Chapter Text
╔══════╗
To the souls who damned themselves to flesh,
To those housing the uncomfortable figure of desperation,
To all who pay the price for pushing too far,
Despair is not kind to those of the weak. Tread carefully.
╚══════╝
"There has got to be some use to this place…" a worn-out traveler murmured to no one in particular. In a forgotten factory with various machines worn down by the appetite to nature itself, stood a fair-skinned figure, freckles decorating their face with their white collared shirt and black trousers and shoes with wearied soles A heavy black bag slumped onto the floor, a lantern on a secured stick dangling slightly from the impact. Stopped conveyor belts and shelves full of boxes and crates, picked clean from decades past, were placed against the walls. The industrial lights had mostly burnt out, the rest producing a sparse and flickering glow. Wooden boxes remained unscathed from human destruction, yet the force of nature was not too kind to it. The lit lantern belonging to the traveler was the primary source of light in the sizable room they were in.
In the traveler’s left hand possessed a card of their own identity. Augustin, a former Bunker 2 worker, had come here with merely one goal: redeem themselves. This factory they had found on their own accord would prove useful to those they had failed, or at least they believed so.
"Strict policy, yet not strict on getting help… some irony if you ask me," they scowled under their breath. A somewhat crumpled map and pencil were pulled out of one of the pockets of the bag, the contents hardly understandable to the regular eye. To Augustin, however, it was the best they could do to map out the Second Bunker and its works. A once blank spot on the canvas now had a mark to indicate their discovery. Close enough to another –albeit raided– factory, but not so far to be a worthless travel from Bunker 2 itself, Augustin let out a slight smile of satisfaction.
"They would have no problem getting here," was the conclusion they made, before turning to put the map and pencil back into its rightful place. As this happened though, a sound of glass shattering nearby immediately made Augustin jump and turn around, their short, brown hair jumping up and their hazel eyes now locked onto the direction of where it had come from: the entrance.
Double doors of considerable size were now cracked ajar, unlike from when Augustin had first entered. They had made sure that they were closed. Glass bottles that were previously undisturbed now lay in shards, kicking dust into the air. One, which was broken in half, rolled towards the ex-employee of Bunker 2. They stood like a deer in the headlights, but it was as if no one had entered. It was strange, to Augustin, that they could not see what had entered the factory. Augustin stood there, staring at the door for what felt like hours but could only have been a minute or two. Anxiety raised within them as nothing happened. They took a small pocket knife out; not the most effective means of protection, but they weren't exactly spoiled for choice. Bunker 2 made sure of that by confiscating their issued weapon post-termination, much to their annoyance.
Augustin eventually turned, keeping their eyes on the open doors as they slowly grabbed their backpack and put it on their shoulders. The scent of heavy rust filled their nose as they slowly approached the untrustworthy door. The only entrance was the only exit, and it had worried Augustin as they opened the door further, only revealing the chilly breeze of a destroyed hallway. Every bit of rubble in the corridor reminded them of the war, while the dust coating the rebar and concrete reminded them of how much time had passed since it transpired. Augustin looked back at the factory with unease.
"If… someone’s out there… you better show your face, you coward!" Augustin yelled. A bit of hypocrisy in that insult, Augustin thought, but it was better than nothing. A cold chill went down their spine, making them turn around, their heart racing.
With it, a swift blow to the face by something reminiscent of fists, and a painful sharpness accompanied it.
Augustin fell on their backpack, one of their hands flinging up to clutch their face as if it could heal the sting they received. They had been disarmed by this point, their pocket knife clattering to the floor. Augustin yelped in pain.
"Ah, sh- what?!" Their eyes, thankfully unmarked from the blow of what they saw to be a pair of spiked brass knuckles, locked contact with their enemy.
A figure of merely average height and pale skin stood with their hands raised in a fighting position, smirking down at Augustin. The ex-employee was sure they were not the first target they chose, evident by the red-stained clothing of a previously white fur cloak and loose, dark magenta leggings. Augustin heard the chuckle of their enemy, a feminine one from Augustin’s perspective.
"Now what’s a lonely wanderer like you doing around these parts?" The assailant said with an energetic tone. Augustin groaned, reaching for the pocket knife with one hand while trying to push themselves up with the other, their face flushed with red from the blow they got. "Oh no, we can’t have that," the attacker said, practically stomping her foot against the arm going for the knife. Augustin yelped in response, allowing their attacker to swiftly pick up the pocket knife as if to claim her own.
"Wh- who are you?! What do you want?!" Augustin asked. They swiftly kicked their feet against the floor, pushing them over as their attacker stumbled and freed their hand. Augustin scrambled up, with neither weapon nor backpack, but free nonetheless.
"Why, I’m just a lonely traveler just like yourself!" she swung her arms for another hit, which Augustin barely ducked under. The traveler took a large step back after, not anticipating the half-shattered bottle suddenly coming flying towards them when their attacker took the opportunity. "I recognized the make of that ID card. Bunker 2 looking to squat here soon?" Augustin struggled to keep their balance as the sharp sting of pain got stronger. All they could do was wince to see the ‘lonely traveler.’ They were not aware of how much or how long they were being hunted, not that it mattered now. Like anyone else, Augustin prioritized survival over their initial goal.
"Y-you cruel-" Augustin was swept off their feet by their assailant, falling once again to the floor with a gasp. "I wasn’t hurting anyone! T-This isn’t fair!" they snapped like a child.
"Life’s not fair, we’ve all heard that before," the attacker responded. "Now, is a woman like me going to be lucky today? Or are you just another miserable drone..." Augustin braced weakly for another attack, half-blinded, yet it never came. They could make out their bag being grabbed, and a glare from the attacker told Augustin they should not tempt fate through their damaged condition. Instead, the ex-worker dragged themself slightly further away from the thief.
"Aha," the woman said as she pulled out a bottle filled with liquid awkwardly shut with a small handkerchief, "Now here's something impressive. Were you really making firebombs?" Augustin watched as she detached the handkerchief and looked inside. Her neutral expression soured to a frown.
"What a shame," she said dejectedly, "here I thought there might be a chance you could redeem yourself." The words ‘redeem’ bothered Augustin, making them curse under their breath. The woman cared no attention to the words said most likely against her, but did look over with a thin smile. "In case you’re wondering, it was just a looksie to see if you were a drinking partner. I suppose not, though. Water doesn’t cut it. Why store it like that, anyhow?" she tossed it over to Augustin, who failed to catch it as it fell on the ground and shattered into little pieces. So much for conserving water; they disapproved of the wasteful act. The woman gave Augustin a disappointed look, only to receive a disgusted stare in response.
"People like you are why there are still conflicts within these bunkers," Augustin stated rather hoarsely. "Harming others for pointless reasons… you for… what? A bottle of alcohol? Have you no shame?!"
The woman shrugged. "Shame? Not in my vocabulary, I'm afraid. Besides, there's more shame in the cowardice that comes with living in a bunker." Her words stung like burns to Augustin, but perhaps that was the damage she had already physically done to the wanderer. With nothing else, Augustin picked up a shard of glass in frustration and ran towards the woman, who braced herself having seen them pick it up. A futile attempt, Augustin would realize, would be shown as their target dropped the bag she held, stepped to the side almost carelessly, and threw her arm back, suddenly swinging forward to connect with Augustin’s jaw. They thought they heard a crack, but they knew for sure it hurt. The woman’s lilac-gray eyes, one marked with an old scar, gleamed as she smirked.
"How is… that… cowardly?" Through gritted teeth and sharpening pain, Augustin managed to sputter the sentence out. Blood from their hand and mouth dripped and mixed onto the grimy floor, staining their skin as a reminder of a failed effort. The woman scoffed.
"Unless you're really that naive, quit playing dumb. Do you really think Bunker 2 cared about you? That any of them would? You're a resource." she replied with a bitter tone, the light in her eyes now gone. "They know that human desperation, that innate desire to belong to something. They use that. They use you." The woman sighed with sudden frustration. Augustin did not know who this woman was, or why she was so against the bunkers, but whatever they had thought had lasted mere seconds before they were kicked down on their stomach from the firm plant of their attacker’s foot. Defenseless, Augustin thought, they were utterly defenseless against their foe.
"S-so what? You'd rather care about nothing?!" Augustin's voice dripped with contempt.
"Looks like you aren’t so stupid after all."
The former Bunker 2 employee had no energy to cast further judgment, their pain overtaking resentment. Trying to get up was hopeless. They did not know why fate had chosen them today. Fired from their job less than a week ago, for an equipment malfunction that was hardly their fault, and they had only barely managed to get by, avoiding any sign of conflict. Of course, the one time they go out to venture further alone, conflict comes to them.
"I didn’t have a choice…" A small desperate plea of some sort to get out of the mess Augustin was in dared escape their own mouth. With that, the woman took a long breath, before stepping off of the fired employee.
Even so, as Augustin brought themself up to their knees, they were knocked over again, the collar of their shirt firmly grasped in the woman’s left hand, her right fist daring to punch Augustin once more. They were face to face, the woman’s short purple hair covering her scarred eye.
"That’s it, huh? Choices? You shape your own future. Letting someone walk all over you is just a sign of weakness." For a moment, both of them held their position, staring at each other. Augustin’s head hurt, their nose was bleeding, a few bruises swelling up already, and in just a short time they came to realize they were a part of the unlucky cast of underground dwellers caught like mice to a cat. In some retrospect, the woman was right. Shackled by conformity, following the rules of others was a constant for Augustin. With no rules to follow, here they were, unspared from fate’s hold. "I’m tired of you people that serve nothing of worth." Augustin was shoved onto the hard, cold ground. They did not bother mustering up energy to pull themselves up. It would be no use to them at this point if the only thing that happened would be them being injured further.
"S-so, what of it? Is that really all it took for you to do this?" Augustin said bitterly. Another strike to the face was the response.
"Well, you obviously didn’t have what I wanted, so I suppose so." Yet another one. Augustin spat between teeth stained red, each drop of blood being another reminder of their hopelessness. Pools and splatters of dripping failure, its scent overpowering the factory's rust. One thought preoccupied Augustin through the racing questions that went too fast for them to answer, that being why? Chosen today, out of all days, the day they set out for redemption, to lose everything? To return back to a place known to Augustin once? And if not that, a pathetic way to die.
"Not even putting up a fight." The women denounced. "I’ve had my fair share of fights, but this is just… disappointing." With that, she brought herself up, staring down at her victim, their shallow breathing answered only with her tut of disapproval. The shuffling of a bag being picked up was all but deaf to the wounded. A small, gentle kick was what Augustin felt. Not one made to hurt, but both knew that wasn't the point. Just insult to injury.
"...That’s…it?" A question from the ex-employee, the words paced between breaths. "You’re… leaving?"
"Why should I stay?"
Silence. Not because Augustin could not answer, but because requesting death was a coward’s move, and Augustin did not want to be a coward.
"You at least gave me something. Not what I wanted, but you were a bit more than useless, just barely. Count yourself lucky..." the woman said, turning her back towards Augustin. "...that is, if your wounds don't do you in."
Casting aside odds of survival, Augustin wondered whether they'd ever come back here. They still had goals they needed to achieve. Why should an unfair fight like this break all the chances they could have? They stuck on that thought, hoping, in some way, it would help them. Not now, but later. They doubted they would be able to live in this condition, even if their assailant was sparing them.
Even as they thought about her, something about the way she talked, the way she fought, it seemed distantly familiar to them. What was it that had caused them to think this way? As her casual footsteps echoed further away, accompanied by the rustling of stolen goods, something clicked.
They had heard of her somewhere. During the grueling shifts in Bunker 2's metalworks. A purple-haired woman causing havoc to any wanderer that took the chance to be alone with a pair of spiked brass knuckles. Not a topic of major gossip, they remembered, but rather something recent. Where she came from they did not know, her origin and motives equally mysterious. But somewhere, buried in rumors and hearsay, one name stuck out to them now. The name of a woman draped in a fur cloak, darkened with dried blood. The name of a human full of hatred.
Ramona Laverfare. The name of a thief.
Augustin. The name of her prey.