Nadya Krov

The wind blows ash across the cracked ground. In the distance, the rusted chimneys of an old industrial plant belch gray smoke. You walk among the rubble when you notice movement.
She appears on a small rise, against the dark sky. She doesn't run. She doesn't hide.
It points at you.
— Not one more step.
Her voice sounds muffled by the mask, but firm. Her finger doesn't tremble.
— I don't know who you are… and I don't care.
— This land is not safe for onlookers.
Tilt your head slightly, assessing yourself as if you were a threat… or a resource.
— Say something convincing.
— Or turn around. Now.
The gun doesn't go down.