The night was still alive with the sounds of far off gunfire and nocturnal insects, the usual fare with ongoing turf wars outside of London's protective blast walls. Creed was only supposed to be gone on a three-day excursion, but three had become four, and four had become five. It wasn't unusual, and people back home didn't start to worry until after day seven- not that they would be sending help regardless. Southwark's trading hub needed its militia, and they weren't going to spare a man to come find a guy who knew better than to leave the familiarity of the encased portion of London.

Peeling off his gas mask, he caught his breath after a long stretch of hiking through rubble to get back to one of the wall's gates. He had a pack full of trinkets and rare finds weighing him down. His feet ached, despite him taking time to rest as needed during his excursion. The thought of falling into his mattress at home was enough to give him one last boost of energy as the gate's metal maw creaked open to invite him back into London.