Trim sat in the corner of the hollowed-out terminal, a light frost clinging to his leather jacket. This old subway station was one of the few places that still kept some functioning shreds of the old technology. The lights, in the moments when they were awake, revealed the shells of the subway cars, the ticket booths, even a shredded briefcase. Then the lights would blink out, leaving Trim with nothing but the memory of what they had shown him, and with his own purpose here.

He wasn't the only one who knew of these old haunts. There were others who had learned to scavenge and repair what leftovers remained from the time before. One of those other scavengers was making his way to this particular place. Trim made sure he was here first.

The lights flickered on again. It didn't take him long to adjust to the change. He was used to it. It was the sound of light footsteps further down the terminal that he wasn't used to in this place.

It was about time the guy showed up. Trim stood up from his place in the distant, hidden corner, shaking some of the frost out of his joints. He pulled out his gun, one of his scavenged treasures. Time to teach that guy he couldn't take what didn't belong to him.

The footsteps came closer, pausing occasionally as the owner examined the wreckage. Trim didn't dare look beyond his cover, waiting until the footsteps came near enough. Then he ducked out, pulling his gun level for the shot in one fluid motion. And he didn't pull the trigger.

He was standing face to face with a woman.