Day 63: A Knight in the Wasteland
The early morning light filtered through the crumbling ruins, casting long shadows across the desolate city streets. Vince moved through the broken landscape with his crew, his mind preoccupied with the orders he'd been given. Cass and Luke's group at the warehouse needed to fall in line, or they'd be dealt with. It wasn't a complicated mission, but Vince wasn't one for reckless action. He'd hit them hard if needed, but he was always looking for an edge—something that might let him turn the situation to his advantage.
The five reinforcements promised by the higher-ups were still hours away, leaving Vince with Logan, Tyler, and a couple of his other men. He wasn't too worried, though. They were experienced enough to handle a situation like this.
As they approached the industrial district, Logan, always the cautious one, signaled for the group to stop.
"Someone's ahead," Logan whispered, crouching low as his eyes scanned the broken street.
Vince squinted, focusing on the figure walking calmly toward them. The man was alone, dressed in a worn coat that swayed with his steady pace. But what caught Vince's attention was the helmet—a rusted, medieval knight's helmet—gleaming dully in the morning light.
"What kind of idiot wears a bucket like that?" Tyler muttered, flexing his hands. "We should take it off him along with whatever else he's carrying."
Vince's instincts told him this wasn't just some random scavenger. Anyone walking the streets alone these days either had a death wish or could handle themselves. The helmeted man didn't look like he was in a hurry to avoid them, and that set Vince on edge.
"We'll take what he's got," Vince said quietly. "But don't rush in. This guy looks like trouble."
They moved forward slowly, weapons at the ready but not yet drawn. The man stopped walking as they approached, turning to face them. His body language was relaxed, but something about the way he stood, almost as if he were waiting for them, made Vince pause. There was no fear in his posture, no nervousness. He was alone, but he didn't look like someone expecting a fight.
Vince stopped a few feet away, his hand resting on his rifle. "Nice helmet," he said casually. "You out here scavenging? Maybe we could work something out."
The helmeted man didn't respond immediately. He stood silently, and Vince could see nothing of his face behind the visor. After a moment, the man's hand moved to the hilt of a knife at his side, but he didn't draw it. His stance was calm, but his intentions were clear.
"You're making a mistake," the man said quietly, his voice muffled behind the steel.
Tyler, always eager for a confrontation, stepped forward, his large frame bristling with aggression. "What's that supposed to mean? You think you can take all of us?"
The man turned his head slightly, the visor giving nothing away. "I'm not here to fight, but I will if you make me. Walk away."
Vince raised an eyebrow, more curious than intimidated. "You're outnumbered, pal. Whatever you've got, we're taking it. Or we'll just take you apart."
There was a beat of silence. Then, without warning, the helmeted man moved.
He wasn't impossibly fast, but he was quick—quicker than Vince had expected. The knife flashed in his hand as he lunged at Tyler, slashing across his forearm before Tyler could raise his fists to defend himself. Tyler staggered back with a roar of pain, clutching his bleeding arm.
"Shoot him!" Vince barked, pulling his own rifle around, but the man was already in motion again.
Logan drew his pistol, aiming at the knight, but the man rushed him before he could fire. He ducked low, tackling Logan to the ground and slamming the hilt of his knife into Logan's face, dazing him. Logan's pistol clattered across the pavement, out of reach.
Vince lined up a shot, his heart pounding. He had a clear shot now. But the knight, still aware of his surroundings, darted to the side, using the wreckage of a fallen building to shield himself from Vince's aim. The man wasn't dodging bullets—he was using the environment, making sure Vince couldn't get a clean shot.
Vince fired once, the bullet ricocheting off the rubble where the knight had just been standing. He cursed under his breath. This guy wasn't invincible, but he was playing it smart.
The knight came out from behind the cover, circling Vince and his men, moving carefully now. He wasn't making any unnecessary moves, and he wasn't trying to dodge bullets like some action hero. He knew exactly what he was doing—staying out of Vince's line of fire, closing the distance only when he had the advantage.
Tyler, bleeding and furious, charged again, but the knight sidestepped easily, driving his knife into Tyler's side and knocking him to the ground. Tyler groaned in pain, rolling over and clutching his wound.
Vince gritted his teeth, keeping his rifle trained on the knight. His finger hovered over the trigger. If he could just get a clean shot...
"You're done," Vince growled, trying to steady his aim.
The knight stopped moving, standing a few feet away. He was breathing heavily now, but his posture remained composed. "You're not fast enough," he said quietly, watching Vince closely. "You shoot me, and maybe you'll get lucky. Or maybe you'll miss, and I'll be on you before you can fire again."
Vince felt the tension like a weight in the air. The man was right—if he missed, the knight would be on him in seconds. But if Vince didn't act now, his crew was finished.
Logan groaned from the ground, trying to stand up, and Tyler was still down, his breathing ragged. The rest of Vince's men were frozen, unsure whether to draw their weapons or keep their distance.
"I don't want to kill anyone else," the knight said, his voice calm but firm. "Walk away. Now."
Vince clenched his jaw. He knew he was out of options. The man wasn't invincible, but he wasn't stupid, either. He hadn't tried to dodge bullets or fight them all at once. He had picked them apart, one by one, knowing his limitations and playing to his strengths. Vince had underestimated him, and now he was paying for it.
"Fall back," Vince growled, lowering his rifle. "We're done here."
The knight didn't move, watching them carefully as Vince motioned for his men to retreat. Logan staggered to his feet, wincing in pain, and Tyler, still clutching his bleeding side, managed to stand with the help of one of the others.
As they limped away, Vince's mind raced. This hadn't gone the way he'd expected, but it wasn't over. The man in the helmet was dangerous, and Vince needed to know more about him—why he was out here alone, why he fought like someone who had seen war. If he was connected to the group at the warehouse, Vince had a bigger problem than he thought.
Vince shot one last glance over his shoulder as they retreated. The helmeted man stood still, watching them leave, his posture relaxed again as if the fight had never happened.
"Who the hell was that?" Logan muttered, spitting blood onto the pavement.
Vince didn't respond immediately, his mind too busy calculating. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. He'd be back—better prepared, with more men, and this time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes.
"We'll find out soon enough," Vince muttered. "And when we do, we'll deal with him."
As they disappeared into the ruins, the knight stood alone in the desolate street, unmoving, a silent figure against the broken city.