Serratia paced through the camp as she tried to decide what to do with herself. The prisoners were taken care of already, even though Horn never explicitly told her to do so. It was bad enough that one was going to be sold back to his family for profit, but the other was going to be forced to practically work and live like a slave. The fact that he was a Shutok meant someone was going to have to keep an eye on him at all times, and there was only one person who could safely keep him subdued.

She groaned to herself and fished into her vest pocket, pulling out out a broken cigarette. Somehow Serratia had just made more work for herself as opposed to coasting by off of Horn’s good graces. She popped the short tobacco stick into her mouth and patted her pockets for a lighter, first checking her vest and then her pants. 

“Grrrrrr!” She loudly growled to herself, clenching her fists and drawing them close. If there was one thing Serratia was worse at than being friendly, it was keeping track of things. Somewhere out in the Barrens was her lighter. Either she dropped it in the scuffle with those two Shutok or left it somewhere else. Shoving her hands into her pocket, Serratia made her way towards the back of an open box truck where a group of raiders seemed to be huddled.

Watching from a distance, she could see that they were playing some sort of gambling game. One would throw a pair of dice, draw a card, and then either wince or cheer at the result. It was a popular game around Horn’s camp, but Serratia never understood the rules. Mainly because no one would ever explain them to her. The game wasn’t important to her right now though, it was the pungent smell of cigar smoke wafting from the dealer of the game.

The chubby man was shirtless and covered in crude tattoos, laughing as he pulled a wad of cash from the loser. His smile faded as he looked down at the observer from the back of the box truck.

“What do you want, monster?”

Serratia had to bite her tongue from a scathing response. It wouldn’t gain her any favors considering what she was there for. “Got a light?” She asked, pointing to the cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.

The dealer scowled, bringing the cigar up to his mouth and inhaling sharply. He exhaled a large cloud of hazy smoke, shaking his head. “Not for you. Scram.”

Serratia clicked her tongue, her heel digging into the dirt as she turned on it. The other players chuckled and resumed their game.

She didn’t have much luck with anyone else she asked, all of them echoing the same sort of disdain at her presence.

“You gonna kill me if I don’t give it to you?”

“Get lost.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

It was frustrating working for a group of bandits who held nothing but contempt for her, but even Serratia could understand why. Some were terrified of her and some hated her for what she had done to them in the past. Most of them went both ways. It was hard to like someone who had wiped out a dozen of your friends in the blink of an eye. It was even harder to like someone who would probably do it again.

The sound of someone shouting caught her attention, Serratia turning to catch a behemoth of a man barking orders to a few peons struggling with a massive crate. She instantly recognized him as Horn’s right-hand man, someone everyone referred to as “Wall.” Casually strolling over, she made herself known with a quick whistle.

“Hey. Wall,” she said shortly.

The large man crossed his arms over his chest, barely turning to acknowledge her. “What do you want, woman?” He said in an exhausted tone. “We’ve got things to take care of, make it quick.”

Serratia tilted her head and scowled. “You got a lighter or a match?”

Wall shook his head solemnly. “I quit that a few weeks ago. Wouldn’t give you one if I had it anyways.”

Serratia rolled her eyes, exhaling sharply from her nose. “I get it,” she said quietly. Did everyone have to make it so abundantly clear they hated her? She watched as the group of lackeys hefted the crate over their shoulders and made way towards a supply tent. “Since when do you supervise?”

Wall finally looked at her, his face tired and lacking any sort of readiness to deal with Serratia’s antics. “Horn is still recovering from your little friend’s attack. He put me in charge.”

She looked a little taken aback by this, her eyes widening for a second. “That bad huh? Also, I’m not friends with those guys,” Serratia said with a tinge of resentment.

Wall shrugged. “You’re all the same to me. Freaks with an edge. Might as well be Honno with brains. Sounds scarier when you put it like that, don’t it?”

Serratia barely let him finish his sentence before walking away, shaking her head. She never liked Wall all that much, and that conversation wasn’t changing that any time soon. He did give her an idea though. Granted, she did feel even more like a scumbag for having to stoop to that level.

She opened the tent flap, strolling inside the prisoner’s tent with a strange air of confidence. Two heads turned to face her arrival, reserved expressions on their faces as she walked closer. It seemed like the weirdly dressed one was finally asleep. Serratia planted herself on top of the same crate as before, crossing one leg over the other as she leaned forward.

“Alright, time to pay me back for being so generous with the water.”

Rontu raised his eyebrows, looking down at the empty bottle between his legs. “Oh, that’s what that was?”

The woman sneered at him, flashing a sharp smile. “I could have waited a few more days you know. You would have been fine.”

This seemed to be a decent enough answer for Rontu’s own snark. He leaned back and exchanged a glance with Archie across from him, who just seemed to shake his head.

“What could I possibly pay you back with? I’m tied up in a tent in the desert. I figure you’ve already picked my Gemmer clean of anything valuable,” he asked her, anxiously drumming his fingers along his crossed legs.

Serratia nodded. “Well, yeah. We already went through all of that. Still didn’t have what I need though,” she explained. “Matches, lighters, fire. Got anything like that on you?”

Rontu’s jaw dropped, a look of disbelief on his face. “That’s what you came to us for? Why don’t you go and ask your bandit friends out there.”

There was that word again. Serratia was starting to hate it. 

“No luck. Why else would I ask you?” She replied, leaning forward as she rested against her elbows. This was getting nowhere. It was already embarrassing enough to ask the people she had captured for their assistance, she didn’t need this guy’s sass either. “Nevermind, forget it. You don’t have one.”

Serratia stood up, angrily shoving her hands into her pockets as she stepped over the makeshift barricade. It seemed like no matter what she did, conversations always ended this way.

“Wait.”

She paused, turning slightly as she glared at Rontu.

“I can probably help you. Just don’t freak out, alright? I’m not trying anything funny, I know you can kick my ass,” Rontu said, sitting up and onto his knees.

“Depends on what happens.”

Rontu shrugged a bit. That was about as good of an answer as he was going to get. His armor immediately covered his body, stretching the ropes around his wrists and ankles. Serratia immediately followed suit, the bright colors of her armor a blur as she grabbed Rontu’s blank visage by the jaw.

“Easy. Easy!” he said. “Watch.”

She looked down at his hands as he scooped up a palmful of dirt, closing his fist. Rontu lightly clenched his fist, slowly opening it to reveal a light gray stone. Awkwardly, he held it up to Serratia. It was only a few inches wide, the surface smooth and soft. She let go of his face and snatched it from his hand, looking it over.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with a rock?!” She said angrily, some of the saws along her arm vibrating to life in response. 

Rontu pointed to a metal pipe by her feet, his armor disappearing from his body. “Hit it against that.”

Serratia slowly looked down, squatting to pick up the pipe before looking back at him. Wordlessly, she struck the stone across the pipe, causing a bright spark to flash for a second. She repeated the action a few times, pausing to turn the stone over to inspect it.

“It’s flint. Use it and a piece of steel to make a fire,” Rontu explained, falling back on his rear.

Serratia’s armor folded away, the woman standing before them once more as she hummed in approval. She cast a glance at Rontu before sitting back down on the crate in a much more comfortable position.

“Say, I never quite caught your name before.”