Two Days Ago — Hilltop, Dawn
Zane stood on the ridge, the flare gun cold in his gloved hand. His breath steamed in the morning chill, eyes fixed on the dead hills beyond. Behind him, Ava paced in short, frustrated loops, boots crunching frost.
"You really think this is smart?" she snapped. "There's five of us, Zane. Five. You fire that thing, and we might as well scream, 'easy targets right here.'"
Ava had tried to stop him. "You launch that, and anyone within thirty miles knows we're here. That means traders, sure—but also raiders. Stalkers. Maybe worse."
Zane didn't look at her. "Benji's getting worse, with his fever returned. No antibiotics. The well's muddy. Seeds didn't take. We're past scavenging—it's time to trade."
"Trade? With who? Anyone decent stopped responding months ago. You light that flare, and the only people who come are the ones who smell blood."
Zane finally turned, calm but coiled. "There are eight settlements within thirty miles. Two collapsed. One's Firefly loyal. One trades neutral. The rest—unknown or worse, you yourself gave me this information. But some know us. Some know you. Some know Sierra."
Ava hesitated, her expression tightening.
From behind, Sierra stepped into view, quiet, unreadable. "And we know some of them," she said. "Some routes. Some names. Not exact coords, but enough to guess who might respond."
"You're backing this?" Ava asked sharply.
"I'm saying it's a move. Not a stupid one."
Zane nodded slowly. " We deal carefully, show strength. Trade light."
Ava shook her head, voice dropping. "We've kept radio silent for half a year for a reason."
"And that reason," Zane said, "is killing Benji."
Ava stepped closer, tone hardening. "This? This isn't defense, Zane. This is bait."
He raised the flare gun.
"No," he said. "It's a trap."
A pause. Just breath and wind.
Then Zane fired.
The crack echoed like a gunshot. The flare burst green in the sky, trailing thick smoke as it spiraled upward.
They all stood still, watching it drift.
Anyone watching would see it. Anyone looking for something easy.
Present Day — Northern Gate, Midday
The gate was closed, but not locked.
Zane stood behind it, rifle in his hands, safety off. Not aimed—but close enough.
Three figures moved down the cracked road. Two men. One woman. Gear light. Packs small. Guns holstered, but visible. Ex-military maybe—disciplined movement, but softened with years.
The lead man stopped fifteen feet from the gate.
Brown duster coat. Worn eye patch. Smile like a stage actor.
"Brant," he called. "Saw your flare. You puttin' out feelers, or just lookin' to die loud?"
Zane didn't answer. Just stared, silent, rifle in full view.
Brant kept smiling. "We're traders. Not raiders. Got meds, seeds, clean water tabs. Looking to make friends."
Ava joined Zane, shotgun resting easy on her shoulder. "He's not a friend," she muttered. "Sold out his Firefly team when the East fell."
Zane's eyes didn't move from Brant. "You're far from Firefly routes."
Brant shrugged. "What routes? Fireflies are gone. Just people now. Survivors. Like you."
"Not like me," Zane said quietly. Then louder: "You armed?"
Brant lifted his coat slightly. Sidearm. Machete. One of his crew had a suppressed SMG. The other, a crossbow with metal bolts.
Zane opened the gate halfway. Enough for one body. No further.
"You trade inside the line. One at a time."
Brant grinned. "Paranoid much?"
Zane stepped forward, closing the gap between them in three hard strides. The rifle didn't come up—but his posture changed. Tense. Coiled.
Brant's smile faltered. Just for a second.
Zane's voice dropped low. "You show me anything funny, you leave in pieces. You try to map this place, or mark it, or ping it for someone else… I will kill you and bury your teeth."
Brant's crew shifted slightly.
Zane didn't blink.
Brant raised both hands, mock surrender. "Alright. Easy. Let's do business."
Courtyard — Twenty Minutes Later
The trade was done under watch.
Zane stood across from Brant with Sierra and Lily flanking the scene, Ava covering from the rooftop. No one turned their back. No one relaxed.
Brant pulled a canvas satchel off his shoulder and laid it out.
"Meds. Five doses. Labeled. Not expired."
Zane inspected them one by one. Real antibiotics. Oral, not injectable—but still rare. No fungus stamps. No water damage. He set them aside.
"Seeds," Brant said next. "Tomato. Squash. Real dirt crops."
Zane held up a packet, then slit it open with his knife. Ran a few seeds through his fingers. Still firm. Not hollow. He nodded.
"Alcohol. Pure. Two bottles. Surgical grade."
Zane tapped the bottle's base, listened to the weight, sniffed the seal.
"Your ask?" he said finally.
Brant straightened. "Map intel. Your northern patrol routes. I don't need exact markers—just where you avoid.
And… a peek at your irrigation setup. See what you're working with."
Zane stared at him a long moment.
Then turned and walked away.
Brant blinked. "That a no?"
Zane didn't answer.
He walked to a nearby crate, opened it, and pulled a separate, hand-drawn map.—minimal detail, outdated. He tossed it to Brant's feet.
"For the routes," he said. "Basic pass zones. Nothing critical."
Brant picked it up. "And the water lines?"
Zane stepped closer again. "You get five minutes. From the fence. No cameras. No measurements. If I see you sketch, we gut you."
Brant's grin didn't return this time. He just nodded.
After They Left — Side Wall, Late Afternoon
Zane leaned against the solar panel wall, wiping sweat and dust from his face.
Ava stood nearby, arms folded, tension radiating from her like static. Her eyes were sharp—hard.
"You gave him too much," she said.
Zane didn't look at her. Just kept his gaze fixed on the treeline, where the caravan had vanished half an hour ago.
"I gave him what we could afford," he said quietly.
Ava stepped closer. "He's gonna sell that map. Trade it to someone worse. Raiders. WLF ghosts. Hell—Rattlers if they're still crawling east."
Zane finally looked at her. And when he did, there was something hollow in his eyes. Something quiet… and dangerous.
"I hope he does."
Ava blinked. "What?"
"I hope he brings them. Raiders. Mercs. Scavengers. I hope someone comes looking to take what we have—because that means we'll find out who they are, where they camp, how they move."
He took a breath. Calm. Focused.
"And then we take it from them."
Ava stared at him. "That's not defense, Zane. "You're using this place as bait."
"Call it what you want," he said. "Every map we hand out is a thread. Every threat that bites is a resource waiting to be broken open. Ammo. Intel. Territory. If we want to build something that lasts, we stop waiting to be hunted."
He stepped past her, muttering, "We become the hunters."
For a long second, Ava said nothing.
Then: "Jesus," she whispered. "You sound like them."
Zane paused.
She didn't clarify who them meant. She didn't need to. Fireflies. Wolves. Anyone who started with principles and ended in ruin.
She stepped back slightly, like he'd shifted into someone she didn't fully recognize.
"I don't know what scares me more—that you mean it… or that you think it'll work."
Zane looked back at her, his expression unreadable.
Ava hesitated, then added, "You know Sierra's been lying, right?"
Zane frowned.
Ava's voice lowered. "Her story doesn't track. The way she killed that scavenger was to fast, to clean. It was more of an execution. Also afterward her voice was steady. Too steady. And she had a Firefly tattoo—she tried to cover it, but I saw the ink ghosting through. No one survives that long switching sides that easy."
Zane didn't respond right away.
Just stared at the night settling around them.
Ava's voice dropped further.
"Keep your eyes open, Zane. Not just out there."
She pointed to her temple.
"In here too."
Then she turned and walked back toward the gate, leaving Zane alone with the dying sun.
Ava's words of that midday still in his head."Brant is the kind that smiles before he slits you."
Zane looked down at the meds. The seeds.
"I've slit worse."
[Base Status Updated: Fortification Priority Raised]
Craftables Unlocked: Spike Traps | Watchposts | Decoy Lines
[Threat Forecast: 47% | Type: Coordinated Group or Paid Hit | Timeframe: Unknown]
Nightfall — Training Yard
They didn't stop moving.
Sierra and Lily dug trenches for traps. Zane built new tripwire rigs using scrap metal and old radio coils. Ava returned from a perimeter sweep with signs of fresh tire tracks—nothing close, but recent.
Benji watched from a bench near the wall, still bundled, still recovering. But his eyes were clear now. Focused.
He didn't speak, but Zane knew the look.
He remembered wearing it once.
Midnight — Underground Vault
Zane stood alone in the Firefly room again. The lights buzzed softly above. He stared at the map. At the red circle. At the whisper on the old tape:
"…if she finds them…"
The flare had worked.
He thought of Ellie. Of Abby. Of the things the Fireflies buried—and what Brant might dig up if given enough time.
The base was growing.
But so were the eyes watching it.
[Bond Status: Ava – 91% | Near Tier II]
[Settlement Status: 15% | Hollow Refuge Expanding]
New Build Goals: South Outpost | Armory Upgrade | Barracks (Optional)
Zane stepped back. Exhaled once through his nose.
"We survive," he muttered. "And if someone comes searching for trouble… we make them regret finding us."