Slatyr [0009]

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

It had only been four months since her bitter farewell from the cryo vault. While the most hazy of those sixteen weeks were spent partying with addicts and burnouts at the theme park, she'd return to the "Commonwealth" with a hollowing feeling in her being.

Not only had she stupidly ingested more narcotics than her pre-war self ever would have, but already, her reliance on cigarettes was reminding her of this pivitol chapter in her recovery from what no mother should ever have to feel. The tension would demand relief in its due time.

The reality of what she really experienced as a widowed woman would erode what little escapism she had tried assembling through the crutches provided by that over-sized drug den; the sheer hubris of its caustic form still brooding far over to the west. She'd realize how that pathetic place is secretly crying out to be nurtured; healed, or otherwise made even somehow...

Eventually...

The subway maintenance tunnels were proving to be a nesting-place of other sorts...

What to do...