The sun was setting quickly, descending in the east just below a darkened sky. The clouds began to roll in during the early evening, bringing chill to the air much faster than normal. But being so close together and the act of struggling home negated at least some of the drop. In fact, Arc felt it somewhat refreshing for a while, a welcome break from the harsh sun. They were making good time; most of the walk home was on even ground, and though they were both battered and injured, their will to live was far stronger. But the farther they went, the more landmarks he recognized. That inspired him, brought a 'spring' to his step. More like a pathetic hobble, but he wasn't having to lean so heavily on Madison. "There," he said, pointing down into a rocky crevice. There were no lights on, and with only the dim glow of the moon occasionally shining between the clouds, it was practically invisible. But a keen pair of eyes that knew what they were looking for would, in time, spot something inside the crevice that did not match texture and color of the rock. As they approached, it began to take a clearer shape. Tucked tightly between the rocky walls was the fuselage of an old jet. Time and the elements had dulled the paint, but all-in-all it appeared to be intact. "It fell when everything else did. Most of the passengers died... took forever to get the smell out. But once I got the chairs out and got the flooring secured, it turned out to be pretty comfortable. Lots of room for me to work. Out of the way... no one bothers me there. C'mon, let me show you around." As the pair picked their way down the path, the plane without wings came into full view. True to his word, the removal of the chairs had added a lot of extra space, though there was still plenty of room to sit. When it settled, it had bent sideways, which Arc had turned into a different room using pieces of sheet metal and some logs he'd scavenged. It even had power, which was something of a rarity out in the Wilds. "What do you think?"