Tessa Williams hated abandoned buildings. They didn’t make her sad, and she hardly found them eerie; it was difficult for a woman who didn’t believe in God, especially one encased in an expensive, Kevlar-coated, vacuum-rated combat helmet, to be afraid of ghosts. No, Tessa Williams hated abandoned buildings because they were too quiet. It had been so easy in the City, in the endless hustle and roar of the lower markets, resplendent under the Wall’s shadow. Under all the arguments, the haggling, the call of wares, Tessa, a scrap of a girl then, had stolen hundreds of things, easy as breathing. It had been so loud, so full of distractions. Not so here. Mars had been dead a long time, and dead things were quiet things. She’d made a rookie mistake. Hadn’t kept her feet, and kicked an old, rusted can across the derelict transit station. A loud can. Now there were two Cabal scouts in the staging area around the corner, and they were getting closer. “It would seem your demise is imminent,” her Ghost reported through her helmet’s comms. “It would seem you shutting the hell up is imminent,” Tess hissed. The thing was malfunctioning, Tess was pretty sure, ignoring its etiquette protocols. It was usually snarky, yeah, but not morbid. Glitchy chunk of metal was right, though. It was hard to be quiet in quiet places. She would never get past the fat reptiles, stupid as they were, and she had always been better at sneaking than shooting. Tess sighed. There was nothing for it. She laid her rifle over her padded knees, checked the magazine, checked the action. Smooth as butter. She rose to the balls of her feet, eased the barrel over the hood of the gutted car. She peered through the scope and prayed.