The Sparrow’s expression tightened as she regarded the note thrust in their faces--SACRED, NO WEAPONS. Though the man at her side seemed to share her discomfort at the idea, her disregard was double-fold. There hadn’t been much that she’d ever considered sacred--especially after a decade outside the walls of Eden--and there was most certainly nothing she considered sacred enough to go unarmed. The men blocking their way, however, didn’t seem to offer a choice, and the two visitors were forced to set down their packs and hand over the guns at their sides. Finally admitted to whatever false holy place they were being led to, Ava briskly followed their escorts up the stairs, trailed by Solomon and the other watchdog. At the end of their climb, a large crossed loomed overhead--an ominous greeting for the smuggler. Her lips pressed into a thin line, holding back a grimace even as Sol, the boy who had chosen his God over her, crossed himself. It wouldn’t be smart to openly show her contempt here, not in a town of religious fanatics. To think there’d be a place worse than Eden, and that she’d be anywhere near it was a farce, but here they were.
Still, she nearly shuddered as the ringing tones quoting scripture reached her ears--it was the voice, a bit too charismatic and animated, full of righteous fury and persuasion. A feeling much akin to dread rose in her the closer they drew to the voice, until she was containing it behind clenched teeth, forcing it back. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tried not to glower as the so-called Reverend greeted them, looking a bit too pleasantly surprised. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone in this damn town. Regret began to wash over her; she should’ve put up more of a fuss when Solomon had told her they were heading to Quiet Town. Despite working alone, she had her contacts, her methods. She had Liv had traversed the Wastes and the Wilds for years without any problems--well, until one had occurred.
“You did good,” the loon was saying. His grin was too wide, too white. “It’s enough that she’s a munie, let alone a healthy one.” Realizing the topic had strayed from the expected, her brow creased as the Reverend stepped in her direction, eyeing her. “But you brought me a pretty one. Prime breeding stock.”
In that crucial instant, Ava could’ve acted. She could’ve cold-clocked the leering man in the jaw, she could’ve left him choking on his own blood. She would have, if anyone else had been at her side. Instead of taking advantage of that split-second to save herself, something that had saved her skin innumerable times, it was to the boy she had once loved that the hardened smuggler turned to. She met his eyes, her gaze filled with utter betrayal and fury--the same look she had levelled at him so long ago on their rooftop:
how could you? “No,” Solomon retorted at once, though it was difficult to say whose assumption he was denying. “She’s not part of this, we’re here because--”
“I’ll name my own price, brother,” the Reverend tossed back, still smiling ever-so-pleasantly. With that, he nodded with remarkable nonchalance to the brutes that had been watching him keenly. “Take her.”
One-two-three-four-five men. Two to her left, one directly behind, two to her right…
It was Solomon who moved first in her peripheral, jumping onto the rightmost man. She did not turn to look--she had her own work cut out for her, after all. Two men immediately went to grab her arms and she reacted accordingly, levelling a brutal elbow to one nose while she slammed a boot into the other’s groin. As the man keeled forward in pain, she brought her knee straight to his skull, rendering him unconscious. Before the man had quite hit the floor, however, another meaty fist lashed out towards her. Ducking away from the blow, she caught him by the arm and hauled it overhead, diving into a roll and holding until she heard the satisfying
crack and the howl of pain. Just as she began to leap up, the remaining two men crashed into her, seeking to subdue her with their combined weight--but she wasn’t to be trapped for long.
A keening gasp escaped the man directly on top of her as he wrested himself from the pile, clutching at the bloody mess she’d made of his stomach. Before the other had quite recognized the threat, Ava drove the thin blade she had pulled from her sleeve straight into his throat. The poor brute sank to the floor, gurgling as his eyes rolled back into his skull, but the smuggler wasn’t paying attention. Instead, her bloody fingers had already dug out the pistol at her ankle as she’d vaulted to her feet, her dark eyes seeking out the next target to be dispatched. Fortunately, it seemed that Solomon was in the middle of strangling his opponent with a pair of headphones--a techie even in the worst of situations. With that knowledge, she immediately levelled the handgun at the figure standing ever-so-calmly in the middle of the chaos: the still-grinning Reverend.
He said nothing, saving his slimy praises for when Solomon stumbled up. “What a gal!” he exclaimed in a tone that made her lip curl. “How’d you even manage to wrangle the wild filly, brother?” Neither of them answered or even moved, but that would change soon enough. “Tell me you’ve at least had a ride…” he winked, and this time he got a response: cocking the pistol with a stony look, Ava stepped right into the Reverend’s personal space and aimed the weapon straight at his crotch. Much to her annoyance, he didn’t seem afraid--or even worried, casually moving it aside once Solomon made it clear that this was a prearranged deal.
With that punchable smile still firmly on his face, he nonchalantly stepped over the bodies of his masked men to rifle through papers, ignoring the way Ava still kept the gun aimed at his forehead. She said nothing as the exchange continued, wanting nothing more to get the hell away from the creep and his domain. Of course, in his domain was exactly where they were meant to be staying the night. The moment they had what they needed, Sol and Ava left without another stray word--it seemed that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t wait to leave the crazy Reverend’s presence.
Map in hand, the smuggler strode ahead through the eerie town with a sense of irate purpose. Solomon was trailing behind her, silent, and she was glad to let him have it. Whatever satisfaction that could have been gleaned from the fact that she’d been right to want to stay the hell away from Quiet Town was dampened by what was gnawing away at her. It’d been silly of her to jump to the conclusion that Sol had masterminded a plan to trade her in for safe haven. After all, it didn’t make sense--he needed her to get into Eden. It was pure emotion that had stunned her there in that moment, childish and naive. She could’ve--and should’ve--used that opportunity to go for a weapon. It would’ve made everything a lot easier. That kind of hesitation could have gotten her killed...or much worse.
She stopped in her tracks in front of the building she’d singled out on the map, scrutinizing it for a moment. It was as far away from the radio tower as humanly possible while still being in a relatively safe area--and as soon as it was dawn, she had every intention of hightailing it out of the vicinity. The smuggler cased the entire bungalow carefully, silent the whole while, gun in hand. Once it was clear that there wouldn’t be anything jumping out at them, Fallen or fanatic, she allowed the door to be shut, setting down her pack at the side of the sofa. They would need to keep watch, she meant to say as she turned to her brooding companion, but when she turned to look at him, something seemed to shift on his battered visage.
“Could have been worse, I guess…” he quipped, his bloody lips tugging into a half-sheepish smile. Ava scoffed, her own mouth twitching into what was almost a smile. Well, he wasn’t wrong. “I’ll take the first watch,” he volunteered--perhaps his own way of offering an olive branch.

“Not looking like shit, you aren’t,” she retorted drily, but there was no bite there. “Why don’t we put your face back together first, and then we’ll talk.” Rummaging through her pack, she brought out the medical kit within before perching on the edge of the sofa and giving him a prompting look--one that wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Once he was seated, she went through the kit with a practiced hand, carefully dabbing the blood away from his cuts before going in with some alcohol. “Didn’t the Second Sons teach you to fight?” she remarked, her eyebrows raised. Then again, she supposed that the majority of her fighting savvy hadn’t been learned from the rebel group. “Well, you held your own,” she added, her stony voice covering up the awkwardness she was struggling with. “Reacted pretty quick, too.” It was the closest thing he was going to get to a thank you from her. Still, her fingers were remarkably gentle as she cleaned up his injuries and patched them up.
When she was finally satisfied, she put away the supplies neatly back into the pack. “Get some sleep,” she concluded impassively, rising from the couch to sit by the door. “First watch’s mine.”
It took some time for him to succumb to sleep--perhaps due to her presence, more than anything else. Ava, for her part, had been satisfied to sit in silence, taking the time to systematically go through her equipment and make sure everything was in working order. Of course, one firearm was always in full assembly at her side...just in case. She was loathe to let her guard down--who could say that madman wouldn’t send his entire flock in an attempt to have his cake and eat it too? There was nothing but his word that ensured their safety, and the Sparrow didn’t put much trust in words, especially ones uttered by the batshit insane.
It was three hours after it had gone completely dark; though the agreed time to switch roles would be approaching in just another hour or so, truthfully, the smuggler had half a mind to let him sleep a bit longer. Out of the two, he did seem to be the wearier one, and perhaps...perhaps she meant it as an apology of her own, for doubting him. It was then that it started.
At first, the sound of his muttering had caused her to go still, ears straining for telltale footsteps. It soon became apparent, however, that it was just Solomon, mumbling in his sleep. She relaxed, shaking her head to herself as she took her hand off of the holster at her hip. He could cause such trouble even when he was knocked out cold, it seemed. Ava turned away, about to go back to her faithful watch when his words became clearer.
“I’m sorry…”
The breath stuck in her lungs, her head snapping back to gaze upon his sleeping form. He looked troubled even in the gloom, and he began to toss and turn, his brow twitching with distress. A nightmare, she had to assume--but about what? “I’m so...I’m so sorry…” he apologized once more. His voice was so sincere and tortured even in his sleep, so much so that Ava felt herself pad over to the sofa, as if in a trance. “...sorry…”
Could it be…? No. That was wishful thinking. She still remembered the words he’d left behind on top of the cliffs. He wasn’t sorry. Still, as the woman who had once been his Sparrow watched him utter his apologies again and again, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe--just maybe. Ava had told him that she wasn’t sorry, that she wasn’t sorry for anything she’d done, and she’d acted like she didn’t have a single regret. However, she knew that deep down, that wasn’t true--and in that moment, she suddenly wanted nothing more than to put aside her pride. It would all be so simple if she could just tell him
I’m sorry, too. “I’m so sorry...” he mumbled again. Quietly, she crouched down to his level, watching the way his brow furrowed--then parted her lips to speak.
“I’m--” she began, whisper-soft, but then Solomon uttered a word he hadn’t yet mumbled.
“...baby…”
Her words withered away in her mouth, culled before they were given life. Whatever fleeting thoughts of mishearing were swiftly put down as he shifted in his sleep, his muttering more frantic. “I’m sorry, baby…I’m so…”
Ava closed her mouth numbly, her teeth clicking together. Baby--he’d never called her that. Had...had he called his wife that? She couldn’t recall, but he must have. He must have... Her head swam as she sat back on her haunches. A breathy sound, half-scoff, half-chuckle left her in a rush. Wishful thinking? No--beyond stupid, that’s what it was. She didn’t--she didn’t
know him anymore. The smuggler had thought she’d been well-aware of that. She shouldn’t have felt guilty that she had immediately suspected him of wanting to trade her in like cattle. No, it’d been a fair assumption, one she would’ve had of any stranger, and of fucking course a stranger wouldn’t be trying to apologize to her in his sleep. Why would she even think that? Why would she…? Ava ran a hand through her hair as she stood and forced herself to walk back to her post, her lips twisted into a self-deprecating smirk.
“Baby...I’m so sorry...baby…” he apologized from behind her.
He was a stranger, so why did those words feel so much like another betrayal?
She swallowed harshly, trying to get her emotions back into check, but as Solomon began another time, she knew she couldn’t be there anymore. She had to leave, get out of here, just...be anywhere but here, where it felt like he was apologizing to everyone in the world except her. Shouldering the shotgun she left the bungalow, barely managing to go at a pace where she would convince herself she wasn’t running away.
The night air was cool against her face, which felt strangely hot. She hadn’t thought much about a destination--after all, she knew she had to go back soon. It was simply nice to storm about a bit, walk off the jittery energy that had filled her up. They were at the edges of town, which meant she didn’t have to worry about being ganged up on by the lunatics, but the smuggler knew better than to frolic about carelessly. And so when she picked up on the sound of…
something, Ava immediately ducked out of the main lane.
It wasn’t far off, from what she could tell, though the sound was muffled. It sounded like...a woman. A woman, sobbing. A chill ran down her spine as she recalled what the Reverend had said. ‘Prime breeding stock.’ It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, and the young woman began moving again--this time, with a destination.
Her ears led her to a dilapidated storage shed, nearly large enough to be considered a small barn. There was no mistake: the sound was coming from this structure. Though the door was shut, she noted that, strangely enough, there wasn’t a padlock on it. As she prodded at the door, the small creaking sound it made caused the sobbing to come to an abrupt stop. After a few seconds of silence, she pulled at the door, shotgun at the ready; it swung open easily, and an unspeakably powerful stench came rolling out--the smell of feces, urine, and worse. Grimacing, the smuggler lifted her flashlight, letting the beam of light suss out the hellhole. Deep within, a woman let out a wail. “Please, no…”
The light settled, illuminating the gruesome sight: at the far end of the shed, three naked bodies were slumped against the wall. It became crystal clear why there hadn’t been a need for a padlock--they were all chained by the wrist, their restraints bolted to the walls. The figure in the center shook like a leaf in the wind, her pupils dilated large with terror. “No...no…” she stammered, again and again. The other two, however, remained prone and still. As Ava inched into the hellish shack, it became clear to her that they weren’t breathing. One lay face up, unseeing eyes littered by flies; blood and other fluids caked her swollen face, her gaping mouth missing teeth. The other woman’s face was covered by her matted hair, but her too-pale body was blue and purple, also targeted by the pests. They were dead, and though the smuggler had seen her fair share of horrors and dead bodies alike, she felt bile rise to her throat. They weren’t casualties of the Fallen, but human darkness--a darkness she’d come across multiple times in her trade--a darkness she would’ve been subject to, if the Reverend had gotten his way. He deserved that bullet to the head and groin, and much more, going by this scene.
The closer she stepped, the more the woman cowered against the wall--she wasn’t able to see who was beyond the blinding light. “I’m not here to hurt you,” Ava spoke up, her tone level as possible. At the sound of her voice--unmistakably female, the wretched woman began to weep again.
“Please,” she croaked, and Ava didn’t need to be told twice. Stepping close, she deposited the light onto the floor as she grabbed for the chains bolted to the wall. There had to be a way to cut them, or weaken a link. Perhaps if she--
A weak hand grasped at her shirt, and realizing that the woman was trying to say something, Ava knelt by her side. She was thin and bruised, her dark curls soaked with grime, oils, and sweat--but her brown eyes were focused with a strange light. “Please,” she began again. “Kill me…”
The request took her aback, but only for a moment. The woman was in pain, that much she could see, but that wasn’t the only way to escape. “There’s no need for that,” she declined in an almost business-like fashion, getting up with the flashlight to get a better look at the fastenings. “I’ll get you out of this shithole. I’m smuggler, I can take you somewhere safe--”
“No--no--no more,” the woman cried, clutching at her ankle. “Please...just end it…Kill me.”
Ava looked down at the broken woman, her mouth settling into a hard line. She reached for the handgun at her hip, then dropped it at her feet, within reach of the chained prisoner. “Do it yourself,” she said coolly, stepping back from her. “Though if I were you, I’d shoot the scum who did this first.”
“I can’t--I can’t kill myself,” the woman croaked, nudging away the gun as if it were a venomous snake. If it was even possible, she seemed more afraid of that than the prospect of staying in this nightmare. “S-suicide is a grave sin. I’d go to hell.”
The infamous smuggler couldn’t help the weary sigh that heaved out of her at that. She gazed about the dilapidated building--the puddles of stale rainwater, the flies swarming a-buzz, the two poor women who had succumbed, naked in their own shit and gore. “Isn’t this already hell?” she remarked quietly.
A lone gunshot cracked out into the night air, shattering the silence of the outermost edge of Quiet Town. It wasn’t long before the Sparrow entered the bungalow, careless of the way the door slammed shut. She barely spared a glance towards Solomon, who was awake--whether he’d been awakened by the sound of the bullet or the door, she couldn’t say. She didn’t care. Grabbing her pack, she began to collect what little she had left out, shoving them inside. “Up,” Ava said curtly, ignoring the way he was looking at her. She knew her face and clothes were splattered with blood. “We’re leaving right now.”