The second the gate slammed shut I retracted my vines, dropping the man behind me unceremoniously, and spun to put my back against the gate. Already on the defensive, I don't care that he stumbles and takes a moment to steady himself - my eyes are on the men crowding behind him.

I already regret this decision, baring my teeth even as I let my arms return to normal and draw my sword.

Vines will shred them, but they may survive the blade - I would still prefer not to kill my own kind, if I can help it.

If I can't? That's their fault.

"Wait!" the man seemed to realize that the second we walked inside we were surrounded, and I was ready to start mowing people down, "They're just curious, don't attack!"

Every single one of them wears clothes that look patchworked from the world I've seen in old magazines that litter the dead cities and some strange new fashion I don't understand. Lightweight clothes without holes, without wear. Some even wear uniforms that match - probably the soldiers since the deadweight I dropped wears one too.

Spinning in place he addressed the crowd firmly, "back up! Stop looking at her like you're in a damn mob!"

A bunch of 'sorry' and 'my bad' murmurs later, the men had backed away far enough that I started to believe I might not have to slash through them all and bolt right the fuck back out of here.

Give me aliens... at least I know how to deal with them.

"Grace," the man finally said after pushing the crowd to disperse, his hands held up in surrender, "They mean you no harm, I swear."

"Swears are words," I said firmly, my eyes on the men that were still lingering - even if they were now at a distance, "Words are just sounds. Nothing more."

He blinked several times at that, then a slow smile tugged at his lips.

"I... suppose that's hard to argue," he finally chuckled, standing straight and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "Still, your meat is being prepared. It's only just now around midnight. We have just under 6 hours or so until the sun comes up. Since you clearly aren't one for public spaces, how about I take you to my home to talk?"

"I can kill you anywhere," my words are sharp enough he flinched - good, "Don't make bad choices."

"I won't," he promised, nodding solemnly, "It's just to save you prying eyes."

I considered for a long moment, my gaze bouncing between him and the men poorly hiding in the shadows.

He is the one that let me out...

"Fine," I finally sighed, sheathing my sword, "but I will kill anyone that touches me."

"No touching, got it," he said, a bit louder than necessary - likely to warn the others.

With a nod, he turned and led the way and, torn between being curious and irritated, I found myself following.

Walking along the streets of a city that isn't dead is... disconcerting.

There are noises here I don't understand - humming, distant murmurs, banging and clacking, and even growls that it took me a moment to realize are that of machines.

It has been too many years since I was near others, and even longer since I was near machinery.

I don't like it. I has me on edge, and it's hard to discern where the threats are.

It all feels dangerous - like at any moment some strange new thing I don't understand will leap out to attack.

The streets here are too clean, even if they are cracked the way the dead city roads are. Buildings are in a half-repaired state, with some windows whole and others repaired with sheets of metal. A patchwork of healing - scarred over a city that endured the scourge.

Familiar enough to recognize, foreign enough to feel like I'm out of place.

It's the smell that's the most different. No rot. No blood. No still water that has bred into life that threatens to kill a person that was simply thirsty. Instead, it smells only of men and machines.

The walk felt like it lasted forever, and I can only be thankful that the further we get from the wall the less lively the city seems to be.

After all, most humans sleep during the night.

The man leading the way seems to understand my unease, so he stays quiet - just checking over his shoulder regularly to ensure I'm following.

Which I am, just at a distance.

When he stopped a great distance later in front of a metal gate, I hesitated. The wall isn't tall - not really - just a bit higher than a tall person, I suppose.

Yet it still feels like another trap.

Is that the goal? To lock me inside?

"I'm pretty sure you could climb this wall in your sleep, Grace," the man chuckled, as if reading my thoughts, "There is nothing inside that could hold you. I'll go first, okay? Just close the gate on your way in. We'll be inside together, so think of it like having insurance."

Did he just offer himself as a type of hostage to coax me in?

My eyebrow raised before I even realized it.

Snorting, I followed behind him after a moment's consideration - inspecting the gate before closing it to ensure it truly was as simple as it appeared.

Of course, the moment I saw grass I slowed considerably.

The wall surrounding the property protects it from the prying eyes of its neighbors, but it isn't large. In fact, it stands quite awkwardly in contrast to the city around it. Tall metal spires and cement buildings clash with the two story home in front of me, surrounded by a small but colorful courtyard.

"Come on in, Grace," the man's voice pulls me from my stupor, and I follow it through the door that stands open before me.

Light colored walls, a staircase that leads up not too far from the doorway and a hallway beside it that leads further into the house. A dining room barely earns a glance to the left, while the sitting room where the man is standing pulls my attention quickly to the right.

The inside is simple, but well designed. It is homey. Quaint.

And clean... too clean for someone like me - covered in blood and dirt.

Looking down at my clothes and then back up at the man clearly waiting for me, I hesitate.

I may have lived in the outlands for decades, but even I would be angry if someone came into the bunker - or God forbid my cabin - looking like I look now and trailed blood, mud, and who knows what else all through my living space.

So, I stand by the door - closing it carefully before locking it to ensure no one can just bulldoze through me if they chose to.

This is far enough anyway.

"Are you really going to stand there the entire time?" he scoffed, clearly amused.

"I am dirty," I shrugged, gesturing at my clothes, "I will stay here."

I'm pretty sure his brain just melted, and I have to admit - I find it quite amusing how he's gaping like a fish and staring at me like I have three heads.

Perhaps I should grow two more of vines just to drive home the image?

No, that kind of joke wouldn't land for anyone but my brother... he was the only one that ever got my humor.

"I could offer you the chance to wash up?" the man finally suggested, clearly unsure of what to do next.

"We could talk in your courtyard," I offer an alternative since his is obviously unacceptable.

"Sure," he finally agrees, nodding, "That makes sense."

With a nod, I move right back out of the house and toward the courtyard - sitting in one of the chairs without a care that the cushions will need cleaned later. Outdoor things need to be washed regularly, that's just common sense.

He sat across from me, his chair on the other side of the small, unlit firepit identical to the one I chose for myself.

"I'd like to understand more about you, Grace," he began immediately, leaning back, "So, I will offer you some foundational information to get us started. My name is Elijah Forester, and I'm the General in charge of this city. Each city has a general and at least four commanders, and since our city is one of the largest of the outer ring we have six commanders. You met one of them last time, Simon. We have around half a million people here - no women."

I nod in understanding - I may not need this information but it is interesting nonetheless.

"This city represents a significant outpost. Most of us are hunters, scavengers, and scouts. We collect resources and send them inland in exchange for credits and resources that aren't available to us out here. Most people stay here for a short time to earn quick cash or make a name for themselves, then leave the moment they have a better opportunity."

"And you?" I ask curiously, tilting my head, "Are you here for a short time?"

"I'm the exception," he smirked, raising an eyebrow, "This city is where I was born. Before the invasion, this was my home. I have no intention of leaving, and worked quite hard to make it the outpost it is today. I'm not going anywhere."

That? That I understand.

"What about you, Grace?" he asked quietly, his gaze curious, "Where is home?"

"I was born in Sumar," I admitted quietly, looking out and toward the town despite it being quite far from here, "It was a small town before The Scourge, and it is dead now. It is home."

"The Scourge?" he asked, before he clearly processed, "ah, you mean the invasion."

I nodded absentmindedly. I don't care what anyone calls it.

"That's an apt name, honestly," he sighed, "What happened in your town after the invasion?"

"They all died," I said harshly, feeling the way my face darkened despite not being able to do anything about it.

"I'm sorry, Grace," Elijah said after a moment.

That was a bit much, I suppose...

Taking a deep breath, I try again.

"I had a family once," I explain, still looking away, "We survived the initial invasion by luck. My father had built a bunker years ago when the cold war warmed up. His leg never recovered from a mortar and he was worried we'd get dragged into the conflict. We hid there in the early days. The supplies didn't last forever, though. Eventually we had to come out. My brother and I were infected first while searching for food. After the two weeks it took for us to recover, we thought we had been blessed... given the strength to protect our family. We got arrogant, and tried to leave with them in tow. We were caught a few miles from the bunker by a small swarm, and the rest of my family were infected while we fought. We decided not to leave the town after that. We returned to the bunker. We adapted. For a while, we survived."

"Was he a plant-type mutant, like you?" Elijah asked, "Your brother, I mean."

"No," I shook my head, not sure what he meant by types but fully aware he was nothing like me, "My brother could make his skin like metal. He could form spears from it... or swords."

I lifted my hand to touch the handle of the blade at my back without conscious thought. The last piece of him I have.

"My father could pull water from the air or the ground," I continued, dropping my hand to my lap, "My sister could make any seed grow to fully mature with just a gentle nudge. Mother never demonstrated any abilities."

"So you and your sister were plant types then," he muttered quietly, "interesting."

"Why is it interesting?" I asked honestly, returning my eyes to him and tilting my head.

"Because plant types are rare," he shrugged, "It's only been decades, of course, but the science on mutations has been forced to progress quickly. Purebloods - those who have not been exposed to the alien genetics and are still fully human - are exceedingly rare. Rumor is there are none left. There's a lot of research still needed, but we know the basics. The alien exoskeleton secretes a type of mucus. They say it's likely some kind of poison to ward off predators.

For humans, though, it didn't quite work like a traditional poison - instead, it activated dormant genetic codes within a person's DNA. We, meaning all living creatures on the planet, share key building blocks and common ancestors. Even plants. But activating those genes, specifically, is exceedingly rare. Your father? He was probably a fish-type - far more common, though how it manifests differs greatly from person to person."

The way he spoke he sounded incredibly confident, and even at ease - I have to admit that his voice is nice to listen to, even if I couldn't give a flying shit about any of this.

Who cares why it happened? Probably some smart person somewhere that needs to care, I guess, but not me - I care about killing them. Nothing more.

"What are you?" I asked then, treating this whole thing kind of like one might treat a storyteller.

Useful? Not really. Mildly interesting? Sure, I guess. Since I'm here, mise well participate, right?

"Beast-type," he said, "Mammal. Most common type."

"Hmm," I feigned interest, nodding passively before having a genuinely curious thought, "and my brother? What type was he, then?"

"I... am genuinely not sure," Elijah admitted, tilting his head slightly, "I've never heard of someone that could do what you described. I imagine we could find out if we tested your sword, but I have a strong feeling you'd be opposed to that."

"Touch it and die," I snapped, daring him to even try.

"I figured," he nodded seriously, though the way his lip twitched it almost felt like he was trying not to smile.

Brave man... or stupid. Time will tell, I suppose.

"Have you consumed much... silver bleeder... meat?" he asked suddenly, leaning forward slightly.

Odd question...

"Yes," I confirmed, studying him curiously, "I have some daily, and have for many years."

"Are you aware of what it does?" he asked, his gaze flashing as his eyes roamed over me with an interest I couldn't decipher.

"It makes me stronger," I said simply, "I have a family to avenge. I need my strength."

He blinked then, clearly taken aback by my statement before meeting my eyes.

"Avenge... you hunt aliens to... avenge your family?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," I confirmed, my voice as hard as my heart, "I will kill as many as I can before I rejoin them."

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