A/N: Hey guys, here is the next two chapters of the rewrite. So um yeah, some chapters will come out in the next few weeks or months depending if me and my beta aren't gonna play pubg or minecraft.

Reacting to the comments:

venusinthe10th: this story is ass! terrible! pure fucking shit mate

WTF... you're my beta you ass.

Andjrew76: I love where this is going. Keep up the great work.

Boundsoul34: this is pretty good story. keep it up.

Thank you guys, we appreciate the support.

So yeah, enough of this shit, enjoy ze story.

CHAPTER SIX: HEL CHOOSES YOU

ALEK'S POV

Basically, we're screwed. We've pissed Gobber off and now he's ordered us to clean up the place. Sam, Trevor and Eret are still out cold after being given a beating from a man who was twice less their size. Trevor passing out wasn't so shocking since he holds a similar body to the man. But Sam and Eret? It was hard to believe since those guys were practically made out of muscles.

Even though hours has already passed, the mercenary's eyes still burned in my memory, presenting itself crystal clear. There's just something about them that reminded me of someone, I just can't seem to put my finger on as to who.

While Heather's left behind to clean up whatever mess we still haven't covered, most of us spent the time dragging the injured guys to Mrs. Haddock.

Along our way, we encountered the last person I wanted to see. The mercenary walked alongside us, watching us struggle to pull the helpless bodies towards the clinic. Upon seeing this, he noticeably suppresses a chuckle, covering it up with a smirk as he sends a goofy grin our way.

"I see you guys need help with the three musketeers," Drake comments playfully, placing his hands behind his back as he stared straight into my eyes. I gritted my teeth in annoyance at how much of a snarky bastard he is. I wanted to decline his offer, but before I could even get the words out of my throat he was already helping Frank by taking Sam from him. What's even more shocking is that he carried him effortlessly with a calm expression, as if Sam was as light as a feather.

"So, where are we taking them?" he asks, stopping right in front of us. The glare I held faltered when Cami answered. She moved forward to help me carry Trevor.

"To the clinic. Follow me," Cami orders, leading the way as she gently drags Trevor's limp body. The mercenary just nods and follows suit.

As we walked, I felt Cami shift closer to me and whisper something, "Hey, Alek. Don't you think he's, well, you know...hot."

This made me snap my head at her real quick to the point where I felt my neck crack at just such a simple gesture. The neutral look on my face was now replaced with a questioning one as I process what I've just heard slip from her mouth.

"Whoa, Alek," she quickly follows up, "what I meant was-" she pauses and inhales before speaking again. This time she was much closer, "I can tell that he's our age and, look, he seems like a nice guy."

After hearing this, I instinctively stared at Drake who was walking just behind us. Truth be told, I actually do find him attractive. Auburn hair, green eyes that just effortlessly pierces through you, and even if he were thin chances are beneath the clothing he's wearing right now he could have a lean body which is what I'm secretly looking for in a man.

I shook my head, finding myself unbelievable to have these type of thoughts race in my mind, especially at a time like this. I'm not just gonna let looks sway me. Despite the quite attractive physical qualities he presents, he's still a sarcastic buffon and I still have this gut feeling that he's untrustworthy.

After several minutes of mindless walking, we finally arrived at our destination. Drake opened the door of the clinic for us and slowly dropped Sam onto the floor, helping him sit and lean onto the wall for support.

Val enters the room, a warm, pleased smile stretching over her lips upon seeing us.

"Alek, Cami, Frank! What brings you here?" she happily asks, placing two syringes down on the table as she eyes all three of us. When Trevor, Sam, and Eret landed into her line of sight, we didn't even bother answering. She just rolled her eyes and laughed, telling us to come and place them on the beds.

Before we could even leave the room, she silently beckoned for us to stay. Just above a whisper, she asks, "Say, who was that man? I've never seen him before. Is he a new guard?"

"Um, no. He's a mercenary Johann hired. I heard that the Outcasts are starting to target trade routes along Berk so he hired him since, apparently, he's a well known man in the business. At least, that's what I heard from awhile ago while I was eavesdropping the conversation between him and your husband," I answer.

"I heard rumors from the other travelers that he's known as the Night Fury, one of the wastelands deadliest mercenaries so far," Frank adds on in a joyful tone, clasping his hands together in a bit of an uncontrollable excitement.

Val merely smiles, finding the positivity Fishlegs was radiating amusing.

"I think you kids should go and get some rest now, I think Stephen might send you out again tomorrow. As for these three, chances are it may take about two to three days roughly before they wake up. I'll go and consult Gothi. Whoever knocked these guys out certainly did the trick," she explains, giving them a quick check here and there before bidding us goodnight and ushering us out.

We bid our goodbyes as well before leaving the clinic.

HARPER'S P.O.V

The moment my mother fell into my line of sight, I resisted the urge to hug her, kiss her, and tell her that I was alive. She has changed so much ever since the last time I saw her. Her hair has started to turn into a light shade of grey. Alongside this, she also had a couple of wrinkles on her face. Overall, she aged. The feeling of regret tore in through me as I started to wonder why I didn't even bother visiting her or Berk throughout my traveling. How did she cope with me being gone? Most importantly, how did dad cope? I didn't even want to think of it but part of me is sure that he was happy, finally being able to get rid of his failure of a son. My mother however, it's a different story.

My mother was more supportive of me, always encouraging me to do things where I excelled, which was drawing. My dad on the other hand wasn't so supportive of it. He desperately wanted me to drop my pencils and drawing equipments and pick up weights instead, believing that hitting the gym is a productive move compared to drawing. To top that, he also wanted me to follow his footsteps and become a politician as well, just like him. To run as a senator, and I didn't want any of that or the things along the lines of that.

I only wanted to become a simple architect, engineer or just anything that involves drawing. Then followed by settling down, start a family, have children and maybe have them with Alek if I'm lucky enough.

My mother has helped me through a lot. She made the pain that my father would inflict go away. The moment she knew I was suffering from depression she decided to help me and make sure that I was okay. Even way before she knew I had it, she's made my gloomy days turn into ones that basked with rays of sunlight. Guilt ripped through me, followed by regret at the thought of ever abandoning her side. I wonder if she felt the same way I did the day we got separated. Both sad and lonely.

As soon as I left the clinic I went straight back to my room and started fixing my gear using the tuning and cleaning kit Demsey has provided me. As I got out my handgun and rifle, I started to disassemble it and clean the dust off it's surface, making sure as well to polish the rust that started to mold within the steel.

It took me about five minutes to clean each weapon. By the time I was done, it was eleven o'clock in the evening. I sighed, placing the rifle and the handgun in the closet before lazily throwing my body back to bed. There was absolutely nothing to do. I shuffled closer to my bag and reached for my sketchbook followed by my journal, a few things I brought with me during the evacuation.

Pulling out a pencil, I pondered on what to draw but before I could even think of it I already noticed my hands starting to scribble something, as if it had a mind of its own. After shading the last portion, it just dawned on me that I drew Alek.

I drew her in a way I've never drawn before.

After all this years, I still don't know why I have feelings for her. She doesn't feel the same way for me back then and now I'm pretty sure she still feels nothing. I'm non-existent to her, a someone she barely cares for.

God, I closed my eyes and slammed my sketchbook shut. With a sigh, opened my journal and wrote out my entry. After doing so, I placed both items in my backpack and closed my eyes, letting sleep take its course.

NO ONE'S P.O.V

Harper groaned as the sunlight came into view, slipping through the tiny slit the curtain provided. It's rays hit his face, making him shuffle under the pillow to block it out. He groaned even more so realizing that he has to get up. Harper was slightly hungover, and it annoyed him to know that simply two mugs of mead lead him to the brink of it.

With a sigh, followed by a quick stretching of his limbs, he got up and went to the bathroom and looked at the mirror, noticing that he'd grown a stubble overnight.

"I might look like a dad if I keep this," Harper mutters, running his fingers through the stubble which tickled them a bit. He looked around the bathroom to check for a razor, only to give up and settle for his knife instead. After washing his face, he slowly shaved off his facial hair before hopping into the shower and brushing his teeth.

"It's been a while, my breath might even smell like wasteland overall," he joked as he watched the toothpaste ooze out it's packet and onto the brush.

After drying himself off, he settled with green long sleeves, making sure to roll up each of its ends above his elbow. He pairs these with khakis, followed by midnight black boots. Once he's tied the laces, he shrugs himself into his tactical vest, placing magazines for the rifle in its pockets. He then grabs his belt, securing onto it his holster, knife sheath, and magazine holder for his handgun. After that he then wears his poncho, securing his spaulder with another knife sheath before grabbing his backpack and taking his mask, rifle and goggles, ready to head out with keys in hand.

Thinking that there was still much time, he decided to walk around and take a look at every place that his eyes settled on yet. His steps halted to a stop when he saw one particular thing that piqued his interest.

His locker.

Hidden underneath his mask was a look of surprise as his eyes scanned over the pictures, sticky notes, and posters that were on the metal. There, on his locker, was a memorial. He read through a couple of the sticky notes, one from his mother and the other from his father while the rest came from his friends and other family members. One note in particular caught his attention. It sat a few inches beside Frank's, a bit poorly glued and close to falling off and completely covering the note below it. He never thought that this could possibly happen, but it did, and it's there.

It was a note from Alek.

Bending down slightly, he slowly read the note, making sure to savor each word in sentences.

I'm sorry for not helping you, let alone noticing you or at least glance your way and talk to you back in high school. Wherever you are right now, I hope you're safe. Safe alive or safe resting with the Valkyries. I'm so sorry I just left you all of a sudden and ignored you like I did with everyone else. We used to be best friends and I just took that for granted and let it go to waste.

Alek.

His heart swelled with emotions as he read the note over and over again. He couldn't believe what he's just read.

She's sorry?

No, it couldn't be. Maybe it was just out of pity since everyone thought I was miles away from this shitty town or even worse, dead. Harper scoffed, swallowing the lump in his throat while blinking back the tears. He knocked on the reception desk once he's walked away from his locker.

A few minutes later, a man under the name of Bucket, or what most of the townspeople knew as Michael, emerged from underneath. He got the nickname Bucket ever since he got into an accident, one that involved him getting struck by lightning. Harper just handed him his keys before walking away. Bucket couldn't even talk much ever since the accident, but his scary looks made up for his lack of vocal abilities.

Harper walked out to a very sunny Berk, merely cursing it for ever making his life miserable, even more so out at the wasteland. His peaceful walk was interrupted by a humvee stopping right in front of him. Inside it were his father, Seth, Gerald, and a couple of army officials, with one of them heading out of the vehicle.

"Drake!" the mayor says in a stern tone, one that was all too familiar to Harper that it didn't even make him flinch. "You've got some serious trouble with us and by us I mean all of Berk!" he exclaims in an exasperated tone, his hands raised in frustration as Harper just stared at him.

"Let me guess," Harper says in a tone that feigned curiosity, "does it have anything to do with teaching three muttonheads a lesson they've been for too long?"

Stephen was pissed, but before he could even retort Gerald came in between to interrupt the conversation, "Whut he 'as tryin' to say is, we need to 'ire you into escorting our scavengers outside the wasteland. Since you gave them a beating. Just for today."

Harper scoffs, "After what they did to me? Are you sure they won't just kill me and leave me to rot?"

"Nonsense!" Gerald counters with too much of an excitement for a bit of a heavy topic. He blinks and sighs, before speaking, "look, I kno' yu had an arguement," Gerald started, much more seriously this time, "but you see, the mayor's wife is sick and we need to send a group to scavenge for the antibiotics she needs. Now will yu help us?"

Harper's eyes were wide with what he's just heard.

Mom, sick?

"I'll do it," he says with no second doubt, "and as for the payment, it's on the house after what you did for me in the bar. I think it's time to pay you back."

Gerald opens his mouth, ready to respond only to be cut off by a few more of Harper's requests and interrogations.

"But, put me in charge of the group and at the same time, I'd like to know what the sickness of your wife is, mayor?"

"She has pneumonia," Stephen says with a sad sigh, "and...her oxygen tank is running low. If she doesn't get a new one, chances are she might not even make it by tomorrow."

"When does the group leave?" Harper asks, a bit too quickly for the likes of the men upfront.

"Right now. That's why you need to come with us," Seth answers.

Harper nodded before quickly getting into the back of the humvee. He prayed to Odin and hoped that his mother would turn out fine. He imagined her lying on her bed. Weak and frail while letting out coughs that wracked through her chest, exhausting her even more.

They parked beside an army tent. As they got out of the humvee, Harper was greeted by the group. His eyes roamed around the area, seeing Cami and Heather busy loading up cartridges in their magazines, Rebecca invested in finding something in her pack, Frank busy reading a book about botany and Alek just sitting at the edge of a table busy swinging a tomahawk around.

The moment he step foot into the tent the group were alarmed and immediately got up with not-so-friendly looks displayed on their faces.

"And what the fuck is he doing here?" Heather menacingly asks in an accusing tone, gesturing a hand towards Harper.

"It's his fault we're three men short!" Cami adds on.

"Yeah," Rebecca agrees, "now we're gonna have a hard time finding that, um….er," Rebecca pauses to remove the pack that her face was once covered and shoved in to ask, "what are we finding for again?" causing everyone to groan.

"Antibiotics, Rebecca," Frank answers, lowering his book down as he sends an annoyed glance at Rebecca. He finds it irritating how much of an imbecile she is sometimes, "we are searching for ant-"

He was suddenly interrupted by Alek's harsh tone.

"They're right, mayor Haddock. Even if he walks out of town we can still find the antibiotics your wife needs."

Loud chatter surfaced around the tiny space, most of it were just about Harper being useless and how they'd be better off without him.

"Enough!" Stephen yells, causing them keep quiet. "Look, first of all it's your fault for not trusting the man. He was polite in accepting our hospitality. And, if anybody knows what's out there, it's definitely this merc," Stephen proudly says, giving Harper a quick pat on the back.

"Drake, how long were you outside the wasteland?" Stephen curiously asks.

As innocent as the question was, this woke up and stirred some anger within Harper that made him answer and snap back in such an aggressive tone.

"Five. Years. Mister Haddock," he grits out, " five years of living in hell ever since day one of the outbreak," his tone was cold and unsettling.

Stephen was taken back by the change of tone but instead just brushed it off and used what Harper just said as an additional point to what he's said awhile ago. "You see, he has more experience than all of you combined. While most of you got out four months ago, compared to him, he's already been out for five years!"

Before anyone else could object, Stephen continued, "As for the leader, i'm putting Drake in charge but Alek, you'll still supervise him. You're still the leader, in most occasions of course but for this one, Drake's taking the cake," Stephen says in an authoritative tone.

"And no objections! This is final. Understood?" he adds on before anyone could even say anything. This received sighs and groans of annoyance from the group.

"I said, understood?" he asks again, much more aggressively this time.

"Understood, sir," they all monotonously say, making the mayor nod in approval.

"Very well then," he says before facing Harper.

"Drake, once you're all ready head for Ronald Reagan Medical Center. There's an abandoned evacuation center there. One of our scouts said that the doors of the hospital were closed down by the emergency alarm so find another way in," Stephen informs him before leaving the tent followed by two men trailing behind him.

As Harper was about to speak, a tomahawk was immediately placed right beneath his chin in what seems to be a poor attempt of a friendly manner by Alek. "No funny ideas, merc," Alek taunts, walking around Harper and eyeing him down like he was some sort of hostile creature, "I'm still the leader of this group, got it?"

"By all means, blondie. But if the Freaks turn you into one of them I won't hesitate to shove this knife in your leaking brain," Harper counters, pulling out a weapon — a knife — and placing it just right above the skin of her throat, pinning her against the wall, "got it?" he taunts back at her.

Alek glared at him, but deep down she was frightened. She nods at his taunt and watches Harper get off her.

"If you're ready, come outside. We will be stopping once we reach the highway, there's a settlement there that we could stay at before heading out the next day," Harper announces before leaving the tent.

Heather walked to Alek with a concerning look, "You okay? That was — I think — a bit too intense, Alek. Remember that five years in the wasteland could make you do things you'd regret."

Alek lets out a loud scoff, throwing her arm back in anger making Heather's grip on her forearm loosen. "As if he chose to be a mercenary! He chose to live in the wasteland, it's his fault he's like that!" she angrily exclaims, stomping off into another direction to cool things off.

Her footsteps where halted when a very angry looking Harper entered the room. He roughly grabbed Alek's shoulder and pushed her into a wall, placing his fingers under her chin. staring straight into her eyes.

"That's where you're wrong, blondie," he says, his voice near to a growl causing everyone to back off and cower in fear, "do you think I wanted to kill people? Do you think I wanted to live in the wasteland, my ass suffering through all sorts of struggles while yours comfily sat under the safety of your home?" he asks, his voice sounding much deadlier than ever. Alek could only respond in heaps of gasps for air, her breathing pattern ragged as Harper tightened his grip on her chin, puckering her lips unconsciously.

"Do you think I wanted to be this? Well, let me tell you something, Alek," he says, in a menacing matter. He's now loosened his grip on her chin and replaces it with a taunting finger, pointing right at her. Alek's eyes were wide. With fear of what comes next.

"You don't choose to live in Hel, Hofferson. Hel chooses you," he finishes, leaving the room in a much calmer state than before. The group was left speechless.