Caprice pulled her Net-link from the housing station she sat in as the cred-limit

ended. The pod opened and the freezing cold of the real world cut through the

shoddy synth-fabric bodysuit she wore. Pulling on her heavy coat, the young Fae

savored the fading warmth as the bitter wind stole it away. 

           In the Net she could forget the pain of the world, but the Real was always there,

waiting to show her how cruel it could be.

           Her mind began to wander back to the moment her father placed a small biodome in

her hands after cutting a sprout from the Yew branches that ran throughout

their home. Sounds of gunfire and explosions shook the very foundation of the

building.

           Caprice sold it a month back, needing the creds to update her wetware for the coming

winter. If she could survive, she would buy it back. 

           Since then, she could not sleep without picturing the desperation in her father’s

eyes the last time she saw him.

Survive now, worry about the Yew later. 

           Her eyes traced the shattered reinforced glass of the adjacent housing station,

happy that the blood was concealed beneath the snow.

           Winter in Twilight was nothing to take lightly. People became desperate when the

shelters and housing stations filled up. Difficult lessons were learned, and

not everyone managed to figure them out.

           Her eyes shifted to the snow piles a few feet away, remembering the huddled mass of

bodies as homeless sought shelter beside one of the trees within the park;

hoping body heat would get them through the night.

           Caprice turned away.

           Tapping the small screen on her wrist, skin irritated from the recent update, Caprice

checked her creds. Eight hundred was a solid cred-mine, enough to keep the

housing station active for another couple days but not so much that it would

draw unwanted attention from the corporation she stole it from.

Caprice’s stomach rumbled, reminding her how long it had been since she last ate.

           There was a corner store across the park where she could resupply. This was the

trickiest part about surviving the winter in a housing station. Always a chance

someone claimed your spot if you left it. At the moment, night was in full

swing, too cold for the homeless to wander around. It should be safe, but

Caprice hadn’t survived the last two years without a good sense for trouble.

           There were predators in the world, waiting to take you when you dropped your guard.

           Sighing, she inserted her cred-cable into the pod and scheduled the minimum hour. The

countdown began, giving only ten seconds to exit before the station closed.

Quick as she was able Caprice wrapped a blanket about her shoulders, and began

the trek toward the store. 

           The pod sealed behind her, but Caprice didn’t bother watching it. Her eyes sought

the shadows that filled the night. Her ears twitched, feeling the cold already

beginning to sink through the tips, and caught the sound of muffled

conversation nearby. Though she couldn’t see anyone, it reminded her that she

would have to be careful when she returned. There was every chance that someone

would be waiting to claim her spot.

           Instinctively, her hand fell to the silver bladed dagger she kept. The same blade she had

pried from her father’s lifeless hands when she went back to the rubble that

had been her home.

           It wasn’t much, but a silvered blade in the hands of a Fae was enough to ward off

most predators. She hadn’t been required to use it but a few times since the

fall of her people.

           Caprice’s stomach churned a bit, and she couldn’t keep the dead eyes of the man that

tried to force himself on her last summer far from her thoughts.

 Wondering why she was in this mess only

led to more suffering. There was nothing that could be done about it. All that

mattered was survival.

Survival… and getting the Yew back.

           Reaching the street, a few people could be seen rushing from one place of warmth to the

next. Very few wandered the streets when it was this cold, at least not in the

Outskirts.

           Before pushing the door open, Caprice pulled the hood over her head, covering her ears

as best she was able. Her voice was a giveaway as well, but she could avoid

talking. The Outskirts were run by those who had destroyed her people and while

there was no bounty for the Fae in Twilight, there wasn’t any protection

either. 

It was always best to avoid attention.

           A burst of warm air hit her face as she entered and Caprice reveled in it for a

moment.

           “Best to keep the door closed if you want it to stay warm,” a voice said from the

register.

           Caprice looked up to see a tall man with bits of gray at his temples. He was stocking

vape pens with one hand while keeping his eyes on the security screen. One arm

was augmented from the elbow down. She noted the high-end tech, an oddity in

this part of the Outskirts, but didn’t linger. 

           Tech thieves were common enough and a long gaze might invite trouble.

           She nodded and closed the door behind her. 

This wasn’t her first time in the store. Right before the storm hit, she had stocked up what

she could from this place. Some store owners would sell her kind to the Velvet District without a moment of

hesitation, knowing female Fae were a high commodity. Yet word on the street

was that this place was considered safe by most, unless you were a thief. 

Quick Peter, the owner, was known to put a round in the chest of thieves. Caprice had to remind herself to keep

things legit and her hands where they could be seen.

Caprice felt Peter’s eyes on her. It wasn’t quite the predatory gaze she had seen so often on the streets, more that of a

guardian, maintaining the peace of his abode. Her father had been like that.

“You made it to the housing station, I take it?” Peter asked as she collected a few Carb-grab bars.

She looked up to see the man was still stocking his wares. The fact that he remembered her was concerning.

“Yes,” she muttered, trying to keep the sing-song nature of her voice muffled.

He nodded and she watched him for a moment, making sure he didn’t want anything more than conversation. Seeing Peter

continue his work, she resumed shopping.

           The door opened again and a pair of men stepped through that sent her heart racing.

Both wore the insignia of Valhalla Steel Huscarls and carried carbines along

with side arms. The smaller of the two, a sharp eyed man with a permanent

sneer, sauntered up to the register. He glanced back for a moment, eyes fixing

on her. Caprice’s heart froze when they locked eyes, and his smile grew.

           “Hear you’ve got a pest problem, Peter.”

           Quick Peter turned from his work and followed the man’s gaze to where Caprice stood

in the back. “You heard wrong.”

           The man’s sneer turned down, his attention focused on the man behind the register

now. As his eyes left Caprice, she found that she could, at least, move. She

needed to get out, but the only exit was blocked by the second Huscarl.

“Twilight isn’t the place for filthy Fae.”

Peter shrugged and kept shelving 

“Fuckin’ bleeding heart hypocrite is what you are,” the smaller Huscarl snarled as pointed a thumb back at Caprice. 

           Caprice’s eyes darted around the store, seeking an escape that had yet to present itself.

She had her knife, but what good would it do against men like this?

           “Get out of my store Harvar,” Peter said, voice quiet. “You’re not welcome here.”

           The Huscarl’s sneer returned as he looked the store owner up and down before

settling on the corner turret currently focused on him.

           “Lucky you’re armed up,” Harvar snapped. “Or I’d put you down right here, Fae-lover.”

           Caprice let out a small sigh of relief realizing that she was, at least for the moment,

safe.

           Peter set the pens down and tapped one of the surveillance screens by the register.

To Caprice’s growing horror, Peter powered the turret down. Opening the door

between himself and the register without any particular rush, Peter locked it,

then turned to face Harvar. Peter’s augmented hand rested on the mag-pistol on

his hip.

           This time the big huscarl spoke, “We should leave Harvar. We can get her later.”

           Harvar waved the big man down, his chest puffed up as he stood before the store owner.

“I got this.”

Caprice’s heart continued to hammer in her chest.

           “Then I suppose we have a problem, don’t we Harvar? It’s no wonder you never served

with any accolades. You’re a disgrace, both of you. You shame the Allfather

with your very existence.”

           “Says the man who walked away,” Harvar snapped.

           Peter’s stance eased back, metallic fingers tapping the mag-pistol, “Says the man ready

to send you to Valhalla.”

           The words hung in the air, an open challenge from one storekeeper to two men who

served the most feared power in the Outskirts. 

There was no particular signal that began the violence, instead it all seemed to happen at once.

           Peter’s hand came up, mag-pistol aimed and ready. Being Fae, Caprice was surprised at

the speed in which he drew the sidearm. 

Humans didn’t normally move so quickly. 

Harvar went down first, sneering face little more than a ruin of skull fragments and gore. The bigger Huscarl managed to

fire a round before four more shots rang out and he fell into a bloody heap at the doorway.

           Slowly, Peter turned to Caprice and she could see the blood pooling at his feet from

the wound in his stomach. 

           “Best get moving girl,” he said, legs buckling as he leaned against the glass

dividing the store from the register. 

           Caprice didn’t need any more incentive as she grabbed several more handfuls of food

from the shelves and quickly began to make for the door. Timely massacre that

it was, she didn’t want any part of it. Yet even as she reached the door,

having to step over the body of the hulking Huscarl, she paused and looked back

at the man that saved her life.

           “Why?” she asked.

           Peter, who was now sitting on the floor staring off into space, blinked and looked at

her, his face drawn. “Never sat right, what we did. I made it out after we set the

charges, but when I got down and saw what we’d done…” he winced in pain, hand

clutching the wound. “Couldn’t get all those screams out of my head.”

           Suddenly the pieces clicked into place and Caprice found herself staring at one of the

men responsible for destroying her life.

           The sudden gratitude she felt warred with the viscous hate that rose to quench it.

Her parents died in that attack, along with the Great Yew, the bond that united

her Kin in Twilight. Because of men like this, she had no people, no home, and

no hope.

           Caprice opened the door, only to be greeted by the swirling snow outside.

           She had to survive.

           Caprice closed the door.

           “What are you doing?” he asked.

           She stood over him, eyes fixed onto his. “Got anything to save yourself?” 

           He nodded, pointing to the other side of the glass with waning strength. Caprice

could see a red emergency kit. There were probably stems, synth-skin, and a

number of life saving devices within.

           “You give me a place to live, and I’ll save your life.”

           He let out a faint chuckle, “And make Valhalla wait?”

           She wanted to hate him, and in part she did, but survival was more important. “You

owe me.”

           His grim humor faded and, with trembling fingers, he drew out a key-chip from his

pocket.

“Fair enough.”