He held his rife close to him as the wind howled, sending sticks and leaves flying through the remains of the city. What had once been a bustling population center in the Italian countryside was now rubble and brick husks. He had been tracking a group of raiders for days. The weather had taken a turn for the worst, but he was too close now. His Ghost had suggested he abandon the objective, but no. He was too close.

The rain began now, lightly but soon becoming torrential. He took shelter inside what was left of a house. Movement, just outside the window. He unlatched the safety on his rifle. Yes, of course. Of course they would use the town as an outpost. He'd stumbled upon them. More movement, a whole group of them. Lighting illuminated the dead street outside, and he could make out the silhouettes of figures heading for a large building at the end of the street. He'd found them.

He gathered his cloak about them and slinked outside, hugging the wall. There were no apparent armaments on the outside of the building. His prey were not expecting company. Or they were good at masking their home. Both were possible.

The building had no door. He looked down the scope of his rifle and peered inside, but could not see anything. It was too dark. He sighed inside his helmet and began his approach again. A shot whizzed past his head, and he dove into an alley. Fuck. This was not how he'd wanted it to happen. He peeked around the corner with his rifle, found the shooter, and put a bullet in his head.

He rushed inside and swept the foyer of the old manor, finding none of the raiders waiting for him. The whole first floor proved to be empty. The entrance to the cellar was caved in, so he turned his attentions upstairs. Thunder rolled over the town as he climbed the staircase, rain seeping in through broken windows.

The second floor was a farm. Pots and converted rooms growing tomatoes, squashes, berries, greens. He almost felt bad. They were trying to survive. They were all trying to survive. But survival did not have to mean theft and pillaging and much fouler things. No, these survivors may as well have been servants of the Enemy. Humanity had no use for such monsters.

He found them on the third floor. Half-starved and wild-eyed. Crying. Empty ammunition clips strewn about. The body of their fallen friend oozing blood. Children poking their heads out from a room in the back. The storm raged outside. Thunder rang out, and Hell followed it.

The terrible sound of a skiff filled the town. The children screamed. He knew what had to be done. He turned to the window and shouldered his weapon, and the raiders followed.