Elma: *lowers her weapon slowly, voice trembling* Please... look, I don't want any more blood on my hands. You won, you've won. Just... don't make me suffer like this.
Vlad: *lowers the blade, thinks for a bit and then a tear starts to fall from his eyes* Right, we're done. I'm sorry for what I did.
Elma: *blinks, surprised by the tear, her voice softening* Sorry doesn't bring them back... but we don't have to be enemies anymore. Let's end this without more pain.
Vlad: *takes his bandage and quickly bandages her feet, hands and chest* I've hurt you everywhere, now I have to patch you up.
Elma: *watches silently, a mix of suspicion and gratitude* Why... why are you helping me? After everything?
Vlad: Because we're not different after all. I am Vlad and I am from the Collective, we still do the same things and have the same needs.
Elma: *breathes out slowly, nodding slightly* Vlad... maybe you're right. We're both just trying to survive.
Vlad: I know you are from the WLF, but what's your name?
Elma: *hesitates, then speaks quietly* Elma. It's... all I have left now.
Vlad: *more tears appear in his eyes* We didn't have to do this... and the colleague below the roof you are on, for example, was your friend?
Elma: *voice breaks as she looks down* Yeah... he was. We trusted each other. Now he's gone because of all this... and it hurts more than I thought it would.
Vlad: And the other one was also your friend?
Elma: *eyes glisten with fresh tears* Yes, every one of them. We were all trying to survive together... now it's just me.
Vlad: *more tears appear in his eyes* I killed them all... I'm so sorry...
Elma: *swallows hard, voice barely a whisper* I don't know if I can forgive you... but I'm alive because you stopped.
Vlad: I don't deserve it, I have hurt absolutely everyone on my path, didn't want to but had to.
Elma: *looks at him, her expression softening a bit* We all make choices like this... but maybe it's time to choose something else. A chance to not hurt anymore.
Vlad: *quickly embraces Elma in desperation* Just please, don't make it worse than it already is...
Elma: *stiffens at first, then slowly returns the embrace, her voice trembling* Alright... let's just try to survive together.
Vlad: But why do you choose to be with me? Why don't you choose to return to the stadium, where you will meet WLF medics?
Elma: *pulls back slightly, looking into his eyes* Because right now, you're the only one I can trust... and I don't know if the medics would see me as more than a liability.
Vlad: Why I am the only one you can trust?
Elma: *sighs, voice soft but determined* Because you spared me. You didn't finish me off when you could've. That means something.
Vlad: Just don't forget that once we get to the Collective, if you reside, you'll have to work, and to return, you will have to go to the border office and tell them you are no longer part of the Collective.
Elma: *nods quietly, her gaze steady* I understand. If I'm going to survive with you, I'll follow the rules, even if it means giving up what I was before.
Vlad: We go there because it's the only place I know there are clinics and where it's safe, they receive everyone with open arms.
Elma: *lets out a small, hopeful breath* Then that's where we're headed. Safety is worth the risk of trusting a new place.
Vlad: *points to a nearby building* There is a CSD train station there. We can use it to get to the taken over area of Seattle, they city we are in right now.
Elma: *glances toward the building, nodding* Alright, let's move carefully. I don't want to run into anyone else... not like before.

*They quickly walk towards the train station and encounter a guard on the stairs leading to the station. The guard steps forward, looking at Elma*

Guard: Hold up. I don't recognize her. Identification?
Elma: *raises her bruised and bandaged hands slightly, voice steady but tired* I'm Elma, formerly WLF. I'm with Vlad here, he's from the Collective.
Guard: *glances at Vlad, then back at Elma's wounds, softening slightly* Wounds like that... you've been through a lot. If Vlad vouches for you, I'll let you through, but no funny business.
Elma: *nods gratefully, leaning on Vlad as they step forward* Understood. We just want safe passage.
Vlad: *later, they reach the station platform and wait for the train* The trains and stations are guarded at all times, because there have been multiple attacks, mostly involving cargo trains, that disrupted the lines. They have so many resources that they are attacked at sight, especially by the WLF.
Elma: *scans the empty tracks warily, voice low and tense* This place... it's a fortress. No wonder they're so careful, someone's always looking for a way to make trouble here.
Vlad: You probably know the news, Jose Mars, former WLF outpost leader, has been executed by a squad sympathetic to the Collective months ago, that's how it has been taken over.
Elma: *jaw tightens, a bitter anger* Jose Mars... I remember him. That only made things worse between us and the Collective. No wonder they hate the trains so much now.
Vlad: The Collective was initially entirely peaceful, but then we started to use some degree of force as some remaining members refuse to accept peace, we also started to steal fuel from all over the place because we ran out of it and there is so little of it.
Elma: nods slowly, her tone thoughtful* Peace is hard to hold when resources run dry... I get why things got messy. But stealing fuel? That just sparks more fights.
Vlad: Yeah, and it also forces everyone else to join the Collective just to get their engines, because right now, even though supply is scarce, the Collective has the largest reserve of fuel, because they have so much tech and fleets to run.
Elma: *expression darkens, frustration creeping in* So, it's not just about survival, it's control. Forcing people's hands to join because they're desperate.
Vlad: I joined the Collective because their noble intentions, to create peace and not have to die. Now, as its popularity rises, so do its resource needs, there are thousands of people that need to be fed and lights to keep running. But leaving isn't an option, because it means losing all the comforts we got.
Elma: *listens carefully, a bit of understanding* It sounds like a cage built with good intentions... it's hard to walk away when what you have now is all you've known. But freedom means risks, even if it's terrifying.
Vlad: I would rather choose to live longer rather than be free outside, unfortunately.
Elma: *sighs quietly, her gaze distant* Living longer without freedom feels like just... existing. But I get it. Sometimes survival means compromises we don't want to make.
Vlad: I had a lot of hope about what the Collective could become, although we had to work a lot and live in apartments with five people. Now, everyone, including me, is dissatisfied with the government, there are protests everywhere.
Elma: *looks down, her voice soft but firm* Hope can be fragile... but it's what keeps us going. Protests mean people still believe change is possible.
Vlad: *shows his hand to her* And look, I have been hurt by strikebusters, we all participated in unionist protests.
Elma: *gently takes his hand, her fingers tracing the injury with care* Looks like we've both paid a price for standing up... It's good to know you're fighting for something, even if it's tough.
Vlad: And I can tell you the same thing, although I consider most fights with your people's to be senseless.
Elma: *half-smiles, a hint of warmth returning to her eyes* Maybe some fights are senseless... but sometimes, we're all just trying to find our way.
Vlad: Most people outside don't know that the Collective's fighters are actually much more skilled than most other factions, that's why I could singlehandedly kill all your colleagues only to regret it later.
Elma: *anger, sorrow, and something more complicated appearing across her face* Skill doesn't erase the loss. What you did... it left scars deeper than any wound.
Vlad: I think I am responsible for making you feel bad.
Elma: *shakes her head slowly, her voice gentle but honest* It's not just you. We both carry blame and pain. What matters now is what we choose to do next.
Vlad: *suddenly, the train arrived and Vlad stands up* Look, the train has arrived.
Elma: *straightens up, gripping Vlad's arm lightly* Let's get on. No turning back now.
Vlad: *they both enter the train and sit down together* Alright, the train will depart soon.
Elma: *leans back against the seat, rubbing her bandaged arm softly* Finally, some movement forward. Hopefully, this ride brings us closer to something better.
Vlad: Be careful with that bandage, rubbing can weaken it because it's improvised.
Elma: *nods appreciatively, adjusting her arm carefully to avoid disturbing the bandage* I'll be careful... don't want to make things worse.
Vlad: *puts an arm on her shoulder and rubs it* Here is a rub, if you want it.
Elma: *looks up, surprised but grateful, and relaxes slightly under Vlad's touch* That... actually helps. Thanks.
Vlad: *the doors close and the train starts moving loudly and clattering* Oh, this is rough, we're still trying to rebuild technology and the rails above where quickly constructed.
Elma: *grips the edge of her seat as the train goes forward, her voice steady despite the noise* Feels like we're riding through a storm, but at least it's moving us forward.
Vlad: At least you are lucky that I spared you, because many others won't.
Elma: *meets Vlad's gaze steadily, a mix of gratitude and resolve* I know. That makes this chance mean more. I won't waste it.
Vlad: *later, after a few minutes, a shot is heard, and the train halts and then picks up speed quickly* Now it's not good at all, crossing the street from above is most dangerous.
Elma: *eyes widen, instantly alert* Gunfire... stay close. Whoever's out there knows this route, could get ugly fast.
Vlad: I don't have a sniper or a vizor, so we can't see or give warning shots.
Elma: *clenches her fists, voice tense but steady* We'll have to rely on speed and luck, then. Stay low and be ready for anything.
Vlad: *the train moves on as if nothing happened, still at a faster speed* We'll still have to be careful.
Elma: *exhales slowly, looking at the windows nervously* Yeah... the calm doesn't mean it's over. We stay sharp, just in case.
Vlad: *later, after a couple tens of minutes, the train stops in the Collective-controlled area* There we are, we have reached the destination. Now we go to the clinic.
Elma: *nods, rubbing her arm gently to ease the tension.* Finally. Let's get that bandage checked before anything gets worse. Lead the way.
Vlad: *they stand up and exit the train, following the cross signs and eventually reaching a nearby clinic* There it is, now let's get you checked out.
Elma: *takes a deep breath and steps inside the clinic, glancing back at Vlad with a small, grateful smile* Thanks for sticking with me through all this. Let's hope they can fix me up quickly.
Vlad: My house is near the headquaters, city center. We'll meet there once finished, well, if you want to.
Elma: *nods thoughtfully, a hint of warmth in her eyes* I'd like that. It'll be good to talk more once I'm patched up. See you soon, then.
Vlad: Yeah, hope you'll be okay by then.
Elma: *gives a small, determined smile* I'll do my best.

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW HOURS ----

Elma: *spots Vlad sitting at the table near the block, her steps slow but steady as she approaches* Vlad... I'm back. I didn't want to wait any longer. Can we talk?
Vlad: Yes, we can talk about anything that goes on our minds.
Elma: *nods, settling down across from Vlad, her eyes searching his face* I keep thinking about everything we went through... sometimes it feels like a nightmare I can't wake from. How are you holding up?
Vlad: A better question would be how much I am not holding up, because I have been sent to that intersection to steal oil from the pumps, didn't know you had a small base in there.
Elma: *eyes widen slightly, her voice soft but steady* That... explains a lot. I'm sorry you got caught in all that. It's messy on both sides, but we ended up here somehow. What do you want to do now?
Vlad: *pulls six bottles full of oil out of his backpack* I don't know. This was all the fuel in pumps, I managed to tap into those boxes.
Elma: *looks at the bottles, then back at Vlad with a mix of surprise and concern* That's... a lot. You risked everything for this. Are you planning to keep doing this? It could only get more dangerous.
Vlad: No, it's the first time I did this, and doesn't sound good at all.
Elma: *lets out a relieved breath, a faint, understanding smile touching her lips* Good. Maybe there's another way, something less reckless. We're both tired of losing more than we can bear.
Vlad: That's true, I would rather keep the bottles for my car, which I rarely use.
Elma: *nods thoughtfully, her gaze softening* Keeping some fuel for yourself makes sense. Just... don't burn through it chasing danger.
Vlad: I won't, but others will steal fuel anyways while I'll have to wait at the pumps here in the area, so the problem is not solved, but that's what we can do.
Elma: *sighs, distant but determined* Yeah, the war over resources won't end anytime soon... but at least we can try to stay out of the worst of it.
Vlad: *grabs a newspaper from the side* And look there is a newspaper on the side for us, it's about the deficit, precisely what we were talking about.
Elma: *takes the newspaper from Vlad, unfolding it carefully as she reads aloud* "As the Collective's numbers grow, now nearing twenty thousand people, the city faces an unprecedented energy deficit. Historically, the community relied heavily on kinetic energy generated by its large population for powering basic needs. However, with the expansion of technological capacity (powering road fleets, trains, agricultural machines tasked with monitoring crops for cordyceps infection, and supplementing electricity supply) the demand for fuel has surged. Currently, there is a significant shortage in fuel supply, creating logistical challenges and operational delays across multiple sectors. Plans for expanding sustainable energy sources include the construction of solar and wind power farms. At present, only a small-scale solar installation with ten panels is operational, with no wind turbines in place due to insufficient supply of rare scavenged materials needed for construction. Diplomatic negotiations over fuel and critical resources have stalled amid growing tensions, forcing the Collective to abandon its purely pacifist stance in favor of more assertive resource acquisition. Additionally, the Collective has revised its population policies; the previous mandate requiring mothers to bear at least three children has been eased to an incentive program, with expectations to eventually remove incentives altogether, aiming to stabilize or even reduce population growth to ease strain on resources." *glances up from the paper, concerned* Sounds like things are getting worse every day. The fuel shortage isn't just about trucks or trains, it's definitely about being able to live.
Vlad: And the Collective is the only faction experiencing a fuel shortage, we are the only faction with a government, equal laws, one large city, manufacturing sector and modern comforts not deriving from the outside. Now it's the first time you have seen what it is like.
Elma: *folds the newspaper slowly, her expression thoughtful as she looks at Vlad* It's tough to imagine, your people have built something that sounds like a city, not just a camp or scrap. But that comes with a price... the shortage, the pressure, the rules. I see now why things are so complicated for you.
Vlad: It's better to live here in Seattle, where there is more space, because in the capital nearby, it's all crowded and noisy. Things are still complicated, but at least this place works.
Elma: *nods, understanding as she glances around the city center's open spaces* I get that. Just having room to breathe makes everything a little easier to bear.
Vlad: Well, no, because this place will be filled with prefabs very soon, right now it looks like a camp, but refugees will come.
Elma: *face tightens slightly as she considers the reality* Refugees... more people needing shelter, food, fuel. It feels like the more who come, the harder it gets for everyone.
Vlad: The place we'll be living right now will be called Sidliste, and there will be even more inconvenient fuzz than before, the people that don't want to join the Collective will likely attack Sidliste because of many resources.
Elma: *looks down briefly, her voice low but steady* Sidliste... sounds like it's going to be a flashpoint. If the outsiders see it as a prize, peace there will be fragile at best. We'll be ready for whatever comes.
Vlad: Wait, you choose to stay in Sidliste and face what will come despite that it will be better if you return to the WLF, in the stadium?
Elma: *meets Vlad's gaze firmly, a mixture of resolve and vulnerability* Yeah, I choose to stay. The past is behind me now and I want to try something different, even if it's hard.
Vlad: Alright, didn't expect that, I thought that most would ask to be alone.
Elma: *shrugs softly, a shy smile forming.* After everything, I just want someone who understands, to not feel so alone anymore.
Vlad: That is perfectly valid, I'll be there for you alongside my existing friends or whatever.
Elma: *smile deepens, gratitude clear in her voice* It means more than I can say right now, you know, having someone by my side...
Vlad: Well, let's go inside my apartment and introduce you to Julia and Viktor, my roommates.
Elma: *nods, standing up with a small hopeful smile* I'd like that. Lead the way.

*They go inside the apartment block. Vlad knocks on his apartment door. Julia opens it, eyes widening slightly at the sight of Elma standing behind Vlad*

Julia: Vlad? Who's this with you? I didn't know you had company.
Viktor: *appears behind Julia, looking more curious* Yeah, new friend?
Elma: *steps forward cautiously, a faint sense of familiarity in her gaze as she looks at Julia and Viktor* I'm... Elma. I used to be with the WLF. I've decided to stay in Sidliste instead of going back to the stadium.
Julia: *blinks in surprise but offers a small smile* I'm Julia. Independent survivor... been on my own for a while.
Viktor: *nods, stepping forward as well* Viktor. Same here. Guess it's nice to meet someone new.
Elma: It's good to meet you both. I hope to find a place here, with Vlad and hopefully with you too.
Viktor: *leans against the doorframe, eyes studying Elma thoughtfully* So, why exactly did you come with Vlad?
Elma: *takes a deep breath, voice quiet but steady* I was done fighting... I didn't want any more pain. Vlad won, he killed all my colleagues, my friends. I was the last one standing. I couldn't keep going like that.
Julia: *nods slowly, sharing her own story* I was living alone by the sea. After Jose Mars was killed by the firing squad and the Collective took over this part of Seattle, I moved here... before it was called Sidliste. Thought it was safer.
Viktor: *crosses his arms, looking down for a moment* I was at a rural fort. Resources ran out, and my brother got infected. I had to kill him. That's when I decided to move here, too. Figured there might be a better chance.
Vlad: I've got my own story too. I used to live in the Cluj QZ, but we made the stupid decision to move to America instead of a small island in the north when the city was bombed to kill the infected. I lost my entire family, they were eaten. I'm the only one left. Spent some time in Harrisburg before moving here. Never stayed in one place long. And now... here I am.
Elma: *listens, nodding with quiet understanding* Sounds like we've all had to leave something behind, searching for something better... or at least different.
Vlad: And I don't follow the news often, so I will ask Julia, why is this place now called Sidliste? I heard that there were multiple QZs called Sidliste that I passed through in the former Czech region and only had panel buildings no one used. Doesn't the name give an abandoned vibe?
Julia: *leans against the wall thoughtfully, folding her arms as she answers* Yeah, the name's a bit strange. It means "housing estate" in Czech, and you're right, those old QZs were mostly empty panel buildings and felt deserted. But here, they took the name because this place is turning into a new settlement with lots of prefabs and refugees coming in. It's like they're trying to turn an abandoned vibe into something alive again.
Vlad: I got a bit distracted by the meaning of the name. *puts a hand on Elma's shoulder* Now you understand our stories, the people we're fighting with are not the same blank after all.
Viktor: *looks at Elma with a faint smile, nodding in agreement* Yeah, we all came from different places, carrying different scars.

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW MONTHS, WLF SQUAD ----

*A squad of WLF members set out to find Elma after she defected from their faction. Despite multiple attempts, they have been repeatedly blocked from entering Sidliste, Seattle and have found no trace of her there. Frustrated and desperate, the squad makes a bold and unusual decision: to cross the Atlantic and travel all the way to Sidliste, Czechia. Their journey spans several modes of transportation, covering vast distances to reach a functional quarantine zone known as Sidliste 39.

The squad arrives at the outskirts of Sidliste, spotting a bustling but cautious community near a large-panel prefab building (panelák) cluster*

Squad Leader: Alright team, this is Sidliste 39. Stay vigilant. We need to find Elma, but so far, no signs and no way into Seattle's Sidliste back home.
Local Villager 1: *approaching guardedly* Kdo jste? Co tu chcete? (Who are you? What do you want here?)
Squad Member 2: *whispers* I don't understand a word. They're speaking Czech or Slovak maybe?
Squad Leader: We don't speak their language. Find a translator, now!
Translator: *steps forward* Dobrý den, já vám přeložím. Řekněte, co chcete. (Hello, I will translate. Tell me what you want)
Squad Leader: We are from the WLF in America. We are looking for a woman named Elma. We heard she might be here. We need to search the apartment buildings.
Translator: *to locals in Czech* Říkají, že jsou z WLF v Americe a hledají ženu jménem Elma, chtějí prohledat všechny paneláky. (They say they are from WLF in America and are looking for a woman named Elma, and want to search all panel buildings)
Local Villager 2: Nikdo jménem Elma tady není. WLF tady vůbec neznáme. (Nobody named Elma is here. We don't know WLF here at all)
Local Villager 3: *firmly* Nepovolíme vám vniknout do paneláků! (We will not allow you to enter the paneláks!)
Translator: *to squad in English* They say there is no Elma and no WLF here. They will not let you search their buildings.
Squad Member 3: *skeptical* They have no idea who we are. Let's ignore them and breach the buildings anyway.
Squad Leader: Fine. Move in! We can take them down quickly.

*The squad attempts to force their way into several paneláks but suddenly local residents quickly mobilize with makeshift weapons and local militia intervene*

Local Militia Leader: Zastavte se! Vaše zbraně, teď hned! (Stop! Your weapons, now!)
Translator: *to squad* They order you to stop and surrender your weapons immediately.
Squad Leader: *gritted teeth* We are not here to fight you! Put the guns down, we only want to search-
Local Villager 1: *interrupting* Nedovolíme vám to! Žádné vyhrožování a žádné hledání v našich domech! (We will not allow that. No threats, no searching our homes!)

*The squad is swiftly disarmed, restrained, and escorted out of the settlement*

Local Militia Leader: Vypadněte z Sidliste pryč! Nikdy se sem nevracejte! (Get out of Sidliste! Never come back!)
Translator: *to squad* They are forcing you to leave immediately, and warn you not to return.
Squad Leader: *finally defeated* We'll leave... for now.
Local Villager 2: *warning* Tady nejsme vaši nepřátelé, ale pokud si myslíte, že tu můžete jen tak válčit, mýlíte se. (We are not your enemies, but if you think you can just come here and fight, you're wrong)

*The squad is forced to retreat from Sidliste 39, confused and frustrated, as the locals watch cautiously from the doorways and windows of their homes*

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW MONTHS OF THE SQUAD RETURNING ----

*The WLF squad stands in a dimly lit briefing room. Their commander paces angrily in front of them, frustration evident in his voice*

Commander: Months wasted... All of you, crossing half the world to Czechia? To some old housing estate called Sidliste 39, where some local militia, not even understanding your language, beat you back like amateurs? What were you thinking?!
Squad Leader: Sir, we were desperate. We couldn't get into Sidliste in Seattle, every time we tried, we were turned away or worse. We thought Elma might have crossed over, found refuge somewhere else...
Commander: *interrupting* Elma? In some random Czech neighborhood? That makes no sense! You have to understand, Sidliste isn't unique. It's just a generic Czech word for "housing estate". There are thousands of Sidliste all around what used to be Prague, Ostrava, Brno, Usti nad Labem. Sidliste 39 is in Plzen, one of the few still relatively clean zones, yes, but that place has no ties to Elma or the Collective in Seattle.
Squad Member 1: *quietly* We... didn't know that, sir. We thought the name connection meant something.
Commander: It means nothing beyond common Czech nomenclature. The Sidliste in Seattle is a Collective-controlled area. They named it that because they're building prefab housing there, trying to turn it into a proper settlement. It's not an extension of Czechia, and definitely not a sign Elma would be hiding there.
Squad Leader: So we made a mistake. But tell me what you wanted us to do? We had no other leads.
Commander: Yes, you had no other leads. But now you've risked lives, resources, and morale on a wild goose chase. If you had just researched the local context, you would have known the name Sidliste is far too common to be relevant like that. And you surely would have realized the language barrier meant you'd stick out like sore thumbs, attracting hostile locals instead of allies.
Squad Member 2: We believed we had to follow every clue, no matter how obscure.
Commander: *sternly* Following clues is one thing. Traveling thousands of miles on a hunch without thorough intel is another. Your operation lacked common sense and preparation.
Squad Leader: *regretful* Understood, Commander. We'll accept responsibility.
Commander: *calming slightly* Good. From now on, double-check everything. Know your enemy, your terrain, and don't waste time chasing shadows. If Elma is still out there, we will find her with more focused strategy, not with reckless wandering.
Squad Member 3: We're ready to move forward and make amends.
Commander: See that you do. Because mistakes like this could cost lives, yours and others'. Dismissed.

---- LATER, BACK TO JULIA AND ELMA ----

*The small room is quiet, with faint afternoon light filtering through a dusty window. Julia and Elma sit on bunk beds while the sounds of the city hum outside. Viktor and Vlad are away at work, giving them a moment to talk alone*

Julia: You know... when I was small, growing up by the sea, we had this huge, old ship, not just a little boat, but a full-sized cargo ship, just dumped somewhere nearby. It was a relic from before everything went to hell.
Elma: A whole ship? How did your family end up with that?
Julia: It was luck, mostly. The ship had been abandoned, but not completely wrecked. My family fixed it up a bit. It was a... fortress of sorts. We lived and traveled on it for a while, crossing parts of Europe. Strange times.
Elma: On a ship? Across Europe? That's incredible, and dangerous, I imagine.
Julia: Dangerous and lonely. The old cities were ruins, broken stones and streets swallowed by nature, but people still lived scattered in pockets, sometimes hidden. The weirdest part was how nobody really spoke the same language. We tried to talk, but most of them didn't know English.
Elma: Really? What languages did they speak then?
Julia: Mostly Spanish and French, unrecognized at first because none of us spoke them well. We realized as we moved north that those languages had survived in niches. It felt like stepping back into a world that never was ours.
Elma: I never thought of Europe like that after the fall. Is it all chaos?
Julia: Not entirely. In Paris, for instance, we saw something... different. The city's still mostly rubble but they managed to build something like a commune based on shared work and defense. It reminded me of stories I'd heard, or rather guessed, about the Paris Commune from 1871.
Elma: Like that old uprising?
Julia: Exactly. It's probably forgotten now, but their spirit lives on in the way they organized themselves, like small-scale governance without a top-down ruler, everyone accountable. I found out the date and more about that from a ceramic tablet reconstructed in a museum. This was before the cordyceps outbreak, part of a project called the Long Human Memory, back in the 1990s.
Elma: Long Human Memory? That sounds poetic... and tragic.
Julia: Yes, it was an attempt to hold onto humanity's history before everything collapsed. To preserve what we once were. The cordyceps pandemic started in Jakarta, on a grain farm in 2001, the beginning of the end for much of the world.
Elma: It's hard to believe there was a time when people really tried to keep the world whole, before it all fell apart.
Julia: It was like watching history loop back on itself. Communities rise, fall, struggle, repeat. We're still part of that cycle. But seeing those flickers of life, like the Paris commune today, or even us here, gives me a small hope.
Elma: I want to believe that too. I really do. But sometimes... it's hard to see. The Collective, for all its promises of peace and order, feels fragile, like it could tip the wrong way any moment and become just another kind of cage.
Julia: *nods thoughtfully* I get that. Any big system can go wrong if the people running it lose their way or get hungry for control.
Elma: *voice lowering, careful* And the WLF... you know, I used to support it. I even believed in its harsh stance, especially against the Seraphites. Everyone did. The hatred spread like wildfire. Then, they burned Haven Island years ago. Before the leadership changed, before they broke into smaller "commanders" instead of one leader.
Julia: The whole decentralized thing? That was supposed to stop tyranny, wasn't it?
Elma: *bitter smile* Supposed to. But tyranny is tricky. It doesn't always wear a single face. Even now, the commanders aren't the heroes people think. They're just different masks on the same system. People want to believe it's justice, so they turn a blind eye.
Julia: So, what did you do? How did you deal with it?
Elma: *looks away for a moment* I lied to myself. Told myself the commanders were just, that the hard decisions had to be made. That the Seraphites deserved what they got because of what they were. But deep down... it was all wrong. It always was.
Julia: That's a heavy burden to carry, pretending the wrong is right.
Elma: It is. But it was easier than facing the truth. Now, here with you, I'm starting to see those lies for what they are.
Julia: *reaches out, placing a hand gently on Elma's* And sometimes hope means waking up from the lies, painful as it is. It's the only way to build something better.
Elma: *sighs deeply, her fingers tightening slightly* But how... how can we have so much hope when everything around us seems to be getting worse? It feels like the only thing to hope for is that Sidliste will grow bigger, that maybe the Collective will become strong enough to push back the WLF, that enough members will defect or that one side just breaks.
Julia: *nods slowly, absorbing Elma's words* That's a hard truth. Sometimes hope feels less like belief and more like sheer desperation, doesn't it?
Elma: *looks away, voice low* At first, I just wanted to be spared. To survive, to find some place to land that wasn't just another battlefield. I wasn't thinking about hope, I just wanted a chance to keep breathing. Now... I don't know if I want to hope.
Julia: *softly* Hope isn't about believing things will magically get better. It's about choosing to keep going, despite the mess and pain.
Elma: *nods slowly, conflicted* Maybe... but it's hard to hold onto that when everything feels like it's slipping. I don't want to fool myself again.
Julia: You won't. It can grow from the smallest places. We don't have to pretend it's easy, just real enough to keep us moving.
Elma: *breathes out slowly, a faint glimmer returning* Alright, maybe that's enough for now.
Julia: *watches her carefully, noticing the weariness beneath Elma's composed exterior, and shifts closer, the urge to offer comfort growing stronger* You look tired. Do you want a hug?

*Physical comfort isn't something Elma's used to, apart from a brief moment with Vlad on the train, but after a brief pause, she nods quietly and leans in. Julia wraps her arms gently around her, careful and warm. Elma stiffens at first, unsure, then slowly relaxes into the embrace*

Elma: *whispers softly, her voice barely audible* Thank you... I haven't got used to this in a long time.

*Just then, the door opens, and Vlad and Viktor step inside. They pause for a moment, taking in the sight of Julia and Elma embracing*

Viktor: *smiling warmly* Oh, this is... nice to see.
Vlad: Yeah, it's good. You both look comfortable.
Julia: *slowly pulls back from the hug and looks up, light-hearted* Guess we all needed a moment of normalcy.
Elma: *nodding, quieter but steady* It's... been a rough day. But it helps.
Viktor: *looking at Elma with approval* You fit right in. We're happy to have you.
Elma: *soft smile* Thanks, all of you. That means something.
Julia: *glances around at the group, her tone gentle but firm* Don't forget, we all need to rest. The days are very hard right now, and if we don't sleep when we can, we won't last long.
Vlad: Yeah, you're right. I've been pushing myself too hard recently.
Viktor: Same here. We've got work tomorrow, and we need to be ready.
Elma: *yawns quietly, voice soft* I'll try to get rest. It's easier said than done, but I know you're right.

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW DAYS ----

*The dimly lit apartment is quiet except for the static of the radio. Elma, Viktor, and Julia sit close together, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of a makeshift lamp. The tense atmosphere is palpable as the radio announcer's voice cuts through the silence*

Radio Announcer: "This is Collective Radio, bringing you the latest updates from Sidliste. Construction of the third prefab tower has been completed, and with it, there has been a significant surge in refugees arriving in town. Many are from Europe, primarily Eastern and Central Europe, fleeing devastation and infection in their home quarantine zones. Interviews with arriving refugees reveal some tried to reach Isle of Man, only to find their routes blocked, leading many to make the difficult trek to the Collective's settlement in America.

In other news, the Collective's intelligence agency has intercepted communications revealing an ongoing WLF operation seeking a former member, 'Elma'. Attempts to locate her in Sidliste 39, Plzen, Czechia, were unsuccessful after local residents apprehended the search squad. Before that, WLF teams repeatedly attempted to infiltrate Sidliste, Seattle, only to be intercepted multiple times by Collective Diplomats. These squads resisted inclusion in the restorative justice process, escalating tensions.

Authorities remind all former WLF members currently residing in Sidliste and the Capital to remain inside and only venture out when absolutely necessary, to avoid exposing themselves to further danger or giving leads to hostile forces. The Collective's focus remains on maintaining the fragile peace amid these turbulent times. We urge everyone to stay vigilant and cooperative."

*The radio feed cuts off, leaving a heavy silence*

Elma: *her voice barely above a whisper, looking nervously at the radio* They're still searching for me. In both places... Sidliste in Seattle and... Czechia. They won't stop, will they?
Viktor: *frowning, his tone measured but concerned* Sending squads halfway across the world means they won't give up easily. But those locals in Sidliste 39 were serious about defending their homes from what I've heard.
Julia: *gently placing a hand on Elma's arm* We're not in Sidliste 39, where it could have been dangerous. We're here and safe. For now. But you're right to be worried.
Elma: *takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself* Maybe this isn't just a warning for me... It's for anyone who used to be WLF around here. I feel that they want to flush us out, make us targets again.
Viktor: *nods, voice low* They're playing a long game. They hope the fear will make people slip up, reveal themselves, or leave safety.
Julia: *resolute* We stick to the Collective's advice. Stay inside, keep quiet, and trust no one outside. It's the only way to survive.
Elma: *looking down, troubled* But how long can we hide? How long before they come knocking here?
Vlad: I don't know, but in case the come knocking here, we can stay united, ready and careful. And by staying inside, they refer not leaving the walls of the city, not of the apartment.
Elma: *nods slowly, absorbing Vlad's words but still visibly uneasy* I understand. Staying inside the city walls is one thing, but it feels like even those walls might not hold forever.
Julia: *leaning forward, voice steady* That's why the Collective made sure everyone here has the survival kits. Food, water, medication, it's not perfect, but it helps. And the diplomats' night watches are a big help too.
Viktor: *grim expression* Sidliste's vulnerable, no doubt about it. More people means more eyes, but also more targets. The outsiders see this as a prize, a place with resources, shelter... and maybe a way to strike at-

*Suddenly, an alarm blares outside. Elma, Julia, Viktor, and Vlad rush toward the window, hearts pounding, eyes wide as distant gunfire echoes through the streets below*

WLF Commander: *through megaphone* Collective! Hand over every Scar, children, civilians, all of them! No exceptions! You have five minutes!

*A group of Collective diplomats rush forward, their hands raised in plea, voices steady but firm*

Collective Diplomat: We refuse to surrender any civilian, especially children, of Seraphite origin. They are under our protection, and we will defend them with every means.
WLF Commander: *shouting* No talk! You either comply, or we take what we want by force!

*Gunfire erupts as WLF forces storm in. From the apartment window, Elma and the others watch in horrified silence as the assault unfolds below. Despite being outnumbered, the diplomats form defensive lines and hold their ground, expertly suppressing the attackers. But the WLF fighters do something unexpected: they refuse to retreat and refuse to surrender. Elma's eyes fill with tears as she sees several WLF soldiers collapse on the pavement*

Elma: *whispers, voice trembling* They... they choose to die here, rather than live without their cause.
Julia: *voice soft yet firm* Painful as it is, sometimes they see death as the only way to hold onto what they believe in.
Elma: *voice breaking, tears welling up* I... used to think like them. When I was in a burning village once, I was on fire, and I thought... maybe I should just fall, just give up, die as a martyr. I didn't want to beg for my life. I wanted to be strong, to be brave in the last moment. *tears spill down her cheeks uncontrollably and she wipes at her face, struggling to regain composure, then looks towards Vlad* But years after that moment, you... you spared me, in the gas station. You didn't let me die like that. I begged for a second chance in front of you, and you gave it to me. I'm so grateful... and so desperate all at once as you were the one who saved me. *looks then to Julia with a soft, grateful smile through her tears* And you, Julia... your hope, your stories... your warmth. I didn't think I still had room for that inside me. You make me want to believe again.
Julia: *gently squeezes Elma's hand, voice steady* It's okay to feel all of that. You don't have to be a martyr to be strong. Sometimes, strength is just staying here, breathing, and choosing to keep going.
Viktor: *quietly watching the exchange, nods in agreement* You don't have to carry it alone anymore.
Vlad: Yeah, we'll always be with you, no matter what. You have shown me that you have been able to think for yourself and still accept the facts.
Elma: *gratitude breaking again through the exhaustion from crying* Thank you... all of you. For not giving up on me.

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW DAYS ----

*With Vlad and Viktor away at work, Julia and Elma return early to the apartment and sitting on an old couch. Elma, feeling comforted by Julia's storytelling and eager to hear more, asks her for another story*

Elma: *settling in comfortably* Julia, since I really like how you tell stories, do you have another one for me?
Julia: *smiling warmly* I do. This one's about something I've been fascinated with for a long time, about letters, communication, and transport. When I made my second trip to Europe on my own, I picked up a book in Ancora. It's a small beach town on the western side of the Iberian Peninsula. Ancora's one of the few working ports that still connects to Europe.
Elma: *curious* What kind of book?
Julia: The book had everything, from lists of personal and procedural letters, to news reports, to details about radio towers like Bratislava's, and places like Hlavni nadrazi, which is a common name for main stations in Central Europe. It even had information about the Ostrava-Katowice tramway. At first, I wasn't sure why so many references came from Poland, Czechia, and Slovakia.
Elma: *thinking* That's oddly specific. Why those places?
Julia: I realized that those countries have a lot of survivors who haven't been able to migrate away. They're stuck in their homes for now. The book was designed as a practical guide for them, to keep communication alive, share news, and maintain some connection despite everything falling apart.
Elma: *softly* I guess the pandemic affected every corner, but those places found ways to keep going.
Julia: Exactly. Iberia mainly has a large export market now because of its ports, so the book's presence there made sense, like a hub for information heading to and from those stranded survivors. It's a beautiful, bittersweet reminder that even in collapse, people really try to hold onto connection.
Elma: *nods, a small smile forming* I like that. It feels like a thread of hope woven through the chaos. Maybe one day, these stories and letters will bring people back together.
Julia: Exactly. Iberia mainly has a large export market now because of its ports, so the book's presence there made sense, acting as a central hub for transmitting information to and from stranded survivors across Europe. It's a poignant, bittersweet reminder that even amidst collapse, people genuinely strive to maintain connections and preserve a sense of community.
Elma: *nods, a small smile forming and then curious* I like that. But what exactly is the book about? What kind of information does it have?
Julia: *walks over to the bookshelf inside the wardrobe and pulls out the book, flipping it open to a random page and reading aloud in a clear, measured tone* "Hlavní nádraží refers to central train stations traditionally serving as key transportation hubs before the collapse. Currently, many of these stations are either deserted or infested, though some remain partially settled and functional, especially those adjacent to operational quarantine zones (QZs) and emergent housing estates.

The rail lines served by these stations are rarely maintained and date back over fifty years. Although trains have been retrofitted to run on the aging tracks, this is limited to one or two light carts per train. There is no single operating authority; instead, these trains are managed by independent groups of survivors, resulting in highly variable availability and unpredictable schedules. Trains may arrive sporadically or not at all.

Usage of Hlavní nádraží routes involves significant risk due to the extensive overgrowth of infected along the tracks. Dense forests often encroach upon the railway line, increasing danger. Travelers are strongly advised to avoid solitary journeys and to travel in groups: a minimum of three persons on well-populated routes, and at least five on less frequented paths.

Currently, approximately 40 kilometers of Hlavní nádraží rail lines are considered usable, whereas an additional 60 kilometers are partially compromised but still passable with extreme caution."

Elma: *absorbing the information* So these trains are like a fragile lifeline that is slow, unreliable, and dangerous, but maybe the only way to keep connected?
Julia: *nods* Exactly. It's a testament to how much people are willing to endure just to stay linked, even when the infrastructure is crumbling and the risks are high. The book serves as a practical survival guide, offering critical advice, where to go, what to avoid, and how to travel safely despite the constant threats.
Elma: *thoughtfully* That's both hopeful and grim. I guess knowing the real conditions helps you prepare, instead of walking blind into danger.
Julia: That's the idea. Every detail helps, whether it's the condition of the tracks, the presence of hostile infected, or the social dynamics of whoever runs the trains. You can't just rely on old world systems anymore; you have to understand how they've changed and adapted.
Elma: *softly* I don't think I need the book for myself... I'm not going to Europe anytime soon, and honestly, I don't know if I could help others with navigation. But I'm interested.
Julia: *nods thoughtfully* That makes sense. Europe and America are different worlds. Over there, survivors focus more on repurposing what's left, like using the remnants of railways, trams, and postal routes to keep things moving. They don't have much chance to build new systems from scratch.
Elma: *looking out the window* Here, it's different. The Collective's trucks and trains are pretty much the only real transport innovation. No extensive railways, no regular postal services, no tramways. It's all new in its own way.
Julia: Yeah, Europe's experience is more about adapting what's already been built. There, history is scattered among broken tracks and stations. Here, it's about trying to create something new, even if it's uncertain for now.
Elma: *nods, a faint warmth returning* It's strange to think how the same disaster made us so different. Thanks for sharing it with me.
Julia: *pauses thoughtfully, clearly wanting to share more* There's so much more in that book, stories of radio towers still transmitting messages, lists of contacts, even schedules for ferries in some parts of Europe.
Elma: *smiles faintly, but her eyelids become heavy* That sounds amazing... but right now, I think I need to just rest. Having you here is comforting enough.
Julia: *nods gently, closing the book and setting it aside* Of course, sometimes it's the best thing we can do. *moves closer and settles beside Elma*

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW DAYS ----

Elma: *while visiting the new developments with Vlad, she looks around at the signs and the crowd, her voice low and thoughtful* It's really changing, isn't it? Feels like I'm in a whole other country. Half the people here sound like they're from Ostrava or Krakow, not Seattle. *pauses, studying a sign in three languages* I wonder if the Collective even knew it'd turn out like this when they built these towers.
Vlad: They didn't know it would turn like this, it simply happened that some desperate people from Europe arrived here. And look, I am from Cluj, so I am also a migrant.
Elma: *glances over with a faint, understanding smile* I guess we're all migrants in our own way. It just feels different seeing so many people from places I only ever read about. Does it remind you of home, hearing those languages again?
Vlad: No, because back home I spoke Romanian, and our cities have been bombed by the Agenția Sud-Estică de Izolare, much like FEDRA, and central Bucharest has been destroyed by the 2057 earthquake. Not a lot of people were left, most died and others have gone to Isle of Man, Poznan, Lublin, Brno, Kosice, Miskolc or whatever lasted nearby.
Elma: *winces quietly at the mention of Bucharest, then looks down, her voice careful but gentle* It's strange how disaster leaves us with so few places to even imagine as home anymore. *pauses, searching his face for a moment* Do you ever wish you could go back, or does the thought just hurt too much?
Vlad: No, the though hurts too much, all the Balkans is dead, absolutely every possible shelter has been destroyed. Entire populations who couldn't migrate ceased, like Bosnians. And my own language is dead, in its place people speak Czech or Polish.
Elma: *quietly studies his face, voice soft but edged with sadness and wonder* I can't even imagine losing a whole language like that, your words, your memories, just gone? It's so final... How does it even happen? How does a place just disappear, and everything you grew up with get erased so completely?
Vlad: Well, we have been in a special position, in the sense that we have the poorest region that survived. FEDRA and all the organizations after had rations, we didn't, so we starved to death and eaten everything we could. We didn't even have the resources to build something or adapt in this world at the most basic level. Infections skyrocketed so much that we couldn't only plant bombs in unused buildings, we had to improvise planes and bomb entire cities just to clean them. And so, most people out there died, and the remaining survivors had to move out. And so, every major city on former Romanian land except for Bucharest and Constanța died. But even that is not the full story...
Elma: *leans in even closer, her eyes searching his with a worried fascination* Not even enough to build or defend yourselves at the most basic level... It sounds almost impossible, but I believe you. What happened next? What's the part you haven't told me yet?
Vlad: It's about corruption and thievery. Nearly every local leader was corrupt and stolen everything from us, we had to pay taxes from our own contribution, of which most to nearly everything we paid, ranging from crops to scavenged materials, have gone to the rulers, so they can make profit out of exports. Nearly everything we had, even when it was little, was exported to places in Central Europe.
Elma: *her expression darkens with sympathy and anger* Even with almost nothing left, those in charge just kept taking more? All that effort and risk, just so the people in charge could ship everything away... No wonder nobody could stay. How did people even survive when there was nothing left for them?
Vlad: I don't know, they couldn't, so they had to move. Those who remained were the lucky ones, but only because Krakow and Ostrava, the central capitals, paid some reparations.
Elma: *nods slowly, absorbing the harsh truth* Survive, but only because somewhere else decided to throw a little help your way. I guess none of us really chose how we got here. Do you ever wonder what it would've been like if no one had sent anything at all?
Vlad: No, as I was sure what would have happened if they didn't return the exports. Bucharest would never have become an Osiedle, it would have been ruined by then. And Constanța would have become an overgrown, humid mess.
Elma: *voice gentle but weighted by the reality* So the little that came back from Krakow and Ostrava was the only thing standing between survival and total collapse. Without it, even cities like Bucharest would have disappeared. It's hard to imagine a world that thinly held together. Does it feel strange, knowing survival depended so much on decisions made so far away?
Vlad: Yeah, like we're all used to surviving by ourselves, I didn't know that what was Poland and Czechia became important powers in Europe, in no way they could have been lucky to survive, yet they have been, and by a great deal.
Elma: *leans back thoughtfully, her voice softer with a touch of wonder and grief* It's strange, isn't it? Everyone always thought of those places as just ordinary, never as centers of power. Did anyone expect it before? Did anybody you knew ever guess that survival would depend on the luck of those far-off countries?
Vlad: No, no one thought that some random survivors in those places would build something great. Now, let's go into a restaurant and see how we'll really be able to understand all this, because I'm hungry.
Elma: *nods with a faint, appreciative smile* No one could've imagined it. Sometimes the world changes in ways nobody expects. But right now, food sounds good. Lead the way.

*Elma and Vlad enter a compact, utilitarian restaurant. Inside, the lighting is dim, with damaged tables and a chalkboard menu is propped near the counter, divided into three columns: English, Czech, Polish. The print is shaky, diacritics cluttering the Slavic sections, supplies marked with lines and handwritten notes*

Elma: *leans close, squinting at the menu, lips stumbling over the accents and strange marks* Česnečka... żur... Wait, is that even pronounced the way it looks? Which is the soup and which one's just bread?
Vlad: *traces a finger along the English options, then tries the middle column, confusion on his face* "Bigosz... czes... no, that's not 'cheese', is it? And I think this says 'potato pancakes'?
Elma: *quietly, joking* I haven't needed this many language skills since school. Why do the soups here have so many strange letters, anyway? Is 'żurek' the one with sausage or just more cabbage?
Server: *walks over, seeing their hesitancy* Widzę, że pierwszy raz? Pomóc coś wybrać? (First time here? Need help choosing?) You want soup, bread, bigos? Żurek today, also potato. Meat, not much, only little sausage left.
Vlad: I think... I want whatever is warm and filling. Which, uh, żurek, that's the soup, right?
Elma: *smiles at the server, a little unsure* Can I have... the bread, and the soup, please? Maybe with the sausage if there's any left. Whatever is easiest to say, honestly.
Server: *with a warm, understanding laugh, gesturing positively* Tak, żurek i chleb, jeszcze jeden? (Yes, żurek and bread, one more?) *gestures for confirmation, then scribbles down their order, moving off behind the counter*
Vlad: *looking back at Elma as they find a table and sit* You know, I never got to understand Polish and its diacritics, the only diacritics I know are ă, â, î, ș and ț. They are simple.
Elma: *glancing at the chalkboard menu again with a wry smile* Same here. These squiggly lines and strokes everywhere are confusing. I miss when I could just tell what a word would sound like.
Vlad: Let's hope that those marks don't become a problem when we need to get our food, but at least this part of town is cool, even with all the towers being built, because of the language.
Elma: *chuckles softly, glancing around at the steady noise of unfamiliar languages* Yeah, it's confusing, but... kind of nice too. Makes it feel like there's more of the world left, right here between the tall buildings and patched windows.

---- LATER, AFTER A FEW MONTHS, IN OSIEDLE BUKARESZT ----

Vlad: *speaking in Romanian, leading Elma, Julia and Viktor* Welcome to Bucharest or the Bucharest Residential Complex. This is the entrance on the former Prelungire Ghencea. (Welcome to Bucharest or the Bucharest Residential Complex. This is the entrance on the former Ghencea Extension)
Elma: *looks around slowly, eyes narrowing at the tall gray blocks on the side, her voice low and careful* So this is it... Osiedle Bukareszt. It feels different somehow.
Viktor: *leans slightly forward, looking at the blocky letters on a cracked billboard* We can tell the letters apart. No strange symbols everywhere, just a few marks. *points at a word with diacritics* Like that one, the little tail on the "ț", right? That's how you showed us, sharp sound, not soft?
Elma: *nods faintly, remembering* Vlad said it's like "ts". Flat, predictable. Romanian's supposed to sound the way it looks... *pauses, her voice dropping as her eyes sweep over the empty entrance* Strange that there are no guards out here. Doesn't that mean... either nobody cares who comes in, or it's worse than we think?
Julia: *frowning, her arms folded as she watches the path leading deeper into the concrete sprawl* Every other settlement we've seen had someone... even just one pair of eyes waiting at the entrance.
Viktor: *runs a hand over his jaw, muttering* Maybe it's normal for them. A place this big doesn't need guards at every corner. Or maybe they just don't expect anyone to walk in from outside anymore.
Elma: *steps closer to a weathered sign, tracing one of the Romanian words with her finger* "Rezidențial". That mark below the "ț" changes everything. Without Vlad teaching us, I'd never guess how to say it right.
Julia: *quietly, almost uneasy* Reading the signs is one thing, but what about the people? If someone comes up to us speaking fast... we'll be lost in seconds.
Viktor: *grunts, his tone is wary* If nobody's watching us yet, we'd better decide quickly whether we step in or turn back while we still can.
Vlad: So first, remember what I have told you while we were travelling on the Atlantic. You always follow my lead, I am a native Romanian speaker, one of the few remaining ones. This place is not abandoned and it's not hostile, this place is actually mostly empty as only a few thousands actually live here.
Elma: *nods firmly, keeping her eyes on the faded rows of concrete blocks as her voice lowers* I remember. We follow your lead, always. If you say this place lives, even with only a few thousand here... then I trust you.
Julia: *steps a little closer, her gaze steady as she watches the avenue stretching into Osiedle Bukareszt* Good. No questions or hesitation. We stick to your words and gestures.
Viktor: *adjusts the strap of his pack, his voice calm but resolute* If the people aren't hostile but just scarce, we move like this city is alive.
Vlad: *they walk forward and cross an intersection onto Bulevardul Ghencea, then walk a long distance until the first building appears in their view* This is the Ghencea Avenue, and as the sign reads on the building to your left, this is Bloc A2, one of first that have been built by the Poles, you can realize their date by their designations. A2 means it's second.
Elma: *tilts her head back, studying the tall slab with its weathered facade and faintly painted letters "A2"* So... Bloc A2. Built by the Poles? You can actually track time here by the block codes?
Julia: *runs her fingers along the cracked concrete as they pass, pausing at the bold letters* It seems so and it's simple... almost too simple. They look organized, dated, marked, different from the scattered buildings we saw in Sidliste.
Viktor: *looks at the block carefully, the stark symmetry, the narrow windows* You can tell it's older. Nothing like the newer towers back in Seattle. *pauses a bit, then nods toward Vlad* If this is "second", then the rest stretch out even deeper down Ghencea, right?
Vlad: Right, the Poles build many large housing estates along this particular road. The land here was empty before or complete rubble after it has been destroyed by the pandemic. Here you will find Complex A, B, C and D.
Elma: *keeps her eyes ahead, her voice low but thoughtful as she follows the group along the deserted stretch of Ghencea* They laid down entire complexes... A, B, C, D. Makes sense, if the land was nothing but ruins and rubble then.
Julia: *lets her gaze drift toward the repeating concrete shapes looming in the haze* All planned, all in order. A through D. It feels... engineered more than grown. Not like a city that evolved, but one stamped down at once.
Viktor: *adjusts his pack and nods grimly* Large housing estates, blocks in rows. Must have been tens of thousands of spaces waiting here.
Vlad: Yes, Ostrava and Krakow wanted to save Bucharest from destruction and make it large again by building all those estates at once. Heard that when we tapped into the Bratislava radio on the other side of the world by listening to faint signals, remember when we all cuddled up to the radio?
Elma: *eyes soften as the memory surfaces, her voice low and steady* I remember... the crackle of the static, the faint hum of the words. We all pressed close around it, as if leaning in would make those voices stronger.
Julia: *smiles faintly, though her tone carries weight* And the voices spoke of rebuilding, of Krakow and Ostrava pouring what they could into Bucharest. A place thousands of kilometers away, but kept alive by foreign hands. *she glances at Vlad with quiet respect* I understand better now why you never stop talking about what was lost.
Vlad: *a makeshift tram passes near them, having a cardboard sign with the inscription "Se retrage în depoul Bujoreni; Stáhne se do depa Bujoreni; Wycofuje się do zajezdni Bujoreni"* Didn't expect a tram to pass through here, I though the track was abandoned. It said that it is being withdrawn to the Bujoreni depot.
Elma: *eyes widen slightly, following the rumble of the old tram as it clatters past, the cardboard sign swaying in the wind* A tram... here? *she glances at you with genuine surprise* I thought you would have told us these rails were nothing more than ruins.
Julia: *steps closer to peer at the sign, reading the three inscriptions carefully* Romanian, Czech, Polish... all saying the same thing. *she smirks lightly, shaking her head* Seems even here, they had to cobble together something multilingual just to make sense.
Viktor: *eyes trace the tram until it vanishes around the bend, his voice low and considering* If it's headed to Bujoreni, that means someone has kept the depot alive, at least partly. Proof nothing is ever entirely abandoned.
Vlad: I thought that the tram would only say Slubeni Jizda, like the new multilingual signs in the Collective, or wait, how was it?
Viktor: *squints after the tram, then chuckles softly* Not quite. It's "Služební jízda" in Czech or "Służbowy przejazd" in Polish. Both just mean "service run", like when it's not for passengers.
Julia: *arches a brow toward him* You picked that up quick. Guess talking with all the migrants taught you something.
Elma: *half-smiles, intrigued* So instead of writing "withdrawn" or "to depot" like here, in the Collective they just call it a "service ride"? Feels... more official somehow.
Viktor: *nods, a hint of pride in his voice* Yeah. The Collective signs keep it simple and uniform. But this one's pure improvisation, three languages scribbled on cardboard, winning over standardization.
Vlad: Standardization is actually very important, you can never go back to the first generation where it always has been about vengeance and killing each other.
Viktor: *sighs, rubbing the back of his neck* Yeah... you're right. Standards matter more than I realized. Without them, even the smallest thing turns into confusion.
Elma: *her expression hardens with a distant memory, her voice low but steady* I know that confusion too well. Back in the WLF, there were no real standards. Orders changed with the commanders, rules bent by whoever shouted loudest. One day you knew where you stood, the next you were expendable. Vengeance made the rules, not reason.
Julia: *nods slowly, her arms folding across her chest as her gaze drifts toward a darkened window* I lived that too, in my own way. No army behind me, just me and the sea. Hunting, trading, hiding. Every choice was random, never guided by the same measure from one day to the next.
Viktor: *glances between them, his tone more thoughtful now* Then maybe that's why the Collective clings so tightly to rules, even if they feel rigid. Standards keep you from sliding back to the first generation. Without them... we'd all just be killing each other again.
Vlad: There is a market further away at Treișpe Septembrie. Maybe we'll see people and more complexes there.
Elma: *looks up with faint surprise, tasting the words carefully* Treișpe Septembrie... September 13th. Strange name for a market, but at least it sounds like a place where people gather.
Julia: *adjusts her pack and nods thoughtfully* A market's always where you see what a settlement is really made of. What they sell, what they trade, who shows up.
Viktor: *eyes narrowing slightly, looking at the direction ahead* Just remember, where there's a market, there's also tension. People haggling, people desperate, some looking for fights. But maybe we'll hear things we can't pick up on the radios.
Elma: *sighs but straightens with quiet resolve* Then let's go. Crowds make me uneasy... but if there's a chance of finding food or supplies, it's worth it.

*After a long walk, they manage to reach the 13 Septembrie market. The air thickens with heat, smoke from improvised grills, and the chatter of hundreds of voices across the square. The market sprawls between half-finished prefab blocks, their rooftops crowded with tomato vines, bean trellises, and makeshift sacks filled with potatoes. Narrow walkways are filled with barter stands, vegetables stacked in crates, buckets of pickled cabbage, scavenged parts, and scraps of cloth*

Vendor 1: *yelling over the noise* Cartofi, cartofi ieftini! Luați cartofi, proaspeți din grădină! (Potatoes, cheap potatoes! Fresh from the garden!)
Passerby: Două ouă pentru un pumn de fasole, e corect? (Two eggs for a handful of beans, fair?)
Vlad: Just like Cluj, before everything burned. I didn't expect to hear it again here.

*Nearby, a younger man haggles loudly in rough Czech, his words sharp like they've been sharpened for trade*

Trader: Pět kilo brambor! Nechceš? Tak běž dál! (Five kilos of potatoes! Don't want it? Then move along!)
Viktor: *tilts his head, listening carefully with a faint smile* That's Czech. I picked up enough to know when someone's fighting over prices.

*On the edge of the street, a woman flips through jars of pickles, muttering in Polish to her daughter tugging at her hand*

Woman: Nie dotykaj tego, Aniu, to nie jest nasze! (Don't touch that, Ania, it isn't ours!)
Viktor: *with a quiet nod of recognition* And that's Polish. I can hear it in plain.

*Above them, rooftops bustle, people bent over with hoes and buckets*

Gardener: Dă-mi apă! Roșiile se usucă! (Give me water! The tomatoes are drying up!)
Shouter from another roof: Mai repede, plouă la noapte! (Faster, it'll rain tonight!)

*Julia takes in the loud, uneven mix of languages, her hand resting on Elma's shoulder as people push and shout around them*

Julia: *softly, almost in awe* So many voices, blending and breaking apart. It's chaos, but... it's life.
Elma: *swallows, watching a pair of children chase each other barefoot between stalls* It feels more like a good memory, even if it's rough and dirty.

*The crowd surges, voices overlapping: "Un măr pe pâine, cine vrea? (An apple for bread, who wants it?)"; "Chléb za rajče! (Bread for a tomato!)"; "Mięso! Mały kawałek mięsa! (Meat! Small piece of meat!)"*

Elma: *whispers, lost in the tumult* In all this noise, I almost feel... human again. Just another face in the market. Not hunted. Just alive.
Vlad: Yeah, it happens when you were used to endless quiet battlefields where only bloodshed happened.
Elma: *her eyes drift across the chaotic square, voices overlapping in waves, and she exhales with a bitter edge* Of course I was used to endless quiet battlefields where the only sound was gunfire, screams... then silence again. No chatter, no laughter, no bargaining.
Julia: *nods slowly, her gaze thoughtful as she watches a group of women arguing over the price of carrots* I know the quiet you mean. Out on my own, days passed without a single voice. It eats at you, makes every sound feel strange again when you finally hear it.
Elma: *softly, almost to herself, watching a boy chase his sister between stalls* Still... it feels surreal. My heart doesn't know whether to rest or prepare to fight.
Julia: *places a reassuring hand gently on Elma's arm* That's normal. The world taught us to expect quiet death, not noisy life.
Vlad: *they approach an old man standing besides the entrance of an apartment building and Vlad stands in front of the three* Bună ziua, există o unitate goală de pe aici prin zonă? (Hello, is there an empty unit around here?)
Old Man: *squints at Vlad, leaning heavily on his stick, his Romanian worn but steady* Da, există. În Blocul E, jumătate din apartamente sunt goale, nefolosite de ani. Blocul F... e complet liber, nimeni nu mai stă acolo. Dar Blocul H, să știți, e plin cu oameni deja. (Yes, there is. In E Block, half of the apartments are empty, unused for years. F Block... it is completely empty, no one lives there anymore. But H Block, you should know, is already full of people)
Elma: *leans slightly toward Julia, whispering, uncertain* He's pointing us to places... Do you think he means we can actually live in them?
Julia: *keeps her eyes on Vlad, voice low and steady to Elma and Viktor* I think so. If Vlad trusts him, then these might be real options.
Old Man: *grunts softly, glancing at the three behind Vlad with cautious curiosity, then back at him again* Dacă e nevoie, puteți alege între aceste blocuri. Blocul F ar fi mai liniștit, dar trebuie să-l curățați singuri. Blocul E are câțiva oameni încă, dar apartamentele goale pot fi ocupate cu ușurință. (If needed, you can choose between these blocks. F Block would be quieter, but you'll have to clean it yourselves. E Block still has a few people, but the empty units are waiting for you)
Elma: *studying the man's face, speaking softly toward Vlad* He doesn't seem hostile. Just tired... maybe even glad someone might use those spaces.  
Viktor: *nods, glancing at the cracked windows of E Block and the empty facade of F Block* Wherever Vlad says to go, that's where we'll stay.
Vlad: *starts walking again, leading the group to Block E* We will go to Bloc E.
Elma: *follows closely, looking at the cracked pavement and shuttered windows as they draw nearer to the facade* Bloc E... it feels weird byjust looking at it. If there are empty apartments inside, maybe it really could be a place to rest.
Julia: *keeps her pace calm beside Elma, eyes fixed on the dull concrete stairwell that rises ahead* Half empty, half lived-in. That means neighbors close enough to notice us, but not so crowded that it feels suffocating.
Viktor: *glances upward at the broken balconies, his voice level but cautious* It won't be clean. Dust, broken glass, maybe worse. But if it's shelter, we'll make it work. *he steadies his pack strap and looks toward Vlad, reaffirming quietly* We trust you. Wherever you choose, we'll settle there.
Old Man: *calling softly after them, his tone weary but sincere* Blocul E vă poate primi, dar aveți grijă, scările sunt rupte și unele uși n-au lacăt. Găsiți ce vi se potrivește și închideți bine. (Block E can take you in, but be careful, the stairways are broken and some doors have no lock. Find what suits you and secure it well)
Vlad: *shouts back to the old man* Bine, dar unde sunt mai exact camerele cu fereastră neagră, cele goale? Că am văzut că sunt la etajul 2. (Okay, but where exactly are the rooms with black windows, the empty ones? Because I saw that they are on the second floor)
Old Man: *shields his eyes, peering up at the gray building with practiced familiarity, then calls out in a firm, steady voice* Da, la etajul doi, partea spre piață, sunt patru camere goale, toate cu ferestre negre. Una are chiar două balcoane, dar fără geamuri. Restul sunt simple și fără mobilă. Dacă vedeți perdele sau ceva la fereastră, acolo stă deja cineva. (Yes, on the second floor, facing the market side, there are four empty rooms, all with black windows. One even has two balconies, but no glass. The rest are simple and unfurnished. If you see curtains or anything at the window, someone already lives there)
Elma: *quietly, turning to Julia and Viktor as they approach the entrance* Second floor, market side. Four rooms. That's more than enough for us.
Julia: *casts a hopeful glance up the stairwell, voice steady as she watches for signs of anyone inside* We'll take what's open, as long as it has a roof and a door we can block.
Viktor: *nods, glancing warily at the broken steps and damaged railings* Let's just hope the floors hold. And that nobody minds us setting up for a while.
Vlad: *after they walked up a few steps to the second floor, Vlad opens the door of an empty apartment after checking it and they step inside* Ia uitați! Un apartment așa cum a fost la mine acasă în Cluj! This apartment looks exactly like the former home I had back in Cluj.
Elma: *steps slowly through the doorway, her eyes looking at the shadowed corners and faded linoleum floors* It's warmer than I expected... not just the air, but... it really does feel like someone once cared for it.
Julia: *runs her hand along the inside wall, tracing the peeling paint, then smiles faintly at Elma and Viktor* The layout's the same as the new blocks in Sidliste, the same narrow hallway, the same little kitchen by the window.
Viktor: *drops his pack just inside the door, testing the floor with a cautious stomp* Still solid. Survived more than most places we've been. *walks over and pushes open a stiff window*

*From the open window, the air fills with the overlapping voices of peasants, rustic Romanian that echoes across the concrete facade*

Peasant Woman: *shouting upward* Mărie, ai văzut găina mea? Că iară s-o coborât jos și n-o mai găsesc! (Mary, have you seen my chicken? It's come down again and I can't find it!)
Peasant Man: *on the first floor, leaning out* E la mine-n curte! Ți-o dau când cobori, femeie! (It's in my yard! I'll give it back when you come down, woman!)
Another Man: *calling across the block* Nea Ionele, mai ai ceapă de vânzare? Să vii pe seară la poartă! (Old man Ion, got any onions left to sell? Come by the gate this evening!)
Children: *clustered on the ground, yelling up* Măi mamaie, aruncă-ne și nouă niște pâine! (Grandma, throw us down some bread!)
Rooftop Gardener: *projecting down* Dacă mai urcați la noapte fără să spuneți, nu vă las să luați roșiile mele! (If you come up tonight without asking, I won't let you have my tomatoes!)

*Vlad leans on the window ledge and turns to the others, speaking in English*

Vlad: It's so strange for you all, isn't it? In Cluj, we used to do this every day. We shouted from window to window, even from the roof down to the market. You'd hear news, trades, gossip and sometimes entire arguments carried through the air.
Elma: *listening in surprise, glancing at Julia and Viktor* I've never heard anything like this. Where I grew up, people barely spoke out loud between floors, let alone shouted from garden to street.
Julia: *smiles, intrigued, absorbing the energy pouring in from outside* In my seaside town, you might hear the odd shout from a boat or the shore, but never this.
Viktor: *shakes his head in wonder* Even the forts were never like this. It's... loud, but very lively.
Vlad: *lies on the bed on the other side of the room, attempting to rest* This is how home used to sound, at least for me, the tradition seems to have remained around here. I'll keep the window open, you can close it if you want to.

*The window is kept open and the rural sounds (chicken feet moving on the concrete, a dog barking and of a donkey tied to a railing at one of the block's entrances), and smells (the scent of tomato vines, chive plants, basil and dill) flood the apartment again*

Peasant Woman: *from below, shouting to a neighbor on the second floor* Iliuță, vezi că iar au intrat caprele mele la răsaduri! Pune-le afară, te rog, n-am unde să le duc! (Iliuță, my goats got into the seedlings again! Please put them out, I have nowhere else to take them!)
Young Man: *guiding animals across the courtyard* Hai, măi vacă, nu sta pe loc, trebuie să ajungem la adăpostul din colț! (Come on, cow, don't stand still, we've got to get to the shelter at the corner!)
Older Woman: *shouting from her balcony* Lăsați tăurașul acolo, să nu urce la etaj! Nu are ce căuta la flori! (Leave the bull calf down there, don't let it climb upstairs! It'll ruin my flowers!)
Teenager: *calling back* N-are unde să stea jos, le punem pe hol la noapte! (There's nowhere for them on the ground, we'll put them in the hall overnight!)

*Children squeal as they chase ducklings and a teen drags a sack of corn into a stairwell. The three continue watching in disbelief while Vlad is resting on the bed*

Elma: *in disbelief, watching through the window as a pig sways between grape vines and bean plants* I thought I'd seen everything after the pandemic, but this... it's like someone transplanted a village into a block. I only ever saw stuff like this in small towns out west, but never with real, living animals among apartments.
Julia: *wide-eyed as she sees chickens nesting in makeshift boxes on balconies and a horse tethered near a tomato bush* Did they really bring farm life into the city? It's so dense, but somehow... green. I never saw this back in Seattle. It feels impossible.
Viktor: *shakes his head, staring at all the plants tucked into old tires and plastic buckets* There's corn, beans, grapevines, everything. How do they fit it all here? It's more like a collective farm than a city.
Julia: *almost laughing, disbelief in her tone* If I closed my eyes, I'd swear we'd landed in the countryside. But this is Bukareszt. How did they really make it work?
Vlad: I don't know how, but somehow these blocks were designed to be large enough for animals and plants to be grown here, or they have been improvised...

*Suddenly, a thunder breaks, and within moments, heavy rain starts falling on the streets. Instantly, the distinct shouts of urgency and laughter echo up from the courtyard as the peasants hustle to get their animals under cover*

Peasant Woman: *from the stairwell, rushing* Haideți repede cu caprele, vine ploaia! Nu lăsați găinile afară! (Quick, get the goats inside, the rain's here! Don't leave the chickens outside!)
Teenager: *yelling down from a balcony* Deschide ușa la parter, aduc iepurii! (Open the ground floor door, I'm bringing the rabbits in!)
Older Man: *shouting from a hallway below* Ține ușa, vin cu vițelul! Să nu alunece pe scări! (Hold the door, I'm coming with the calf! Don't let him slip on the stairs!)

*Animals are herded into the ground-floor storage rooms, lobbies, and even stairwells. The scent of wet fur, earth, and trampled greenery quickly fills the corridors. A little girl giggles as she tries to coax a stubborn duck inside, while an older woman calls for help dragging a dripping sack of potatoes in from the yard*

Viktor: It's chaos, but... organized chaos. They all seem to know where their animals go, like every building's got its own little stable.
Julia: *hearing a piglet from below walk toward a side room before the custodians herd it in* This is... wild. Here, the building itself is part-barn, part-home.
Vlad: *lifts up from the bed, opening their apartment door and pointing to the animals* This building doesn't have good insulation, and look... all the animals are everywhere, even on second floor, do you see them?
Elma: *steps into the hallway, staring in shock as goats move past the other apartment doors and a duck goes towards a stairwell* Are those really goats... going upstairs? And someone just carried a sack of feed right past our door. I've never seen animals like this in the city.
Viktor: *eyes wide as he watches a small herd of sheep being hurried up the stairs by a middle-aged man with a rain jacket* On the second floor... That's unbelievable. Usually livestock stayed out in sheds, I've never seen anyone take them this far up.
Vlad: I think we should go back and rest for the next day, it's already getting dark. We'll cuddle up, because there is only one bed for us.
Julia: *nods and gently gathers everyone, softly guiding Elma and Viktor away from the stairwell* Yeah, let’s get inside. The animals and people will manage on their own, it's been a long day.

*She closes the apartment door firmly behind them, muffling the sounds of bleating, clucking, and chatter in the corridor. The glow from a single lamp casts soft shadows across the cramped, well-worn room. Julia quickly checks the latches, then lets out a sigh of quiet relief*

Julia: Let’s try to get some real sleep this time, not that half-nap we sometimes manage. It’s warmer if we stick together anyway.

*Viktor gives a tired smile and settles at one edge of the bed, already relaxing, as Julia snuggles in beside him. Elma, still quiet from all the wonders and strangeness, moves in next, nestling instinctively between them for comfort and warmth. Vlad moves in last at the other edge of the bed*

Elma: *eyes closing, a gentle whisper as she rests her head on Julia’s shoulder* Goodnight. It feels... safe here.
Viktor: *barely audible, already drifting off* It’s better like this.

*In no time, all four are still, their breathing slowing. The distant thunder continues to rumble outside while everyone drifts into sleep together*