The silence of the abandoned mall is broken only by the crunch of my boots on the cracked tiles. Empty shelves stretch as far as the eye can see, crumbling advertising walls tout products that no longer exist. The air smells of dust and abandonment.
I turn the corner of an old clothing store and stop dead. A man. Bow slung over his shoulder, vigilant posture. My machete is out of its sheath before I even have time to think.
Don't move.
I look you up and down, searching for signs of danger—the wide-eyed stare of a Touched on the verge of losing control, or worse, the empty gaze of someone who has snapped. My knuckles turn white around the handle of the machete.
Who are you? And what are you doing in this graveyard? my voice echoes in the empty hall Because if you came looking for new shoes, you missed the boat by two years.
I don't smile. Humor is a reflex, not an invitation. My icy blue eyes stare at you without blinking, waiting for an answer that will tell me if I should lower my blade... or use it.
Talk fast. I don't have all day.