The Market
1029 Words
The camp felt quieter now, though the quiet was brittle—held together by fragile routines and unspoken fear. A few days had passed since the ambush, and while talk of robots and Black Talon still lingered in hushed corners, there was a tentative attempt at normalcy.
They had buried Jackson that morning.
It was a small funeral. No speeches. No ceremony beyond a few shared words and the weight of silence. Iris stood near the back, hands clasped behind her, eyes moving instead of lingering. She tracked faces, escape routes, the way the wind shifted the smoke from nearby fires. Mourning came later, if it came at all. For now, awareness was survival.
When it was over, people drifted away slowly, grief folding back into routine.
Her own injuries had been tended to as best they could manage in camp, but her arm had healed faster than anyone expected. Iris sat on the edge of her cot later that afternoon, rolling her sleeve up just enough to see it.
The wound was gone.
All that remained was a faint scar line along her forearm—thin, pale, almost delicate, as if the cut had never been as deep as it was. She traced it with her fingertip. There was no pain. No tenderness. Just a subtle stiffness, like the memory of pressure rather than the injury itself.
Her brow furrowed.
“Hey.”
Sadie’s voice cut through her thoughts, warm but curious. Iris looked up quickly.
“What are you thinking about?” Sadie asked, leaning against the tent post.
“Nothing,” Iris said at once, tugging her sleeve back down.
Sadie studied her for a second, then shrugged. “Alright. Well—what do you plan on doing today? We could head out.”
Iris blinked. “Head out?”
“To the market,” Sadie said casually. “We need supplies. Food, medical gear. Whatever we can find before it dries up. You coming?”
Iris grabbed her jacket. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
They rode out together—Sadie and Iris in the back of the truck with Alex and Elias up front. The plan was simple. They’d split once they reached the meeting point. Iris and Sadie would handle the market. Alex and Elias would meet with a nearby base leader to gather intel.
No one said much on the drive.
The market sat on the edge of a half-collapsed district, tents and makeshift stalls crowding together along dirt paths. Vendors shouted over one another, advertising canned goods, dried produce, scavenged tech—anything worth trading. The air smelled like dust, oil, and desperation.
Iris moved with Sadie through the crowd, eyes constantly scanning. Children darted between legs. Adults watched from under hoods and torn hats, hands never straying far from weapons. Everyone was waiting for something to go wrong.
By the time their baskets were nearly full, Iris felt the tension ease just a little. The rhythm of bargaining, the clink of trade tokens—it almost felt normal.
Almost.
A shrill whistle cut through the noise.
Iris’s head snapped up just as two figures moved fast through the crowd—black armor, angular silhouettes. Black Talon.
“Sadie! Move!” Iris shouted.
Laser fire tore through a nearby stall, crates exploding into splinters. Iris dove, rolling across the stone path as she drew her weapon and fired back. Sparks flew as shots ricocheted, lighting up the mercs’ visors in harsh flashes.
People screamed. The market erupted into chaos.
Iris blocked a strike, the impact vibrating up her arm, then countered—kicks and slashes in sharp, practiced rhythm with Sadie beside her. One merc lobbed a mechanical grenade. Blue arcs of energy crackled across the ground.
Iris vaulted over it, came down hard, and fired. One merc dropped. The second fell moments later under Sadie’s shot.
Silence followed—broken only by panicked voices and the sobbing of frightened children.
Iris scanned the crowd, pulse hammering.
That was when she saw him.
Farther down the market corridor—a familiar figure, standing still amid the chaos. The same man from before. Watching.
Her breath caught.
She blinked.
He was gone.
“Why did they even attack?” Sadie asked, brushing dust from her jacket. Her eyes flicked to Iris, sharp. “They… seemed to be after you. Not me.”
Iris shook her head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. They saw us and attacked us before they even reached the market.”
But her mind wasn’t on the mercs anymore.
They gathered their supplies quickly and headed back to the truck. Alex and Elias were already there, tension etched into their faces.
Elias stepped toward Iris—then stopped, crossing his arms instead. His concern was obvious. So was something else. Distrust.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Two Black Talons,” Iris said simply. “They came out of nowhere. We handled them.”
Elias’s eyes narrowed. “We weren’t hit. Why go after you two?”
Sadie glanced at Iris before answering. “We think they were after the market. We just happened to be there.”
Alex frowned. “All these hits around us… I wonder if they know we took it.”
Elias’s gaze flicked back to Iris. Sharp. Searching. “Could they have been tipped off? Maybe someone’s feeding them information.”
The words settled heavy.
Iris kept her voice steady. “It was probably recon. They wanted a reaction.”
Elias didn’t look convinced. “Recon or not—it’s precise. Too precise for coincidence.”
The ride back was silent.
Iris stared out at the fading lights of the market, replaying every movement, every flash of black armor. Her hand drifted to her forearm, fingers brushing the scar beneath her sleeve.
She looked up.
Elias met her eyes in the rearview mirror.
The suspicion was gone—for now. What remained was something quieter. Concern. Care. A look she couldn’t quite name, but felt all the same.
Protective.
Iris held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, heart beating just a little faster as the camp lights came back into view.
- Writer
