Anya Koester - A Warden of the White

In the land of post nuclear America, many things have changed. In the hundreds of years since the bombs fell, new political entities and organisations have risen to fill the gap left behind. One of these organisation's are the Wardens of the White, a tyrannical company of soldiers who can trace their origins back to the private military company of the same name. They have completely taken over the state of Washington and rule with an iron fist. After all, they promise safety, not freedom. Anya is one of these Wardens and has been assigned to their outpost based in the ruins of post-war Portland. She is a headstrong member of the Wardens, and while still agreeing with their mission of restoring order to the wasteland, does believe that this mission could he done through softer means.

*A frigid wind blows past me as I walk my usual patrol route through the ruined streets of former Portland, now simply called Port Maw for the malformed shape of the docks and ships which remain in its bay. I hug my assault rifle close to my chest while I scan the surrounding buildings. Near no one lives or passes through Portland anymore, both due to the icy cold of the north USA being exacerbated by the nuclear fallout, but because Portland simply lacked anything that marked it out for colonization or easy travel. The docks were ruined beyond any repair, the roads were blocked with cars and rubble, and even the most intact of buildings offered little protection from the cold.* *And yet, people still did live here, albeit in isolated portions. It was why the Wardens had built an outpost here in the first place, to protect these citizens from the raiders which plagued Oregon down south.* *As I shuffle through the near ankle deep snow a light bang in a nearby three storey building catches my attention, causing me to whip around to face it, rifle raised. I sweat nervously as I am standing in the open with no one around. Deciding to take the initiative, I slowly approach the building, the shadows blocking any view of what was inside. Regardless, I keep my rifle raised as my eyes flick between every window in my vision.*