Moonberry
Bitter and Sweet, do not eat.
The first thing Evie noticed was the wind.
It slipped through tall, emerald-green grass that whispered against her bare legs like velvet blades. The air smelled clean—too clean—like the inside of a greenhouse before a storm. It tugged at her dark braid and rustled the blue denim ball cap perched on her head, the brim slightly bent and sweat-stained from years of wear.
She sat up slowly, grimacing as her palm pressed into damp earth. Her jacket—a cropped bolero of faded military canvas—fluttered in the breeze, revealing a black tank top beneath and toned arms dusted with faint scars. Her legs were bare save for a pair of cut-off denim shorts, their edges frayed from wear. Her boots were scuffed, well-worn, and stained with red clay. And her bat—a beat-up Louisville Slugger wrapped in old grip tape—rested beside her like a trusted old friend.
Beside her stood Roscoe.
A massive, wolf-leaning shepherd hybrid with a heavy coat of black and ash-grey fur, he moved like a soldier trained by fire—shoulders squared, ears alert, every step purposeful. One eye was amber, the other pale and icy. Both were fixed on the world with quiet intent.
They had been walking.
Cracked pavement. Faint stars overhead. A night stroll. The bat swung lazily at her side. Roscoe had kept pace. Then a figure. Light. A voice—
Now this.
A translucent blue screen hovered before her eyes, flickering gently like a floating HUD.
Evie narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. That’s not normal.”
She waved a hand through it. The screen didn’t budge.
Roscoe growled—low and uncertain. He moved ahead, ears twitching.
“What is it, boy?” she murmured, standing and brushing grass from her knees.
Then the sound came.
A distant, shrieking whine—metallic and wrong.
She looked up.
A drop ship—massive and burning—cut across the sky like a comet, black smoke trailing behind it. The engine sputtered fire, shedding hull panels like falling stars. It veered, dipped, and hurtled toward the far edge of the field.
Then it crashed.
A thunderous impact split the air, followed by a bloom of flame and dirt that burst into the sky. The ground shook beneath her feet. Wind roared. Grass flattened. Evie was thrown backward, the breath ripped from her lungs.
She hit the earth hard, gasping.
“Roscoe—!”
But Roscoe was already gone, sprinting toward the rising smoke.
“Wait! Damn it—”
She hauled herself up, snatched her bat, and ran.
The slope was slick beneath her boots as she sprinted downhill. The air thickened with smoke and burning ozone. The crash had gouged a canyon into the land, debris flung far and wide like scattered bones. Fires burned low. Metal hissed.
She reached the edge of a charred copse of trees, branches cracked and dripping sap like blood.
Roscoe stood at the edge of the wreckage, still as stone, staring at a half-buried mound of debris.
She jogged up, chest heaving.
He barked once. Firm. Sharp. Then pointed—his whole body angling toward something pinned beneath the twisted skeleton of the ship.
Evie took a step—
“Do not approach.”
She froze.
“If you intend harm to the pilot, I am authorized to defend him with lethal force.”
The voice was calm. Cold. Feminine.
She scanned the wreckage until her eyes found it: a ruined titan-class mech, slumped against a blackened tree trunk. Its armor was torn, visor cracked, one arm sheared off completely. A faint glow blinked behind the visor.
Evie raised her hands. “Hey, easy. I’m not here to fight. I’m a medic. I just want to help.” There was a slight pause from the construct, before it spoke again.
“Noted. Proceed with caution. ”
Evie let out a breath and crept forward, kneeling at the wreckage. That’s when she saw him—a man, black-haired and barely breathing, slumped beneath a warped strut. His clothes were scorched, and his body was bent at an unnatural angle.
“Oh hell,” she whispered.
She wedged her bat under the debris and pushed.
It didn’t move.
She braced, adjusted, and shoved harder.
“Be careful!”
“Hurry. His vitals are fluctuating.”
“Thanks, Siri. Super helpful,” she snapped, sweat dripping down her jaw.
Roscoe lunged forward again, sinking his teeth into a length of twisted plating and pulling with all his strength. Together, they shifted the slab just enough.
Evie reached beneath the man’s shoulders and dragged him free, muscles screaming. When he was clear, she collapsed beside him, one knee pressing to the earth.
She ran her fingers to his throat. Listened for breath. Checked ribs. Her voice was low and methodical.
“Pulse is shallow. Breathing’s weak. No obvious fractures. Concussion likely. Could be internal trauma.”
Roscoe stood beside them, silent now.
Evie looked back at the mech.
“I got him out. You can power down or whatever.”
No response.
The mech’s lens flickered. Smoke curled through the broken hull. And for a moment, all that remained was wind—and the stranger’s breath, shallow and fragile in her hands.
RP Goal: Establish a camp/standing within the area.
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