HAWK – POV
The fight was over. And I was officially fucked.
Not because of the gangers. Chop-Shop was currently in two different zip codes, his crew was eating dirt, and the glowing glass trench Rambo had carved through the earth was finally cooling down.
I was fucked because of a little blinking timer in the corner of my Oracle-Eye.
00:05:12 LATE.
"Shit," I muttered, wiping a streak of half-dried blood off my cheek and probably just smearing it worse.
Rambo was leaning against the side of his armored truck, casually patting the barrel of his massive plasma cannon like it was a good dog. He caught my curse and looked over.
"What's the face for?" he rumbled. "You forget to stab someone?"
"Worse," I said, glaring at the sky as if it could slow down time. "I'm five minutes late."
Rambo stared at me. Then, a slow, annoying grin spread across his scarred face.
"Late," he repeated. "For the big bad trait-thief."
"Shut up."
"You just butchered fifty guys without blinking, and you're sweating over being five minutes late for a boy." Rambo threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed across the wasteland. "Oh, this is beautiful."
"I am going to unhook that cannon and beat you to death with it," I warned him.
"You could try," he chuckled, opening the driver's side door. "But you're in a hurry, remember?"
I growled under my breath and started walking toward the passenger side. My boots crunched over shell casings. My leather jacket was heavy with gore, dust, and the stench of burnt ozone.
I was about to grab the door handle when I saw her.
Standing half behind a busted concrete pillar, perfectly still, was a girl.
She wasn't a ganger. She wasn't a merc. She was small, wiry, maybe early twenties, wearing a fitted dark jacket, grey cargo pants, and scuffed boots. Her dark blonde hair was tied up in a messy knot that looked like it had survived the apocalypse by pure stubbornness. But what stood out were her eyes—bright, piercing green, sharp and completely unafraid.
She looked entirely normal. Which, in Scarpoint, meant she was either incredibly lucky or completely insane.
We locked eyes.
Rambo paused, his hand dropping to his shotgun.
To her credit, the green-eyed girl didn't flinch. She just stepped out from behind the pillar, keeping her hands visible.
"Hi," she said. Her voice was steady, unimpressed by the carnage around her. "I waited until you were done killing people."
"Smart," I said, narrowing my Oracle-Eye. "Who are you?"
"Freya," she said simply. "I live down the road. Haul scrap and medical supplies when the borders aren't actively on fire."
Rambo snorted. "You got a terrible survival instinct, Freya."
"It's worked so far," she shot back smoothly.
She looked at me, really looked at me—taking in the glowing red eye, the blades, the absolute mess of blood and ash covering me from the neck down.
"You did good," Freya said, gesturing vaguely at the trembling survivors. "Fast. Loud. Very messy."
"We were on a tight schedule," I said, my anxiety over the time spiking again. I grabbed the truck's door handle. "Enjoy the quiet, Freya."
I pulled the door open and put one boot on the step.
"Wait," Freya blurted out.
I stopped and looked back over my shoulder.
Freya took a step closer, gripping the strap of her satchel. "Take me with you."
Rambo let out a bark of laughter from the driver's seat. "To the fortress? Kid, you don't even have a gun."
"I don't need one," Freya said, keeping her green eyes locked on me. "I can help."
"Help with what?" I asked, genuinely confused. "The fighting's done."
"Not with fighting," Freya said. She pointed a finger directly at my chest. "With whatever "
I froze.
I looked down at my jacket. Smeared with Chop-Shop's blood. My pants were caked in white ash. I could smell the rot and sweat radiating off my own skin.
Then I looked at Freya.
She was a civilian, yeah, but she was clean. Her clothes fit right. Her jacket was sharp. Her hair was styled, even if it was messy. She just looked... incredibly put together.
Dashing, even.
Slowly, I took my boot off the truck step. I let go of the door handle and turned fully around to face her.
"Hawk?" Rambo asked, raising an eyebrow.
I ignored him, walking back over to the green-eyed girl until I was standing right in front of her. Freya had to crane her neck up slightly to look at me, but she didn't step back.
"Actually," I said slowly, a sudden, ridiculous idea forming in my head. "You can help."
Freya blinked, caught off guard. "I can?"
"Yeah," I said, gesturing up and down at her outfit. "You look... dashing. Put together. Like an actual human being."
Freya let out a startled sound. "Dashing?"
"Whatever," I waved a hand impatiently. "The point is, I have somewhere to be. Can you make me look like you? For a date with a psychopath?"
For a second, Freya just stared at me. Complete silence stretched over the ruined border.
Then, she burst out laughing.
It was a real, loud, clutching-her-stomach kind of laugh. She covered her mouth, her green eyes crinkling at the corners.
"A date?" she wheezed. "You flash-fried an army because you were late for a date?"
"He's very particular about time," I deadpanned.
Freya finally caught her breath, wiping a tear from her eye, a huge grin still plastered on her face.
"Oh my god, you're serious," she said. She looked me up and down again, her expression shifting into pure, focused determination. "Sure. I can help you. But let's get you washed properly first, because right now you smell like burnt meat and bad decisions."
"I can live with that," I said, feeling an unexpected smirk pull at my lips.
I turned back to the truck and caught Rambo staring at me with his mouth slightly open.
I gave him a sharp, two-finger signal. Go.
Rambo slowly shook his head, looking between me and Freya like we had both lost our minds.
"I'm not explaining this to Scourge," he rumbled, shifting the truck into gear. "If Kaiser asks, I'll tell him you found Jesus or soap or something."
"Just tell him I'm on my way," I said.
Rambo snorted, hit the gas, and the massive armored truck roared to life, kicking up a cloud of dust as it bounced away toward the Scarpoint gates.
I stood in the road, the silence returning, before looking back at Freya.
She jerked her thumb toward a half-standing concrete building down the street. "There's a clean water tank in the old clinic over there. Let's go see if we can perform a miracle."
"Lead the way, green eyes," I said.
She turned and started walking. I followed, completely late, covered in blood, and about to let a random civilian dress me for the most dangerous night of my life.
FREYA – POV
I was having the weirdest day of my life.
I was hiding behind a broken snack machine, praying a plasma beam didn't turn me into a stain on the wall. Now I was scrubbing actual brain matter off a legend.
The old Sector 4 clinic was four cracked walls, a broken tile floor, and a rusted water tank that only worked if you hit it with a wrench. It was freezing. It smelled like mold and old medicine.
And in the middle of it stood Hawk.
Completely naked.
She'd peeled off her gore‑soaked leathers and kicked them into a corner like they were trash. I stood next to her with a bucket of freezing water, a chunk of cheap soap, and a rag that used to be white.
"You know," I said, wringing out the rag, "there's a piece of someone's rib stuck to your thigh."
Hawk looked down, calm as ever. "Not mine."
"I guessed," I sighed, and threw cold water over her shoulder.
She hissed when the water hit, but she didn't flinch. Up close, without armor, she didn't look like a monster. She looked like a map. Thin silver scars. Old burns. Fresh bruises. A body that had fought for every second it was alive.
"Turn," I said.
She turned so I could get her back.
"So," I said, because the silence felt heavy, "you and the Emperor."
"Don't call him that," Hawk grunted. No real anger in it.
"The whole city does," I said, scrubbing at a dark patch near her spine. "The Trait‑Thief. Emperor of the dead zones. The guy who broke Tartarus. And you're going on a date with him. What does a guy like that even do on a date? Bring you flowers or a bag of heads?"
Hawk actually laughed. Low and rough, echoing off the tiles.
"He's an idiot," she said. "Loud. Arrogant. Reckless."
"That sounds exhausting," I said, dumping the red water and refilling the bucket.
"It is," she said. She glanced back at me, her Oracle‑Eye dimmed to a soft red glow. "But he has a very good soul. He remembers what people say. When everything falls apart, he's the one standing in the fire, laughing."
I paused, rag in hand.
Under all the blood and blades, the way she talked about him was soft. Dangerous soft. The kind that gets you killed here. The kind that makes life worth the pain.
"Wow," I said. "You're gone."
"Shut up and wash my hair," she muttered, almost smiling.
I grabbed the soap and worked it into her hair. It was thick and hard from dried blood. The water that ran down her back was dark red at first, then lighter, then clear.
"My turn," Hawk said suddenly, closing her eyes while I scrubbed.
"What's your story, green eyes?"
"Me?" I snorted. "I'm boring."
"Nobody who walks up to me after a massacre and tells me I look like shit is boring," she said. "No augments. No gang marks. No gun. How are you still alive in Sector 4?"
"Spite," I said, rinsing her hair. "And being useful."
She leaned her head back, letting the last of the red wash away.
"Useful how?" she asked.
"I'm a scavenger, but not the 'shoot people and steal their teeth' kind," I said. I tossed the rag in the bucket and dug in my satchel for a towel. I threw it to her. "I read fast. I fix water filters. I open med‑crates without setting off acid traps. I cook clean meds out of expired drugs. Gangs don't shoot the girl who fixes their lungs. Civilians don't mess with the girl who stitches them up."
Hawk started drying off, watching me.
"You're a doctor?" she asked.
"I'm a survivor with a reading habit," I said. "I grew up in the lower rings. Everyone wanted bigger guns and stronger augments. They're all dead. I decided I wasn't going to be another weapon."
"You decided to be normal," she said, like the word was strange.
"I decided to be human," I said, leaning against the water tank. "Someone has to remember how to wash blood out of clothes and fix broken things. Otherwise, what's the point of you lot winning anything?"
She went very still.
"You're smart, Freya," she said quietly.
"I have my moments," I said, and unzipped my satchel again. "Now. Before you freeze to death. Put this on."
I pulled out the dress.
Deep red. Soft fabric. Thin straps. A V neck. A slit up one side for movement. It looked wildly wrong in this busted room.
Hawk caught it and shook it out. Her face went blank.
"What is this," she asked, flat.
"It's a dress," I said. "You're wearing it."
"I can't fight in this," she said.
"You're not going to a raid," I said. "You're going on a date. With the idiot who laughs in fire. Try it."
She stared at the dress for a few seconds, then stepped into it and pulled it up.
I turned away a little. Not because she asked. Just because it felt like the right thing.
"How does it feel?" I asked.
"Wrong," she said. "And… soft."
"Good," I said. "Soft won't kill you."
"It might," she muttered.
I turned back and lost my breath for a second.
The dress hugged her waist and hips, fell smooth to her knees. The slit showed one strong, scarred thigh when she moved. The red made her scars look like silver lines drawn on purpose.
"Okay," I said. "Yeah. That works."
Her face was still rough, though. No color in her lips. Hair a wet mess.
"Sit," I said, grabbing my comb.
She sighed like I'd asked her to storm a fortress, but sat on the stool.
I stood behind her and combed out her hair, slow and careful. It was heavier now that it was clean. I pulled the top half back and clipped it, let the rest fall down her back in loose waves.
"Why does my head feel weird?" she asked.
"Because it's nice," I said. "Don't panic. You'll survive."
I came around to face her and grabbed my tiny red lipstick from the shelf.
Her eyes narrowed. "No."
"Yes," I said. "It matches the dress. That's all. Sit still."
"I don't wear makeup," she said.
"You also don't usually scrub brain matter off with strangers and then go on a date with an Emperor," I said. "First time for everything."
She stared at the lipstick like it might explode.
"It won't bite," I said. "Open your mouth a bit."
She exhaled slowly and did as I said.
I stepped close, one hand under her chin, and painted her bottom lip first. Small strokes. Then the top. Dark red, not bright. It made her mouth look sharp and real.
"Why red?" she asked.
"Because you spend your life trying to wash it off," I said. "Tonight you choose it."
She looked at me, then at herself in the cracked mirror.
For a moment, she didn't speak. She just stared.
Red dress. Red lips. Hair done. Scars visible. Oracle‑Eye glowing low.
She still looked dangerous. But she looked like more than just a weapon now.
"Well?" I asked, leaning on the doorframe. "Will the psycho approve?"
A slow smile spread over her face. It made her look younger.
"Yeah," Hawk said softly. "He's going to lose his mind."
"Mission accomplished," I said, clapping once. "Now—"
I stopped. Looked at her again. At her face. At the way she was gripping the edge of the stool.
"Okay," I said. "Wait. One more thing."
HAWK – POV
"What now?"
Freya stood in front of me, arms crossed. "Do you have any idea what to do on this date besides show up and try not to stab anyone?"
"That was the plan," I said.
She sighed. "You have no moves."
"I have moves," I said. "They're just usually lethal."
"Exactly," she said. "You need different moves."
"I don't have time for this," I said. "I'm late."
"You're already late," she said. "Another five minutes won't kill you. Learning how to make him stupid with one look might save your ass."
I frowned. "Explain."
She grinned. "Okay. Crash course. Stand up."
I stood.
"First thing," she said. "You always stand like you're about to fight. Relax a bit."
"I am always about to fight," I said.
"Yeah, but tonight you're also about to flirt," she said. "Feet a little closer. Shoulders down."
I shifted my stance. It felt wrong. Exposed.
"This is stupid," I muttered.
"It's hot," she said. "Trust me."
She circled me once, checking the dress, my posture, my hair, like she was tuning a weapon.
"Look at me," she said, stopping in front of me.
I did.
She held my gaze, then slowly let her eyes run down my body and back up. Not dirty. Just focused. Like she had every right to look.
Something tight pulled in my chest.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Showing you the look," she said. "You don't stare like he's prey or an enemy. You look at him like he's the only thing in the room and you're deciding if he's worth it."
"I already decided," I said.
"Good," she said. "Now show it."
"On you?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Walls don't react."
I thought about Kaiser. His stupid grin. His broken halo act. The way he looked at me like I was both a joke and his whole world.
Then I looked at Freya.
I let my face go calm. No glare. No threat. Just… interest. I let my eyes stay on hers, then drop to her mouth for a heartbeat, then back up.
Her breath hitched.
"Okay," she said, voice lower. "Yeah. That. Do that."
"That's it?" I asked.
"It's a lot when you're you," she said, clearing her throat. "Next. Touch."
"No," I said.
"Relax," she said. "Not sex. Just contact. Here."
She stepped closer and reached for the strap of my dress, adjusting it on my shoulder. Her fingers brushed my skin. Light. Warm. Very gentle.
My heartbeat jumped.
"See?" she said. "Tiny fix. Strap. Collar. Sleeve. Little excuse to touch him. Then move away like it's nothing."
"That's manipulative," I said.
"That's flirting," she said. "Do it back. On me."
I hesitated.
"It's practice, Hawk," she said quietly. "I'll survive."
I reached out and pretended to fix a fold in her sleeve, my fingers brushing the inside of her wrist.
Her pulse kicked under my touch. She sucked in a small breath and tried to hide it.
"Like that," she said. "That's good."
"This all feels stupid," I said.
"It is stupid," she said. "That's why it works. People are idiots."
I almost smiled at that.
"Last one," she said. "Walk‑away."
She moved past me toward the door, her shoulder brushing mine on the way. She put her hand on the frame, then glanced back over her shoulder at me.
Her eyes hit mine. Then dropped to my mouth. Then back. One second. Tiny smile. Then she turned away like it meant nothing.
Something low in my stomach lit up.
"Yeah," I said slowly. "Okay. I get that one."
"Good," she said. "Use it when you leave him. He won't sleep."
I stared at her.
The thought hit me out of nowhere, fast and hard.
"I think I might not be straight," I said.
She choked on a laugh.
"Oh my god," she wheezed. "You're having a crisis in my clinic."
"I never thought about it," I snapped. "Didn't have time. Didn't care. Then you touched my neck and now everything is loud."
She wiped her eyes, still grinning, but her voice was soft when she spoke.
"Hey," she said. "It's okay. You don't have to call it anything. You can like him and still maybe like… not‑him."
"Not‑him," I repeated.
"Girls, Hawk," she said. "You can like girls. The world's already on fire. It won't notice."
I stared at her. At her stupid messy hair and tired eyes and the way she looked at me like I was just a person.
"I hate this," I said.
"You'll live," she said. "And if you don't, it won't be because you liked the wrong person."
My timer flashed again. Worse now. I was late as hell.
"I have to go," I said.
"Yeah," she said. "I figured."
I walked to the door. My hand hit the handle.
I stopped.
"Any working cars outside?" I asked, looking back.
She frowned, thinking. "Maybe. One of the gangers' cars looked half alive. Why?"
"You're coming with me," I said.
Her eyebrows shot up. "To Scarpoint? Now?"
"You think I'm leaving you here after you saw me naked and helped me not look like a corpse?"
She held my gaze for a few seconds, then nodded once.
"Okay," she said.
"Let's steal a car."
FREYA – POV
We walked out into the wrecked street together.
Smoke in the air. Bodies in the distance. The sky looked like rust.
One of the low gangers' cars sat half under a chunk of fallen wall. Two good tires. Two bad ones. Hood bent. Windows cracked.
My kind of girl.
"There," I said, pointing. "If the engine's not shot, I can wake her up."
"Help me with this."
We shoved the broken concrete off the hood. She ripped the bent metal up with one hand. I slid under, pulling open a melted panel.
"Sure this is faster than walking?" she asked.
"Unless you can teleport," I said, digging into the wiring, "yes. Hold this."
I shoved a loose bundle of wires and a metal bracket at her. She held them while I twisted two copper lines together with my teeth.
The engine coughed. Then coughed again. Then roared to life, rough and angry.
I grinned. "See? She just needed a second chance."
Hawk let the hood drop and walked to the passenger side. The door didn't open, so she just tore it off and threw it aside like scrap.
"That was a perfectly good door," I said, sliding into the driver's seat.
"It was in my way," she said, dropping into the seat beside me.
I rolled my eyes and jammed my foot down. The car lurched, then started rolling forward, rattling over the broken road.
Sector 4 slid past us. People stared. At the car. At Hawk. At the red dress and bare shoulders and blood‑clean hair.
"Feels illegal just being next to you," I said.
"It is," she said. "Probably."
HAWK – POV
The car shook, but it moved. That was enough.
Freya sat low over the wheel. Focused. Calm. Like she'd been doing this all her life.
"You scared?" I asked.
"A little," she said honestly. "You?"
"A little," I said.
She laughed once. "Great. Two idiots in a stolen car."
We rolled past a group of scavvers who stepped into the road with guns up. Freya's hands tightened on the wheel.
"Keep going," I said.
"They'll shoot," she muttered.
"They'll try," I said.
We got closer. One of them recognized me. My eye. The scars. The way I sat.
His face went dead white.
"Boss!" he yelled. "Move, move, move!"
They dove out of the way, dragging each other with them.
Freya stared. "They're scared of you in a dress."
"They're scared of me breathing," I said. "The dress just confuses them."
Scarpoint rose ahead. Broken towers. Makeshift walls. Flickering lights. Smoke.
Home.
I looked at her. At her stubborn mouth. At the way her hands didn't shake on the wheel.
We hit the outer checkpoint. Guns. Banners. My people on the walls.
One of my runners squinted at us, then almost dropped his gun.
"Boss?" he said. "Is that… you?"
"In a sentence that doesn't get you killed," I said.
He shut his mouth fast.
"Open the gate," I ordered.
"Yes, m'lady!" he shouted, scrambling to hit the controls.
The gate creaked open. Freya drove us inside.
FREYA – POV
Scarpoint buzzed.
Runners moved fast, shouting to each other. Mechanics cursed at broken machines. Kids weaved between crates. Everyone stared at Hawk.
Some stared at me too. The girl in the driver's seat next to the monster in the red dress.
"Holy shit," I heard one whisper. "Hawk brought someone."
My stomach twisted. I didn't show it.
"You okay?" Hawk asked, eyes forward.
"Yeah," I said. "Just realizing I accidentally unlocked DLC content."
"I don't know what that means," she said.
"It means my life got weird," I said. "Again."
She pointed to a side lot. "Park there."
I pulled the car into the space and cut the engine. It died like it had been waiting to.
"That's it," I said, patting the cracked dash. "Good job, sweetheart."
I reached for the handle. Before I could push the door, Hawk was already around my side, offering me her hand.
I stared at it. "You know I can get out by myself, right?"
"Take it," she said.
I did.
Her grip was firm, careful like she was trying not to break me in half. She helped me out of the car and waited until my boots were steady on the ground before letting go.
Voices echoed from deeper inside. I didn't need to know Kaiser to know that was him. Loud. Pissed. Alive.
"That him?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said.
"You want a second to breathe?" I asked. "You look like you might throw up."
She shook her head. "If I stop, I'll think too much."
"Okay," I said. "Then don't stop."
We started walking toward a heavy inner door.
Halfway there, her hand closed around my wrist.
I looked up at her. "What?"
She held me there, eyes locked on mine. Red dress. Bare shoulders. War scars. And this strange new softness underneath all of it.
"I don't care what anyone says," she said. Every word was solid. "Kaiser. Scourge. Rambo. Any warlord. Any gang. Any god out there. From now on, you're on my side."
My throat went tight.
"Hawk—" I started.
"I mean it," she said. "You're mine. My medic. My mechanic. My… whatever you decide to be. They touch you, they answer to me."
Fear and relief hit me at the same time, like someone had yanked a wire in my chest.
"That's a lot of protection for someone you just met," I said, trying to joke and failing a little.
"You washed bone out of my hair and made me look like a real person," she said. "That counts more than any kingpin I ever killed."
I swallowed.
"Okay," I said softly. "Then I'm on your side."
Her grip on my wrist eased, then let go, but she didn't step away.
HAWK – POV
She said it like a promise. Not a joke. Not a favor. A fact.
I nodded once.
"Good," I said.
We walked the last few steps to the door together.
I reached up and tapped the comm link at my ear. The private channel clicked open, buzzing with the faint static of half the command chain holding their breath inside.
"Everyone, we are at the location," I said, keeping my voice completely flat. "Commence the operation before he cries too hard."
I cut the channel before any of the warlords could laugh.
Freya tilted her head, looking up at me. "What's the occasion? You keep calling it an operation. I mean, besides the whole date thing."
I stared at the scratched metal of the door for a long second. My chest felt tight, but for once, it wasn't from adrenaline or anger. It was something entirely different.
"It's his birthday," I said softly. "Tyler, Kaiser was born on this day."
Freya's eyes widened a fraction.
The name hung in the quiet air between us.
I put my hand flat against the door, took one last breath of the cold wasteland air, and pushed it open.
END OF CHAPTER