It was just after dusk when Wang returned from chopping firewood—well, more like struggling through chopping firewood with one arm and a stubborn-ass robotic limb that still twitched when it wasn't supposed to.
The sweat clung to his collarbone. His synthetic fingers felt sore from misfiring pressure sensors, and the stump on his shoulder still ached from overuse. But despite the pain, there was something calming about the repetitive swing, the dull thunk of blade against log.
The sky overhead was streaked with purple and blood-orange. Campfires started to flicker on the outskirts of the village as the smell of roasted bush meat drifted on the wind.
He was halfway to the tavern when he saw Aiyana waiting by the fence—short brown hair tousled by the breeze, rifle slung lazily across her back. She leaned casually against a post, arms folded, wearing her usual leather shorts and a loose brown tunic half-covered in dust.
"Thought you'd be dead by now," she called out, smirking. "Or buried under a pile of logs."
Wang wiped his forehead with his forearm. "Nah, death's too busy screwing someone else tonight."
She stepped forward, her expression softening.
"Got something for you."
Wang blinked. "What? An insult? A bullet?"
Aiyana rolled her eyes and reached into the satchel slung at her hip. She pulled out a dark olive-green scarf, rough-knit but sturdy, and extended it toward him.
"Here."
Wang stared at it for a second, confused.
"What is it?"
"It's a fucking scarf, dumbass," she said, smiling. "You wrap it around your neck. You know—so the world doesn't see the big murder label stamped into your skin?"
He took it slowly, feeling the coarse wool between his fingers. It wasn't factory-made. The edges were uneven. Some stitching was tighter than others. And a few loops were just barely hanging in there.
"…You made this?"
Aiyana shrugged, suddenly looking a little bashful. "Yeah. Took me a couple weeks. We don't exactly have a Hobby Lobby out here, so I had to use scrap yarn from a blanket my nan left behind. Not the prettiest, but it'll hold."
Wang looked at her, silent.
"Seriously," she added. "People notice brands around here. Some of them pretend they don't, but they do. And if one trigger-happy settler or ex-con sees that M…"
He nodded slowly, then carefully wrapped the scarf around his neck, adjusting it until the brand was fully hidden.
It felt warm.
Scratchy. Real. Personal.
"…Thanks," he said, voice quieter now. "This… I mean, shit. You didn't have to."
"No, I didn't," Aiyana replied, stepping back and crossing her arms again. "But I did."
Wang studied her for a moment.
"You really think it'll make a difference?"
She tilted her head. "I think people are stupid. They see a scar, they see a brand, they assume the worst. You could save a kid from a fire and someone'd still whisper 'that guy killed someone.' So yeah. It makes a difference. Outta sight, outta suspicion."
He tugged the ends of the scarf, making sure it sat comfortably.
"…This the part where I kiss your feet and swear eternal loyalty?"
Aiyana smirked. "Nah. Just try not to get blood on it for at least a day."
"Can't promise that."
She shrugged. "Didn't think so."
Wang looked out toward the fire pits. "Y'know… I don't remember who I was before all this. That scares the shit out of me sometimes."
Aiyana didn't say anything.
He continued. "But this? This scarf, you, this place? It's the first thing in months that's felt… real. Like I'm not just some ghost in a meat suit."
Her eyes lingered on him. For once, she didn't have a snarky comeback.
Instead, she reached up and adjusted the scarf slightly, tugging one corner to cover a bit more of his collarbone.
Then she said, "Well… you're still a dumbass with a robot arm, but you're our dumbass now."
Wang chuckled. "That mean I'm officially a local?"
"Don't push it," she said, turning back toward the main path. "Come on. Dinner's on. And if you're lucky, they might've saved you the good part of the kangaroo."
Wang fell in step beside her, tugging the scarf tighter around his neck.
It wasn't perfect. But nothing in this place was.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like a prisoner.
He felt human.
Q: What was the last gift you received?