[i] Screams, that's the way the dream begins every time..

Grace, positioned atop the snipers nest awaited the next toxo to stick their head in her sights. Exhale, squeeze the trigger with both fingers, allow recoil. The Dragonuv barked fire, and the toxo's head snapped back at an odd angle as gore splattered against his closest comrades. 

Where was he? Grace thought to herself as she searched the crowd. Her fiance had chosen the beefy combat shotgun, and putting himself in the front line to show those creeps this was their sanctuary. Nobody elses! He relied on her to keep him safe from above, she was his guardian angel. The battered brown duster with the bright stitched wings stuck out against the fire, steadying herself, Grace snapped another shot off. This time, the toxo's throat exploaded in a shower of viscera. Grace continued this pattern, shoot, load, shoot load, until she heard the same sound signifying her dream was coming to an and. The homemade IED's blinked around two legs of her nest,  she prepared to hear the explosion as she watched the man in the angel winged duster fall to the hordes, she wasn't fast enough...squeezing her eyes tightly as possible for what came next.[/i]

Instead of the explosion, and the rushing sensation as she fell to the ground, it was a woman's voice...shieking bloody murder

Wait what? 

Grace's eyes snapped open as her subconscious reminded her that the event in her dreams happened months ago. Rubbing her eyes as she peered outside her improvised loft, a blown out hotel penthouse. She'd created a makeshift sanctuary by unbolting the stairs leading to the floor, making it impossible for infected to get up to her home. Any idiots who decided to climb up, well, her tripwires had a deadly surprise. Yet, someone was going through her territory? Muttering to herself, Grace began the process to arm herself. A quick weapons check, she was still allright, the 1911 pistol, her collapsible baton, slid into a cargo pocket against her hip, finally, she checked the battle scarred Dragonuv. It was her weapon of choice for the most part, it let her be the avenging angel against those dumb enough to wander into her territory with malice. Drawing the sleeveless, slightly scored winged duster around herself, she picked up the rifle and left her loft. 

The woman's voice echoed out against the calm, the man refused to listen. "Boss's orders, you are heading to the market." She began to plead, offering anything she hoped would entice the man to not go through with his original plan. As they passed a pair of bright painted wings on a brick wall, her tone changed. 

"The saint..." She muttered softly, the bandit looked at the wings painted on the wall. His laughter carried even farther then the woman's shrieks. Grace's ears rang as she settled on a point to set up her shot. 

"The saint? It's a myth! Some fake angel made up as a sign of good luck and protection! He drew out his shotgun and aimed it against the wall with the emblem painted on it. As he squeezed the trigger, a second shot rang out. The man's head snapped forward, spinning his body around and collapsing into a heap. The woman shrieked again, trying to get away from the recently de-brained corpse. 

As Grace stepped her, she pushed a lock of brown hair out of her eyes and gave the man a once over to confirm he was dead. She drew a small pocket knife from her pocket, and cutting the woman loose without saying much more. Afterward, Grace turned her back to the woman and began to field strip the bandit's possessions. The woman looked at Grace, and focused on the stitched wings on the back of the brown duster. "Wait, you..you're the saint?" She asked incredulously. 

Grace continued to strip the man of his valuables, and nodded. "Best get going before the infected show up. You two weren't quiet..."

The woman stammered for a moment as she composed her thoughts. "Wait, your a hero, you are supposed to help right... My husband, he was caught by them. He left me when I fell through some rotten boards." Grace's grey eyes snapped up as she turned to address the survivor. 

"He left you, he's either at the markets, shot, or dead. You need to go," Grace turned away from her, loading a fresh bullet into the chamber of her dragonuv. 

"HELP ME!" She shrieked, almost begging. 

Grace groaned, cursing softly to herself. "There's a PMC company North of here. Keep to the open areas, watch out for cars, and bandits are loud and usually drunk. Toxos', well, if you find them, I wish you luck. If you get there, tell them you met me, and how you got there. They'll let you in...probably." Grace muttered as she walked back to her hotel slash perch. 

She honestly wasn't sure what the PMC's thought of the entire "Saint" myth, mostly survivors that she ran into while scavenging for supplies. She'd often taken bandits out, painting a white set of wings in areas she had covered. Whether it helped, or just gave them a good way to find her, was yet to be seen. 

Sighing one more time, Grace grumbled as she saw the woman nervously plod away. Her sniffling worried Grace, she was a scavenger, she'd be a really horrible one. "Hey," Grace called out. 

The woman looked nervously towards her again, Grace cursed as she hefted her backpack. "It's about a day's trek, I'll get you within safe range of their last known location and then I'm gone." The woman nearly collapsed from relief as she nodded gingerly. Grace shouldered the rifle as she walked past the woman, "My real names Grace." 

"Anna - wait! The Saint's real name is Grace?" She asked incredulously, Grace grinned a little.

"More of the fan of wrath, let's go." The pair set off towards the last known location of the PMC camp, or at least a group of survivors she could drop this woman off with.