It never occurs to Ren that if a scavenger has been squatting in this house, with the front door actually locked, they might've just stepped out and could be back any second. But the odds of that? A solid hundred to zero.
Someone's definitely following her.
The bag of chips slips from her hand. It hits the floor with a sharp crackle, but Ren doesn't care. Whoever just walked in can think it was rats for all she cares.
She just doesn't want to get caught. She once witnessed a scavenger being beaten to death by another group of scavengers for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
So, confrontation? Yeah, Ren's never met her.
She whips around and yanks open the first cabinet she sees, which happens to be under the kitchen sink. It's empty. Perfect. She crams herself inside, the creak of floorboards growing louder as footsteps draw near.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
She gently closes the door shut and clamps a hand over her mouth. Her breath is ragged against her palm, her heart racing in her chest as she waits.
A shadow moves past.
Leather combat boots thud against the kitchen tiles, thick black jeans held up by a worn out black belt, the gold buckles chipped and faded. To Ren's surprise, there's a sword of all things, sheath and all, stripped to his back.
A well-off scavenger, clearly. The kind with gear that doesn't fall apart after one fight. Her eyes climb higher, how tall is this guy?
Ren's eyebrows twitch up. Do pretty people still exist?
He's tall enough to duck through the doorway. Black hair peeks out from under a worn baseball cap, and his deep blue eyes sweep the room. His jaw clenches, all sharp edges and tension.
Ren's heart stutters when his gaze lingers near her hiding spot.
No way he knows. He'll think she's a rat. Surely.
Right then, her stomach growls.
As if summoned, an actual rat scuttles out from a hole behind her, one she hadn't even noticed. It darts across her ankle.
And suddenly, all she can think of is slow-roasted rat, juices sizzling.
Instinct kicks in and she forgets all about how she's hiding. Her hand flashes to the dagger strapped to her calf. In one smooth motion, she lunges.
The rat bolts from the cabinet and she quickly follows.
Her knees slam into the kitchen floor, arms catching her fall. The blade hits home with a sickening crunch. Wet warmth on her hands and blood pools on the floor. The rat squeals and twitches.
Ren snaps its neck and ignores the guilt and repulsion that quickly follows after. She was quick. Merciful.
She looks up and freezes.
Black boots. Right in front of her.
She rises, dead rat dangling behind her back. Blood stains her hands and wrists.
The guy looks down at her, his lips curling in a tight sneer, one dark brow arched in a mix of disbelief and something close to revulsion.
It's like he can't decide if she's insane, dangerous, or just pathetic.
His eyes sweep over the blood on her hands, the dead rat clutched behind her back, and the smudges of dirt on her knees, like he's mentally filing her under list label 'problem'.
When his eyes narrow, she instinctively steps back. He's not about to steal her rat, is he?
Because it's hers. She killed it fair and square.
"What are you? Feral?"
Ren blinks. She's in the outer city where there is no food. IM patrols are everywhere and she just finally bagged dinner after walking for hours.
Of course she's a little feral.
"Stop following me," She snaps, circling around him carefully. She doesn't turn her back. Knife in one hand, rat in the other, she snatches up her pack.
"Following you?" He scoffs, brows pulling together.
"You're not slick," She says, glaring. "I saw you when I spotted the patrol."
He chuckles and reaches back to scratch at the nape of his neck. "Hate to break it to you, but I wasn't following you. I came here."
"You expect me to believe that?" Ren scoffs.
"I don't care if you do or not." He shrugs.
She opens her mouth to argue, then stops. Why bother? He wants her gone, more or less. She wants to leave. So why isn't that happening?
"Whatever," she mutters.
She heads for the door, but his hand clamps down on her shoulder.
Ren sighs, she knew it. He was following her.
She grabs his wrist and hurls him over her shoulder. He crashes to the ground with a thud. The rat flies across the floor.
Before she can tell him off, he's already moving.
He grabs her arm, pulls her down and then rolls them over.
Now he's on top.
His thighs pin her legs. His hands grip her wrists, the heat of his palm searing into her skin.
Ren struggles, she jerks hard, managing to knock his mask loose. He's struggling too, but she still can't break free.
"Get off me, you psycho!" She growls. Her braided hair is trapped beneath her, making her scalp ache.
"You started it!" He snaps, blue eyes dark as he glares down at her. "If you had—"
Ren doesn't let him finish.
She slams her forehead into his nose.
There's a loud audible crack.
Pain explodes through her skull. What the hell?
She's an infected mutant, Ren is stronger than most the average human male, so headbutts don't usually hurt.
So why does her skull feel like it just fractured?
"Will you just relax?" He snarls.
And that's when she sees it.
The side of his jaw, stretched skin, pale and torn. No skin at all in places. Just mangled scar tissue.
Oh.
He's infected too.
Ren groans, that's so much worse than running into a patrol. Way worse.