“Basil,” the wind howled. “You can’t run forever, Basil…”

A figure hurriedly skulked through the wooded treeline, illuminated by the glow of lichen and foxfire. Her cloak heaved with the breeze, kept in check by the heavy chunk of crude wrought iron that could (in the right light) be considered a firearm. The weapon was strapped to her, shoulder to hip.

Her armor was a patchwork of bits and trinkets strapped together. What was once power armor had evolved into a mass largely composed of leather and weathered ceramic plates, intermixed with the glinting of small pieces of salvaged old world technology.

“Basil,” the winds called out. “Hungry. Basil.” 

Dozens of pairs of eyes seemed to peek out of every tree and shadow. The woods were livelier than she’d seen in several months, but the chase was nothing new. 

They didn’t dare threaten her, but they were interfering with her schedule nonetheless. There was enough on her plate to worry about without some bloodsuckers asking her to fix their problems.

“Tailing me again?” She asked, smirking at their restraint. 

Three distinct cracks of branches rang out, as she tore through the shrubbery. 

Her body armor heaved as she pushed through the thickets. The sound of branches scraping shrieked as the twigs scraped and snapped against the matte finish of her armor. She kicked up dirt as she took sharp turns through the thicket, taking every attempt to dart erratically through the shrubs.

Basil spat bitterly as she dove through a light beam in the tree break. Though small, the momentary reprieve was enough to allow her time to regroup. “I’m getting really tired of this.”

As she made it to a midday clearing, she took a moment to remove her hood and unclasp her respirator. She sighed in relief as she took in a breath of fresh air. 

She had the appearance of a Terran woman in her thirties, just shy of scraping 5’9” without her boots.

Her Hazel eyes gleamed with a combination of amusement and annoyance. She brushed her messy chestnut hair from her eyes, revealing a jagged scar across her nose and cheek. 

The branches had scraped her hair and face a bit, but nothing drew blood. She didn’t have to worry about the scent frenzying her watchers. 

As she pinned her respirator to her collar, The decades old steel dog tag on her cloak’s collar was barely legible from wear and exposure. 

Basil, F

AB+

Marble Sanctum

Agnostic.

She eyed the clearing and her eyes darted through the treeline, noticing an old familiar rune carved into an ancient stump. 

“They can’t pass through direct sunlight, which is great because I-” 

She grabbed her belt and thumbed through the old patchwork of switches on her rig, dusting off a trigger box.

Hope this still works after all these years. She whispered in her head as she flipped a switch on her belt.

A decade old claymore mine shattered through the foliage, giving her enough coverage to burst into another bright clearing.

“I know a shortcut!” she shouted, beaming.

Never had a doubt. She assured herself as bright rays of sunlight broke through the dark woods. 

“And as for the rest of you,” Basil muttered, rifling through her pockets and fishing out a segmented metal tube. “This ought to be enough.”

Basil dropped the flashbang as she sprinted to another bright spot, and turned to shield her eyes as the shadows scattered from the ear splitting crack.

Through the ringing drone of tinnitus, Basil could hear their protests.

“EEEEK!”

“Hissss”

“Sooooo ruuuuuuddddeeeee,” the voices shouted back at her from the trees.

“Oof, Soz!” Basil shouted back, instinctively apologetic about the whole ordeal. 

“I mean-” Basil caught herself clearing her throat, and she reminded herself to be firm in her actions.“Oi, bugger off! I’m working here! If you don’t want to get flashbanged, mind my personal space. I have work to do!”

“Basil, it hungers. Basil.” 

“Covenant. Duty. Promise,” they whispered, in a cacophonous rattle. 

Basil felt the words chill her bones, but she shook them off. “... kids these days,” she spat, making an obscene gesture back at the voices. 

“I’m billing for 12 years overtime already, don’t you lecture me about duty,” Basil muttered to herself as she continued her journey out of the woods and towards the old forgotten trading post. She contemplated the tenacity of her pursuers. She was out of the overgrowth but not out of the fire.

“You vamps are always talking like the world’s falling apart. Trust me, I’ll know when the world is falling apart. This ain’t my first apocalypse.” She said mockingly to her observers. As she turned her back on the thickets, she heard the pleading voice call out one last time. 

“Basil. Precious. Time.” 

But Basil had more pressing problems to deal with.

As Basil made her rounds along the path, she paused at a break in the trees. It was disquieting. There were no birds in sight today. The twisting trees seemed to speak to her as she passed. She noticed the eyes tracing her, the shadows that trailed her amongst the twilight cast off of the trees.

She shook her head, Against her better judgment she’d accidentally arrived in the ashen ruins of the old town. 

The petrified remains of a sign that once read Welcome to Emerton, population 251. The number had been repeatedly crossed out by fresh paint, showing the passing of days since the deluge. The number dwindled until the final population marker was painted over with a bold zero as the settlement was finally abandoned.

“Hello again, old friend,” Basil whispered mournfully.