being genuine, and again, he could’ve attacked her while her guard was down. But for him to apologise so boldly— it’d make anyone uncomfortable. Did she say she forgave him? Did she get mad and shout obscenities at him? Did she do both?

Trace decided on doing neither, instead choosing to scowl and look away.

“Whatever,” she said.

Adair straightened, offering her a smile. “I—"

“Wait.” Trace held out a hand, cutting him off before he could speak. “Look, I get that you’re trying to be honest, but can you not make things any weirder? You’ve apologised. Let’s just move on, alright?”

He nodded slowly. Then she crossed her arms.

“And can you please, for fuck’s sake, speak normally?”

“That is something that I can do for you.”

Trace glared, and he gulped.

“That was unintentional. My apologies.”

* * *

“Food is scarce, Ms Trace Taylor. Money no longer matters to the masses. That food truck does not sell food, for there are no longer any customers— only thieves and crooks. That man wishes only to tend to himself, and if he has any, his family. Kindness is now a rarity, so you cannot blame him for brushing you off.”

“That still doesn’t make what he did any less of an asshole move.” Trace glowered as she led Adair back to the Evergreen Gun Range.

It was odd, chatting so casually with a man who tried to kill her just a week ago. But he had with him a dozen foodcans— enough to last her and Liz a week, at least. She turned a street corner, spotting the familiar building standing at the end of the empty road.

“Anyways, you’re clearly able to speak like a normal human being. Why must you pretend to be fucking Shakespeare all day?”

“While I may speak in iambic pentameter, I do not do so to emulate the Bard of Avon’s lowbrow plays,” he snorted, brushing a finger over his nose.

“Who?”

“Uh, William Shakespeare. That’s his title.”

“I see.”

Trace didn’t really care about that pointless trivia; she was determined to return home as soon as possible and just devour the chilli. Her stomach rumbled with each step she took to The Evergreen Gun Range. However, she paused when she reached the doorway, brows snapping together.

“Is something the matter?” Adair nearly bumped into her.

Shaking her head, Trace glanced around. “No— it’s just that…”

The Evergreen Gun Range was located right at the very edge of the commune, and the police officers patrolling the area earlier were now gone. Perhaps they left in the evening, or perhaps they left during the day. Either way, no one would’ve been here to watchguard the building if someone broke in.

And someone did break in.

She’d left the doorway of The Evergreen Gun Range boarded up before leaving, but now wooden splinters littered the floor as the door lay broken. It was like someone had sliced their way in. Her eyes narrowed as she heard the soft creaking of footsteps coming from the second floor.

“Wha—” Adair started, and she shushed him.

Drawing her pistol, Trace gestured upstairs and mouthed the words, “Someone’s here.”

He instantly grew alert. “Serpentfiends?”

“Maybe,” she whispered, “just follow my lead.”

Trace led Adair into The Evergreen Gun Range, softly crunching over the fallen splinters. It sounded like thunder in the silent room; each tiny crack sent a jolt of panicked electricity up her spine.

She inhaled deeply, steeling herself, and her nose took in the taste of blood and death that was now so familiar yet uncomfortable to her. With each building step that carried her up the stairway, the gnawing sensation on her skin sharpened. Shadows moved ahead. The entrance to the second floor hung open like a mouth, threatening to swallow her in darkness. Still, Trace Taylor pushed on.

Turning the corner—

“Yo, Trace!”

Elizabeth Evergreen popped up, casually waving.

The redhead nearly jumped back. She was only saved by Adair, who caught her from falling down the stairs.

“Are you alright?” He steadied her.

“Fuck, Liz. You scared me.” Clutching at her chest, the bands around her neck loosened, and Trace let out a heavy breath. “Yes, Adair. I’m fine.”

“You sure got spooked there, didn’t you?” Liz looked down at herself and shrugged. “Do I really look that bad? I tried taking a bath, but the shower wasn’t working.” She was caked in dirt and dried blood— clearly, she’d seen a lot of fighting recently.

“I take it that you just returned from the Darkness Tunnels?”

“Shadowed Tunnels.”

“Same thing.” Trace rolled her eyes.

“I did, yeah. It was so cool, Trace. You really gotta join us next time. We didn’t reach the boss room, but we got close. I even saved some credits for you.” Liz produced a handful of credits and offered it to the redhead.

Adair raised a brow. “That’s over a thousand credits. Did you get those from an E rank Dungeon?”

“Sure did.” Liz grinned, turning to him. There was a pause, and she frowned. “Wait, do I know you?”

“I do not believe we’ve met. I am Adair Russell. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Adair proffered his hand.

She accepted it. “I’m Elizabeth, but you can just call me Liz.” Liz faced Trace, giving the redhead a mischievous look. “I was wondering why you didn’t wanna join us at the Dungeon. You were too busy hooking up with your boyfriend, weren’t you?”

Trace blinked. Then her face twisted into the ugliest scowl she had ever made.

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend, Liz. He’s the fucking intruder who nearly murdered me a week ago.”

“Oh.” Liz slowly let go of Adair’s hand. Her arms drooped to her sides, edging for her Obsidian Longsword.

Adair paled. “I must insist that you reconsider—”

“You tried to kill my best friend, you bastard!” she shouted. The now level 16 Swordsmaiden unsheathed her weapon, aiming for Adair’s head.

He pointed at the longsword, and it halted midair. Liz narrowed her eyes. She let go of her weapon, throwing a punch instead. Adair raised his arms to block it, but the strike went in between his guard. He yelped and recoiled from the hit, as the Obsidian Longsword clattered to the ground.

Liz’s attack didn’t fully connect. Trace had seen boxing matches, and she knew that it wasn’t a clean punch that struck Adair. Yet, his head bounced back as he fell over. Spinning around, Liz grabbed for her longsword—

And Trace blocked her way. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“He tried to kill you, Trace! Why is he even here? Why—” Liz’s fury bore down on Adair. She’d have killed him if the redhead hadn’t intervened.

“He was helping me with something,” Trace said, glancing over at the man.

He lowered his hand, and flames dissipated from his fingertips. Picking himself up, he gave the redhead a grateful look. She turned back to Liz.

“He wanted to redeem himself and apologise for trying to kill me. It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“And how can you trust him after that?!”

Trace gestured at the can of chilli, rolling to a stop at Adair’s feet. She picked it up. “Because he brought an apology gift.”

Moonlight seeped into the dark corridor from the bedroom windows, illuminating the letters printed on the metal can, and she blinked as she read the words aloud. Her wrath vanished in an instant.

“Oh, thank god. I was starving.” Liz snatched the chilli off Trace’s hand. “Hey, I guess a guy can’t be so bad if he buys you dinner, right?”

Trace snorted. “I didn’t say he wasn’t bad. He’s just not trying to murder me right now.”

“And I probably won’t try to murder you ever again,” Adair said, and the redhead looked over at him. His face was bruised from the single punch. “Not if it means angering her…” he muttered as he rubbed his cheek.

“Liz packs quite the nasty punch, huh?”

“That she does. Why didn’t you intervene sooner, Ms Trace Taylor?”

“Because you deserved that.”

He bit his lower lip. “…perhaps I did.”

It was like he had a brief moment of reflection, and he now felt guilty for his past actions. He stared at the ground, silent. Trace pursed her lips.

“Anyways,” she started and headed back for the stairway, “the kitchen’s a mess right now, so you can just store the rest of the food you have on you in one of the bedrooms.”

“Where are you going, Trace?” Liz asked as she pried open her can of chilli,

“I need to repair the damn door since you decided to slice your way in.”

“Look, it’s not my fault you boarded up the entire doorway. I literally couldn’t squeeze my way in if I tried.”

“That’s the point. I don’t want any damned thing sneaking in and killing us in our sleep.”

“And what could possibly do that?”

“S—”

Before Trace could respond, a shrill sound echoed in the distance. One that the redhead instantly recognised. It was followed by a cacophony of screeches. Monsters that came for the commune once again.

Serpentfiends.

“That,” Trace said. “That’s what I’m worried about.