After what felt like hours of wandering the frozen, chaotic streets, Qingran spotted something that felt almost out of place: an outpost. The barbed fences, the dim lights, the guarded look, it was small, disorganized in its own way, but compared to the streets around it, it almost felt… normal.
A gut feeling told her Anya might be here.
She crouched behind a pile of rubble and surveyed the perimeter. Footsteps and muffled voices drifted from inside, but the guards were spaced too far apart to notice her approach immediately.
She stepped forward, evaluating the fence. It was high, topped with barbed wire, but her prosthetic hand flexed smoothly as she gripped the top.
Thunk!
She flipped over the fence, landing lightly on the other side. At least with this hand, she felt nothing, she could probably hold hot lava and nothing would happen.
She crept closer to the building, her every sense alert.
Her foot brushed a metal barrel.
Clang!
