The days following the explosion that sent of the apocalypse were hard. The Ranger had always had some level of preparedness in case it hit the fan, but despite preparing for it he was in no way prepared. A total collapse of global society following the destruction of the city you live in leaves any level of preparation lacking. Within a few days the Ranger and Lenna had made their way out of the heart of the city and found a place to stay. Over time the hangar they now inhabited had become truly livable given the circumstances, but there were always needs to meet and that meant trips deeper into the city.

The Ranger in no way enjoyed trips into the city, the threat of danger loomed ever closer. It seemed those who survived had divided into factions resembling gangs in structure and behavior. This meant at any point he could cross into some faction territory and draw their ire, he had to be careful. Moving silently, swiftly, and invisibly. Despite the need for stealth he moved during the day, at night wild dogs and other animals scoured the city and nocturnal mutants prowled. Therefore he moved across the rubble, attempting to stay in shadows when possible and with a ghillie suit in his pack should he need to become invisible. It was designed to hide him in an urban environment which, in spite of the horrible destruction, could still be used against the rubble backdrop.

He traversed the landscape with his rifle always at the ready, his eyes peeled for motion that might indicate another soul. Should he be attacked while unaware and locked into melee combat, a tomahawk hung at his side, ready to be swung against any aggressor. Ammo of course being limited now he would rather hide from than engage someone (he had a rather large stockpile, a combination of what was in the Fordasaurus and what he raided from the military base on the island). Lenna was pregnant and before long there would be an increase on the demand for resources, they would need more food, medicine, clothes, water, and other various resources.

Additional food and water were always the top of his list, always, but today he was searching for medical supplies above anything else. Painkillers, disinfectants, gloves, and antibiotics. Behind that on the list was clothing (clothes did not last long anymore, and both Ranger and Lenna had been increasing in size. Ranger at his chest and arms, Lenna the belly) fluids for an SUV he had picked up to use when moving a large number of supplies, and any chemical agents he can find to use (either as a weapon or an asset).

He made his way up a flight of stairs on a building missing its entire North face, it was only three stories tall, but that made it somewhat a higher vantage point than most of the surrounding area. From there he could get his bearings, matching his mental map of the pre apocalypse to now. He used his scope, a decent power rifle scope, to view down into the distance. His finger hovered just outside the trigger guard, ready to go at a moments notice, his other hand gripping the fore-grip of his Sig 556. He would prefer to use an AK given the situation, but he wanted to be silent and he did not have a threaded barrel for one, meaning no suppressor like his short barrel Sig had.

Cafas stood up and tucked the map safely back into his breast pocket. His marker was drained, refusing to write on the dusty canvas any longer. He tossed it aside. He had crossed off another street, completely empty, raided dry. Most of the area near the Mansion was like that.

Useless. I have to widen my radius, but I'd need to set up a new forward base, there's no way I can keep making trips that far out and returning to base...

Hours of copying fragments of maps he found, of subway tunnels and of streets, had left him with two large pieces of canvas that he carried with him everywhere, marking anything he needed to know. Over time it had been colour coded, had places crossed off, blockages marked, territories of the wasteland gangs marked out to the best of his reasoning and safe routes drawn on. He was currently in one of those safe routes, a place no-one wanted, too exposed, a couple of borders, for easy visibility, but too flat and too empty to bother with.

No-one wants to bother protecting a bunch of f*** all...

Crouched low, trying to hide behind rubble, staying as much out of sight as a six foot four, muscular man, carrying a bag, webbing, and as much gear as he could clip to himself, could possibly hope to. He wasn't a fan of the marauders who floated around, and he wasn't proficient enough with his firearm to protect himself against a group. He'd been practicing where he could, but still, he was teaching himself from instructional books, and scavenging what ammo he could. He found lots of good supplies at first, but they dried up as people died...

Hopefully I'll find some before I run out.

The hair on the back of his neck was on end, he felt like he was being watched, but he was sure there was no one near him. He scanned the area again. Nothing but rubble. He continued on, aware of something, but not sure what. His nerves were on edge, every sense operating at its maximum, adrenaline was racing. His hand was on the weapon strapped to his thigh, his eyes scanned every corner, everything told him there was someone there but he couldn't see them.

Where the hell are you you bastard?

It was funny how in a shattered and flattened city, one gradually forgot to look up.

The Ranger surveyed the area. Both eyes open, his right eye looking down the scope while his left gave him a peripheral vision of the landscape. His right eye was inspecting the distance as his left clued him in to motion. There wasn't much to be seen, it being a couple years after the city's destruction there wasn't much he expected to see. Yet, after a brief time he noticed motion.

He turned his rifle so his scope was pointed at a man in the distance, crouch running down the rubble strewn road. He was coming from the south headed north. Toward the Ranger. He tracked the man, his scope leading so were he to fire it would hit the man. He was wearing a mixture of military and civilian gear, likely a scavenger. The amount of gear he carried suggested he wasn't a scout for one of the wasteland's factions. Either case could mean trouble for the Ranger.

A scout heading north could eventually mean his home being discovered, sure it was miles north, but always a threat. A scavenger could share the location of his home or knowledge of a man up north who appear to be well equipped and on his own, or at least not part of a large group. Which meant that the man swiftly approaching could spell trouble for Lenna and himself, or his unborn child! Though he might not go that far or at least wouldn't endanger them.

Was that a risk he could take, let this man move closer to his new home or kill him before he even heard the crack of the round breaking the sound barrier? Killing was something he had no problem doing, but killing in cold blood? Sure it would be to defend Lenna and his home, potentially, but he just didn't know. he could fire a warning shot, perhaps it would divert the man, but that would alert him to the Ranger's presence and he would lose the chance to drop him as easily. Though, him being alerted and knowing where the Ranger was were two entirely different things.

He set his rifle down and opened his pack. Removing his ghillie suit he pulled it over himself and after taking up his rifle again moved back against some piled ruble to reduce contrast. He brought the rifle back up and located the man again. Reducing the lead he exhaled and squeezed the trigger, aiming to have the round whiz over the man's shoulder and hit the rubble behind..

The rifle fired and as the bullet left the barrel there was no report, only the ballistic crack of a supersonic round. The crack much quieter than an actual gunshot and gave less of an idea of the direction of the shooter.

Sound behind him, Cafas spun. The crack rang through his ears painfully. No mistaking that, that was a rifle. Cafas had enough wasteland experience to know that rifle rounds were hotter than hand gun rounds, and even though he could make sure they didn't kill him, they hurt like hell and burned pretty badly. He wasn't in the mood for that. No shot followed, it seemed like a warning shot. He raised his hands slowly.

God damn it.

Something twinged inside his mind. So began the battle. The invisible mental struggle for superiority. He spun slowly on the spot, looking about himself. The shot had come from above, hence why it hit the ground. He wasn't used to things being above him in the wrecked city. He didn't see anything, the time the sound took to pass him told him he should be looking for signs of life at least 200 metres away, probably more. Still he saw nothing despite scrutinising all of the buildings, he saw only rubble where once tall blocks had stood.

I know you're out there...

Cafas figured the shot had come from further up the street. The logic being anyone who was back the way he had come from would have shot at him before now. Even still, this didn't help, the street was lined with two or three story buildings, very few higher, and all with ample cover. So he just stood awkwardly with his hands raised, weighing up his options, considering cover locations, and forcing his mind to calm, regaining control over himself.

God I hate the waiting...

The bullet struck home behind the man, he turned to face the noise and then when the crack of the broken sound barrier passed he raised his hands up and slowly spun back round. Ranger had to give the man some credit, he didn't run or attempt to make an aggressive move. He was both brave and smart. Though, he was hoping for a bit more cowardice.

He kept the gun trained on the man. It was clear that the man was looking for where the shot came from. The man was bright enough to guess the direction, not that it was hard, but it showed he wasn't a dunce and had a level head. It was clear he wasn't going to leave, but since his hand wasn't on a weapon and the amount of gear would restrict speed the Ranger decided to approach.

Leaving the gun at a low ready he made his way down the stairs to the ground floor. From there kept himself low and moved slowly out to the street. Continuing to move slowly, he skirted along the buildings, raising his rifle from time to time to ensure the man was still there, relying on his lack of speed and ghillie suit to hide him. When he had made his way down the street roughly one-hundred yards he stopped. The rifle trained on the man's head he yelled out, "Road work ahead."

Cafas stood, waiting. After a small while his arms began to feel numb, so he lowered them gently, resting them behind his head. After what felt like an age of waiting a voice rang out, it sounded like it came from a pretty good distance.

"Roadwork ahead!"

Is he trying to be funny?

Cafas scanned for the source of the voice. Nothing but some light reflecting off a pile of rubble (Had that been there before?), probably just some glass catching the sun. Still, it was something to focus near that wasn't just a plain grey pile of debris, so he directed his voice to it.

Talking to piles of rubble, what next?

"Finally! I told the City about this mess three damn years ago!" Cafas could almost feel a bead being drawn on his head. A cloud drifted over the sun, the glint of light was gone. A moment later it drifted off again, the pleasant shade gone. The glint came back, an ever so slight waver in it. Rhythmic almost. It made Cafas think of breathing (which is a mean thing to do to anybody.)

Manual breathing mode activate.

The reality of what he was staring at dawned on Cafas all at once. The rhythmic flicker was caused by breathing, and that glint had not been there before. He was staring right down a scope. He was glad, not for the first time in his life, that he was pretty much bullet proof.

I wish he'd lower that...

The Ranger smiled at the response, humor was rare in this day and age. Even more so you were just shot at. "Pistol on the ground, and move forward." He called out.

He didn't wait for the man to comply before he began to move closer. Moving along the side of the road his rifle pointed at the man, the scope being his way to observe compliance. It was evident quickly enough that he wasn't complying with that order. The Ranger immediately stopped and his trigger finger arched, leaving it just outside of the trigger guard, ready to move in and squeeze.

The man wanted him to put his weapon on the ground? Did he have buddies waiting to run up and take it the minute he put it down? No, Cafas did not think he would be doing that. What was he gonna do? Shoot him for not complying? Let him try. Instead Cafas slowly drew the gun, keeping his finger well away from the trigger and trigger guard.

He could just be being safe. Though all the same, he can f** off if he thinks I'm putting this down.

"I'll un-load it, but I'm not going to be putting anything down." Cafas did go ahead and do just that, though he fumbled the magazine release. He emptied the chamber as well, and put the magazine in one of his many pockets. The gun went safely back into his holster. "That's it man, got no other guns." Cafas stepped forward slowly, closing the distance in an attempt to perhaps have a conversation that didn't involve ripping his lungs out yelling.

This S*** is ridiculous...

The man announced he'd unload it, but not put it down. Normally the Ranger would have insisted it was set down, except after seeing how clumsily the gun was cleared he felt that it in a pocket would take just as long as having on the ground for him to make use of it. "Fine."

Rifle trained on the man, the Ranger moved closer. When he was only fifty yards away he stepped out onto the road and stood up. If the man couldn't see him to that point, he certainly could now. The strips of cloth on his ghillie suit that hid him against the remains of the buildings didn't hide him as well against the road with horizon behind him. A little closer and he lowed the rifle, he could now see the man well enough without the scope. "There's nothin' fer you up north."

It seemed that Cafas' compromise suited the stranger. Just as well too, Cafas hadn't wanted a fight. A while longer passed, Cafas slowly took a few steps forward. Then the man stood up. He wore some form of suit, covered in strips of fabric. Cafas remembered something from video games, a name, ghillie suit. Designed to break up the human shape of his silhouette. Combined with the camouflaging colour it made the man damn near invisible before he stood. The now standing man drew closer, and lowered the rifle.

"There's nothin' fer you up north."

Cafas considered that the man who just shot at him was now telling him there was nothing in the area he was protecting, seemingly willing to kill for the defense of his nothing. Most people would call that crazy, given the things Cafas had seen, he suspected the man was not trying to keep his scavenging grounds to himself. No, more likely he was protecting himself... Perhaps his family, not that many of those had survived. "Nothing to the south anymore either. Nothing much at all these days. I don't think I'm the only one who's noticed either, I saw a kid killed the other week, by a man he clearly recognised, over nothing more than a packet of chips."

I saw that man killed too.

Cafas' stance never shifted. He was certain the other man wasn't likely to shift his either. Both were ready for a fight, and he suspected both knew it. What remained to be seen was if either ever broke the uneasy peace that currently seemed to be between them. Cafas had size, and a couple of weapons tucked into his webbing, and the other guy? Cafas didn't know, and he didn't want to find out. More mutants seemed to have survived the apocalypse than humans, and most of who had survived knew how to fight, or had some secret weapons when it came to fighting.

You almost sound like you're arguing for registration...

"I'm Cafas Johnson, once an X-man, now a survior." Though names seemed to matter little it was still good manners to exchange names between those not intending to kill each other. Cafas struggled for a way to genuinely demonstrate his good will, a sign that he was a man of his word, some gesture to identify him as a decent human being.

It hasn't been that long dude...

He settled on that age old gesture, an unmistakable sign of chivalry and good intentions, (something that appeared to be lost in the post apocalyptic world) he extended his hand for the man to shake. It had lost some meaning in the modern world, pre-nuking, it had become expected, and had been used by the type of people that didn't mean it. But there in the post-apocalyptic rubble of the world these two men had once shared (though they had never known it) it stood once more as a symbol of that long forgotten ideal, trust.

Nothing to the north, nothing to the south. Three years following the apocalypse, that made sense. There was always the chance the man was lying, but if he was willing to venture north it was unlikely. This meant trips into the city would no longer be as necessary. Well, peaceful trips that is. If it came down to it, to protect and/or keep his family alive he would raid one of the larger, established, communities in the city. That, or at least sneak in and steal from.

"That means I need t' head further north. Where it is irradiated all t' hell."

The Ranger and Lenna were holed up just north of where the air blast from the first bomb, that sparked the end of the world, hit. From there a few miles north were fine, but after that the radiation from the nukes that rained down would begin to set of Geiger counters with nearly dangerous CPM levels. Not far past that, lethal CPM levels began.

The man then introduced himself as Cafas Johnson, former X-man, and survivor then extended his hand. A gesture that the Ranger hadn't seen in years, a hand shake. He looked at the extended hand for a moment before sliding the hood of the ghillie suit off and grasping the man's extended hand.

"Michael Hunter. Former Army Ranger and Delta Operator."

The man removed his hood and shook Cafas' hand. It felt almost as if for a second the world had returned to normal. Sadly it could not last. The introductions were over, and somehow Cafas doubted this situation was very suitable for idle chit chat about nothing at all. A pity, he missed being able to have a chat with a stranger in the street without having to worry about an ambush.

Well let's keep this going.

"Pleasure to meet ya mate. What brings you down this way? If you're looking for supplies my advice is trade for it. Unless you're keen on risking your life in a pit fight. I'm trying to keep it from those I help out but we're drying up fast." That wasn't the half of it, outside of very certain places there was nothing in the wastes. Half his map was made up of streets marked as looted clean. He found some things here and there but it was getting harder and harder.

Why is killing becoming the only way to survive?

The Ranger brought his hand back, bringing it to rest on the grip of his rifle. Trigger finger resting just outside the trigger guard, the world may have gone to hell but he still maintains a professional level of firearm safety. "Mouths to feed. I've more than I can feed off huntin' and farmin'. Fallout, courtesy of the jet stream, makes those options more difficult each year."

Cafas had mentioned trading. That would work, if half the people he ran into were interested in trading. Most of the economy now seemed to be an aggressive barter economy of: I have a duck, you have a gun. Here is my duck, please don't shoot me! "I haven't had good experiences with trade attempts, an' what I have worth tradin' idn't what I want other havin'." He rotated his gun slightly to indicated he meant weaponry.

Conscious of how long he had been standing in the middle of a street the Ranger scanned the surrounding area before turning slightly, keeping Cafas in view, and moving to a tall pile of debris to the side."Let's get off the street. I don' feel like dyin' today."

Ah, the man had dependents, if Cafas had to guess he would say they were somewhere to the North. That explained both the protectiveness and why he was out scavenging what was clearly further South than he might have otherwise come. Cafas nodded in way of reply to that particular line of conversation, he would leave it be, pressing the man for more was in no way going to end well, not if the man was anything at all like Cafas.

"I haven't had good experiences with trade attempts, an' what I have worth tradin' idn't what I want other havin'."

Yeah guns have become more valuable than lives recently...

"Can't understand why at all." Sarcasm. Humour seemed to work at defusing this particular bomb. The ranger started moving into cover, or so it seemed. When he spoke it seemed to confirm that, though Cafas was allowed to be skeptical. "I must admit I'm not a great fan of getting shot. I'm not a huge fan of stitching." Only Cafas understood that joke, the last time he had been shot had required quite a substantial repair job on his gear.

Huh, that locker looks like it's still locked.

He marked the metal container for later, just in case Michael Hunter missed it. He doubted it held anything of any real value, most likely just junk like pre-apocalypse money, maybe an assortment of other useless bits a pieces. People didn't really have the same priorities back in the day. The way it was mostly buried in rubble made him assume it was undisturbed for the last 3 years, or someone went to great lengths to scatter 3 years of debris on it every time they went to it.

"I stitch to avoid needin' stitches later." The ranger replied while running a hand through the strips of fabric hanging off his ghillie suit.

Upon reaching the pile, obviously the remains of a building, he looked around. The goal was to find something to use as a table. There were wall sections, rebar, rusted cans, broken glass, and a locker. Partially hidden by debris was what looked like a high school locker with a lock attached. It looked like it had been undisturbed. He could deal with that later.

He wanted a table. Nothing fancy, just something that could be used to compare maps. It was likely Cafas knew more of the terrain in the south. There was a section of wall that appeared to be smooth on the far side, while being thick enough that he could set it atop a small pile and have something decently high, perhaps just below waist high.

Taking hold of the wall section the Ranger pulled. The mass of stone and wood didn't want to budge. He Gave it a second tug, this time his muscles began to grow, the sound of cloth stretching and a few seams popping could be heard. And then the wall section came free. It was rather large and due to the stone attached to it likely weighed a few hundred pounds. He carried it over and set it down atop a small pile of debris, thus creating a nice, almost square, table big enough to accommodate a few large maps.

The Ranger hiked up a leg of the ghillie suit and removed a map from a pocket on his pants. unfolding and laying it out on the improvised table he suggested, "We should compare maps."

His map showed detailed radiation levels at the North end of the city and beyond, the borders of factions, and slashes through many places that had been previously marked as worth revisiting. The map showed from North of the city down to only as far as the north edge of Centeral Park. Noticeably missing of course was a reference to where he resided.