ARC10

The darkness is a good sign. Nestled in the deepest shadow in the blackest hour on a dead-end street of a shattered city, I shrug and roll my shoulder to stretch a nagging ball of tension in my neck. Just as I breathe a little easier, a slim glimmer of moonlight wavers from behind the broken buildings. I coil up again.

Nothing moves. Not even the wind. Nothing rustles over the cracked road or through the crispy tips of burnt trees. Nothing disturbs the ashy scorch marks of a long-dead population that gaped at the apocalypse as it struck them from the sky. This night, like many, is as quietly comforting as a tomb. I raise my gaze again. Beyond my puffs of breath, I catch the stars blinking luminescent code. They inform me we're all clear. There's no sign of lurking Invaders.

Yet. I shift my weight onto another foot, flinching as the crunch of debris under my boot resonates off the dilapidated building at my six. I peer at it over my shoulder. The United Region of Earth's Scavengers have been in there for hours. If they don't come out in the next thirty minutes, I'll be forced to climb the stairs and wrangle the idiots myself. I'm not in the mood.