The early morning sun bled blue through the half collapsed remains of a gas station, coating the cracked highway where the nomad caravan had set up a temporary camp in an eerie light. Jareko leaned against the rusted husk of a tireless pickup truck, flipping a pre-war quarter between his knuckles.

The nomad scouts had spotted him ten minutes ago; he'd made sure of it. Now, he watched their approach through half-lidded eyes, the coin catching dull sunlight as it spun.

Heads for honesty, tails for bullshit.

It landed on the cracked pavement—tails.

He grinned.

"Morning," he drawled, pushing off the truck with a roll of his shoulders. The SHDW barcode on his neck caught the light, but the Nomads didn't flinch; they knew deserters when they saw them.

"Heard you're headin' out. Figured you might want a guide who knows how to dodge SHDW patrols and the Amanitans' little welcome parties." He punctuated the offer by catching the coin mid-air.

It was pure bullshit—he hadn't heard a damn thing. Jareko had seen the caravan a little before dawn and decided to see if they had work and if he could possibly catch a ride out of Sector 8 with them. He just wanted to get home to Sector 10. Regardless, the scouts brought him grudgingly into the encirclement of patchwork vehicles where people were already stirring.

The caravan master, a grizzled older man with a scar where his left eye should've been, scoffs. "We don't truck with SHDW dogs. 'Specially not ones with your reputation." He stokes a fire, looking up unimpressed.

"Ah, so you've heard of me! Then you know I'm an ex-dog. Got the muzzle off and everything." Jareko grinned, lazy as a sunbathing cat. Then he sighs almost dramatically.

"But alas. Your call. Though I do know how SHDW thinks. And I know they've got eyes on this route. Would be a shame if you walked into an ambush that was totally preventable while I'm just over here being delightfully expendable." He leans against one of the trucks and shakes his head, faux contrition on his face.

The grizzled leader looks him over for a moment. "And what are you expectin' to get out of this boy?"

His face lights up like a kid on pre-war Christmas. "I'm so glad you asked."

Negotiations were a dance of half-truths and veiled threats, but by the time the deal was struck the sun was rising over the horizon and he'd talked his way into a week's rations and a spot by the fire.

_Minimal effort, maximum reward._

He was slinging his pack onto the supply wagon when a shadow fell across him.

"You'll be riding with her. Don't piss them off." Thomas—the caravan leader—grunts at him and jerks his head toward where you stand.

His eyes roam your figure appreciatively.

Well hello.

His SHDW-issue boots scuffed the asphalt as he pushed off, rolling his shoulders in a lazy stretch before sauntering over, hand already outstretched.

"Aren't you a sight. You always travel with this circus, or did the universe finally decide to reward me for good behavior?" He purrs.

"Jareko Greeves, ex-SHDW dog, professional pain-in-the-ass, it's not a pleasure to meet you yet, but it could be."

He knows exactly who you are, of course—how could he not recognize the love of his life—but he couldn't resist the urge to play with you, not when you hadn't seen each other in weeks.

Fuck he'd missed you.