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Fall, 2025 11pm West Bank of the Burnside Bridge on Antietam Creek Northwest of Washington D.C. The darkness terrified her as a child, having always been encompassed in the warm glow of lights that never ceased. Ethereal sky in the winter and rain, warm and electric in the summer, it always brought a mood of never being alone. The constant aura of companionship, safety was entirely misunderstood by newcomers used to the forlorn empty silence they had experienced prior to the 'big city'. She wanted nothing to do with the bustle anymore. Out here it was cold. Quiet. Dark. Simple. People were scarce. She could be alone, most of the time. She shifted slightly under her black canvas poncho, hood up to keep warm, pine straw beneath her providing a little insulation. Chin rested on her pulled up knees, poncho billowed to a small tent around her. The warm, smooth stones underneath at her heels would keep their heat for a while. An hour before dark, she'd been cordial to a few that had crossed her path on the trek back to her car. She knew she should have stayed off the road, but after watching them long enough to determine they weren't a threat, she asked for small 'hot rocks' from their fire. Surprised at the stranger from nowhere, they'd obliged. Two men, one woman. Early twenties maybe? Travelers? Scrappers? Thrill seekers? Unsure, but she'd continued on despite their insistence to stay awhile. Her back rested now against old stone under her bridge shelter, she could hear them talking in the distance now that darkness had fallen. Who needed to risk a fire when a perfect decoy fire was stupid enough to be lit? They couldn't see ten feet away from it into the dark. They were perfect patsies to let her know if there was danger because they had put themselves in the position for it to find them first. She had a few moments to rest. Her position was absolutely black with darkness. The creek had receded enough to where she could sit on the footing and have access to wade down or upriver if compromised. The recess on the small graceful stone bridge over the creek also gave her a view of the fire, hid the sound of her breathing with the trickle of water, and gave limited access to her. The camp they'd chosen was at the edge of woods across a narrow slightly concave field. Behind her above on the approach to the bridge was a hill overlooking the battle worn stone, dark creek beneath it, and the field beyond lit up with orange fire flicker. The hill had centuries old rifle pits on the bluff, overgrown with weeds and matted tall grass, original intent to be a position to fire on the field and treeline. Everything; the bluff, pit positions, overgrown road, bridge, even herself were all facing them. Idiots had chosen danger and didn't realize it. A little more rest before she kept moving... She still had a several hour trek back to her car. Leaving it behind while she tracked a path miles into a rumored magic weigh station was the most logical decision. Intermittently clear, mostly overgrown roads were beyond D.C. it wasn't possible to bring the Rally all the way in. It had turned out to be just a rumor. Days wasted, supplies wasted, gas wasted. She was exhausted. Chin lifted, forehead instead lowered to rest on her knees. Eyes closed, burned hot. Wasted. Time. Fingers shifted position on the pistols in her hands that were resting on the laces of her boots, the rest of her body following silent suit to relieve pressure of the P229 on her hip. Back ups were under her arm and ankle. Knives. Fun magical toys. She was armed for everything. They felt so heavy. Rest dragged at her bones. Everything felt so heavy. She shouldn't doze... just needed to rest a moment. Headache teased her temples. Just a few more minutes.