A young woman stalked the ruins of the Boneyard, green mohawk vibrant against her smudged face. She was dressed in worn leather, well-used knives glinting at her belt. This was Katja, scavenger and scrapper, always ready with her fists.

Katja spotted a stranger coming in, approaching. “You’re not from around here,” she said, sidling up to the interloper. “Who’re you?”