Slatyr [0007]

Narrative of how I'd understand the character's archetype:

Her knight - she deliberated, would be better suited for a higher station of her aspirational court, being that his nonchalance in the succession of numerous combat settings had begun to rekindle her memories of her life as an expectant mother; to relive such a time as that - she'd lose sleep over such feelings... Following her instinct, she'd send the young man back to the boathouse upon the arrival of his worthy replacement...

The longing would linger but briefly, as her newly anointed Knight could easily carry that nearly-40 pound gatling gun, armored in what must be either aged copper or crudely-painted scrap-automotive parts. Her latest recruit: a compliant giant, is what her efforts atop that tower culminated into, as this particular mutant is a creature of simple means, yet a horrifying past of gruesomely inhumane experiments.

The walk back to the market would grant her yet more introspection: entering that walled village alongside a former cannibal would not bode well with the simple settlers of that much-needed sanctuary for the lost and the hopeless. The many sideways looks and uneasy stares from those people only told her that her time in that town must be quick. Post-war Boston - the city proper - is a traumatized place that her younger self could never have survived, yet the logic she'd discover in the however factor could only be proven via the singular way she'd proceed.

Formerly, the once bustling Fenway Park Metro Station was a dating scene at which herself and her husband would arrive on but a handful of occasions. The once-great national sport of baseball - he'd eventually explain - would capture the thrill of overseas combat, only without any of the danger of gunshot wounds or the many repercussions of shell-shock syndrome. Her widow's sorrow would reveal itself, yet again through her budding sympathy for his abandoned passion in the solitude of gunsmithing and "by-leverage" munitions reloading...

Their next destination - she'd wager - would need a more subtle approach; one that would require usage of Boston's underground railway system. She'd resolve how her naive fear of the dark must be confronted, since wandering through the wide-open downtown streets - whether during the daylight hours, or in the gloom of nightfall; her chances of survival could only plummet beneath each rooftop vantage-point chosen by any lucky sniper bored enough to spot her.

Beyond the tranquility of the Fenway Metro Station, the group's only mood-melody would soon become the reverberating echoes of their footfalls; otherwise, there would be the still-small; quiet confines of this graven tomb, which in some unacquainted way, could manage to settle her restless feelings of fear.

This strange new darkness would expand all throughout the largely derelict network of literal train-wreckage, and after maneuvering yet one more bout of mutant-bloodshed, her store of supplies would be reallocated into those of her better-suited traveling party. Immediately, that newly-acquired Knight would prove worthy of his station and title through the willingly remorseless gunning-down of his former kinsmen.

In the wake of the firefight, the returning aroma of untreated, pungently rotting meat was bound to make her sick yet again, so she made the choice of sleeping near the entrance to the network maintenance tunnels.

Her rudderless vessel would need yet more firepower in its arsenal if her return to that theme park was indeed as immediate as her need for her old rifle. As her consciousness would drift beyond her, she'd wonder whether Porter went and sold the damned thing...

What to do...