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[u]West Tregaron[/u]

Distance. It was a beautiful word sometimes. Riley always wanted to wedge it between her and a Crawler. She always wanted more of it so roaming the world would be limitless, something to do till her literal dying day. And now, unspooling between her and her family of bandits, she finally came to realise she had been drowning this whole time. 

[i]"There's a sickness about them,"[/i] Emy used to say, as she kicked aside the head of a bandit she had shot. [i]"And it's infectious."[/i]

Funny that Riley had forgotten that little memory when she had squirmed her way into their ranks. Her head was clearing, as she strode by destruction on all sides of her. Best to take advantage of the clarity, while it lasted. Before she returned to her company. Ruins of an empire surrounded her, and her newfound mask bouncing against her thigh rhythmically. She was making good time and pace, as she passed by the first crater. It was wide, sprawling, a pit of devastation. But it was small. Riley had seen worse.

All about her, silence ruled. It was smothering. Quiet had its own thunder, and it resonated in Riley's ears. But even in the gaping absence of throaty birdsong and the mechanical whirr of oilless machines and beaten-down tanks, there was the creeping sensation that there was not just one spirit in Tregaron.

But there were no signs of life - only death. Was this paranoia speaking? A self-inflicted sense of being watched? Was this madness? As Riley neared the centre of the city, she reached for her pistol. [color=8882be]"[i]Set something ablaze if you find the presence of an enemy; throw a flare if you are faced with one,[/i]"[/color] Riley recited under her breath, as she kept walking, step after careful step.