The Good, the Bad and the Ganondorf

[Thaal Sinestro]

The sands shifted wildly as the stars rose over the Endless Dunes. Every peak of the wandering wasteland gleamed white with moonlight, chilling winds slicing over the landscape in angry blusters. The heat that Sinestro once cursed had quickly evaporated into an unforgiving cold, the heavy garments that Ganondorf had summoned now not warm enough.

It had been hours since the two men had split up and Sinestro had made his way far out into the desert. He circumnavigated the tiny city, the name of which he still did not know, surveying every route of ingress or egress, counting buildings, looking for anything out of the usual. Well, anything more out of the ordinary that he had learned to expect in this strange place.

It was a small city, one that made him question his assumptions about the presence of bandits in the area. However, he had a feeling there was something lurking behind the sun and the wind and grit. Sinestro had long ago learned to trust those feelings.

The city was flanked by not just sand, but also red rock, brown soil, canyons that cut deep into the earth and cliffs that scraped against the sky. The terrain shifted between anything that seemed thematically appropriate as the land stretched out into what seemed like infinity, each seeming the stage of yet another possible drama. It was a setting fit for a god to watch his toys scuffle about in.

He decided upon a nearby ravine that cut through a series of rocky crimson peaks. In the darkness of night it appeared to be a gash through reality itself, revealing the empty shadow that lay below it. Angry red giants towered on either side, jagged features staring down disdainfully.

Anyone with cargo would be forced to take the low ground, and even those without would be drastically hindered by attempting the crags. It was the perfect place to set up an ambush, and the korugaran hoped that it wasn’t too strictly patrolled by anyone who claimed to defend the denizens of the town without a name.

There was the option of simply riding down the center of the canyon, and certainly in doing so if there were any bandits to find he would find them. Or, more accurately, they would find him. Who knew how many of them waited with baited breath on either side of that swallowing shadow? Only they did, and only they knew how to prepare for what they had lying in wait.

Instead, he would take the tough ride, up and over the sides of the stones and find his quarry on his own terms. He didn’t want to be forced into a fight with these men, killing them all would serve no purpose. He would have to see the entire picture before he started making a plan in full. For now, he only needed to introduce himself.

He spurred the beast below him, which let out an agitated huff and trod on.

---

“There’s nothing down there,” Old Man Clanton complained, shifting uncomfortably. “We’ve been at this all damn day and I ain’t had nothin’ to eat since sun down. Nobody is gonna be walkin’ the pass at night!”

“Shut your hole,” the ghoul rasped out, shifting the toothpick in his half-rotten lips in irritation. The radiation-ravaged man squinted at hi elderly partner and gestured down at the gorge below. “Half the guys we snare come through there at night.” He settled back into his position and stared down the sites of his laser rifle. “Just watch the valley.”

Clanton edged his was over to the ravaged mass of irradiated flesh and pleaded, “But Rodney, it’s so damn dark down there it’s not as if we’d ever see ‘em anyways!”

Rodney attempted a grumble but it only came out as a rumbling, dry sigh. “Yeah, numb-nuts, it is dark. Dark enough that you’d have to have a light to see where the hell you were going. A nice, easy-to-shoot-at light.”

“Can I at least have a cigarette?” the old man whined.

Slamming his weapon down, Rodney snapped back, “No, you idiot! Are you fucking kidding me? We can’t have a cigarette for the same reason that we’re looking for lights down there? What is wrong with you?”

“Aw man, I could really use a smoke Rod! Just one, to help with my appetite?”

“Holy father Atom, Clanton, yes. Go have a god damn smoke down back behind those rocks. Fuck!”

Rodney rolled back over, shaking his bomb-blasted head and adjusting his hat as Clanton merrily ambled down over the rocks to hide. He trembling fingers collected a lighter from his pocket, a device that seemed amazing on its own, and he tucked a perfectly rolled cigarette in his lips.

Old Man Clayton had been in the Omniverse for a while now, showed up at that fountain naked and confused. He had shown up alone, in the sprawling white with the sound of Omni’s voice ringing in his ears. He summoned clothes, just like Omni said he could, and ran for the first gate he saw.

The first place the man stumbled into was a nightmare. The sky boiled, ash rained down from the sky, what looked like rivers that ran hot and red. He didn’t much complain when the next portal led him to something that almost looked like home.

It wasn’t long before he was running in Sledge’s gang, knocking over supply caravans here and there, as the situation demanded. Half of the crew was a bunch of psychos, running in after the bullets and lasers had done flying (and sometimes before they were done) screaming and laughing, half the time hacking the caravaners into little bits. He always looked away when they caught up with the wagons.

Rodney, the half-rotten bastard, was put in charge of Clanton ever since he got drunk and ate half a week’s ration of oranges. He’d been weaseling his way out of duties since he’d been there, and the ghoul put a barrier between him and his naps and free time.

Clanton ran his trembling fingers over the smooth oak stock of the rifle before pressing it into his shoulder. The moon played a gentle glint over the front post of the barrel, the steel whispering to him. It would be easy, almost too easy, to pull that trigger. He could blame somebody else, or better yet just make a run for it. Get through one of the other gates.

Clanton nodded to himself, summoning some courage from the bottom of his flask. He jumped to his feet and lifted the cold steel to his cheek, searching over the ridge for Rodney in sweeping strokes of his weapon. “Rodney?” he whispered urgently, “Come on now Rodney, show yourself, now!”

“I’m afraid he’s a bit tied up,” a dark voice called from the cliff side.

Clanton spun quickly and fired, the bullet tearing through Rodney’s gut. The ghoul screamed underneath the gag before he was flung over the edge, plummeting with hands bound seventy feet before splattering all over the boulders below.

The old man squeezed off two more rounds blindly; the red-skinned creature had already slid off into the shadows. The old cattle-wrangler desperately threw the bolt back, fumbling to gather more rounds. He tucked a shell between his teeth and attempted to slide another into the chamber when suddenly a hand swatted the rifle to the side.

Sinestro twisted the weapon out of his hands and drove the butt up into his jaw. As his teeth clamped down on the bullet, several shattered and fell out through his lips. The korugaran’s thin, powerful fingers wrapped around his throat, easily lifting him from the ground. The old man’s eyes welled up as the wind was slowly choked out of him.

“Who do you work for?” he growled, and for a moment Clanton could swear the alien’s eyes were made of gold.

The old man gagged out an answer, prompting the ex-lantern to loosen his grip. “Big blowhard named Sledge.” He didn’t waste time waiting on him to ask about where they were set up, pointing in the general direction of their encampment. “We’re in an encampment right next to this big… steel door looking thing. Everyone keeps on callin’ it the ‘Vault.’ It’s about three miles ‘round the pass, you can see it through an arch up on the east side of the cliffs.” He trembled in Sinestro’s hand, his face twisting into a sad, drunken look of panic. “Please don’t kill me…”

Sneering, Sinestro tossed the man to the side in disgust. “I wouldn't dirty my hands with your blood.”

[Thaal Sinestro]

Always leave one.

Always leave a man to go back and tell the tale of what they saw. Let their fear spread like a disease, jumping from one host to the next, rotting their will and cohesion from the inside out.

Sinestro bit into the brightly colored fruit, the juices dribbled down his chin and mingling with his sweat. The entire camel had been laden down with an assortment of e gg brightly colored, strangely shaped fruit and kippered fish. He assumed that wherever the gerudo came from, perishable fruits were the standard for trail rations. Maybe they would last longer than he expected them to.

The camel trod along the narrow, harrowing trail that zigzagged up a steep incline. As it finally crested the winding path, the warm rays of the morning washed over them and gave view to the sky, roaring with the fire of daybreak. The sun had risen to the center of a dull red arch, giving the image of a burning eye that bore into any who stood before it.

It reminded him of Atrocitus, the progenitor of the Red Lantern Corps and the prophet that foresaw the Blackest Night. Sinestro was both relieved and disappointed that they would never see who was truly stronger, though he quickly assured himself that he would be the clear victor.

Thaal dismounted the pack animal and stepped to the edge of the arch, running his red hand over the red stone, gazing down into the gorge below. A thin, dirty river ran through the choked landscape, snaking about wildly, diverting beyond view to the east. Beyond the river there was a collection of outcroppings, their inhabitation evident by the makeshift structures and assortment of vehicles of every kind.

The man’s hazel eyes scanned over the camp, contemplating exactly how to execute the next phase of his plan. He held the fruit in the air, idly spinning it between his fingers as the juice ran over his thumb on dripped onto the ground. He heard a soft grumble before his hand was covered in saliva and powerful lips pried the food away, the camel batting it’s large eyelashes at him at it chewed.

“Mm,” he hummed softly, running his hand over the beast’s neck, “it seems that even constructs like you can get hungry.” He scratched behind his mount’s ear and returned his gaze to the morning sky. “I suppose constructs like me get hungry too.” He patted the camel firmly and jumped up to mount. “Hut hut!” he commanded and snapped the reigns.

As he rode along the stony trails, he put every effort into selecting the paths that obstructed him from sight; even in the hazy morning light he could be an easily spotted target. He didn’t want to be seen, not yet. Right now he was just a rumor told by an old drunk. Soon he would be a specter in the darkness.

He was shocked to realize that he needed to get the rope first. It was such a reflex to simply assume he could do whatever he could imagine up that the concept of needing supplies was almost foreign to him. IT used to be that he would simply hold the image of a rope in his mind and the golden light of his ring would do the rest. He supposed that he could do nearly the same thing, albeit much more slowly, here. However, that would cost him a precious resource that he had little of and absolutely relied upon.

And so, he would have to get his resources the old fashioned way: by stealing them.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The post that the old drunk and his late partner had taken up a few nights before had been heavily reinforced since he had last visited it. Half-rotten ghouls sullenly swept their weapons in nervous arcs over the gorge, a few mutants bulging like swollen thumbs from behind stone outcroppings. The pretense of stealth had vanished with the illusion of safety, and fear had begun to worm itself into their ranks.

The bandits had no intention of attacking the travelers below them. Even they knew that the denizens of the city with no name weren’t blind or stupid enough to not notice them. No, they wanted to be noticed. They were sending a message to whoever killed their gunman. They were saying in big bold, letters, “We are strong. Beware our power.”

Sinestro knew that message well. For now, he would let them believe it. Instead, he turned his eye to those ravines and pathways were where not overrun with freaks and bullets and took up his own post.

Gentle blue buzzed over the landscape, the cloudless sky giving way to the pale light of the crescent moon. A deep gorge cut down into the loose, rocky soil, an aggressive hill dotted with sage bush opposing it. Down the center was the only path friendly to the wheels of travelers, and where the lone truck slowly groaned and puffed as it made its way.

It was rusted old tanker, the massive wheels barely supported by the dirt as they rolled. The massive front compartment was dark, no light needed on a road so free from shadow or cover, and only the creaking of the lumbering beast’s shocks would indicate to anyone that it was there. Thaal could only guess at what cargo sloshed in the large contained that it dragged behind it; fuel, maybe water. It could be liquid Nth metal for all he knew, but for now he felt comfortable assuming it was one of the basics of living. More likely than any of those things, however, was the probability that it was empty.

There were no guardians, no exceptional armaments. Not a single escort or fantastical creature that moved astride it. There was no protection for the slow, vulnerable target, and so it was easy to guess that it wasn’t worth protecting.

“Hut hut!” he shouted, pushing his camel up over the lip of the gorge, drawing attention to the passenger’s side. The operator only caught a glimpse of the camel’s snout before if peeled away and they heard the heavy thunk of the korugaran warrior leaping on and grabbing the frame of the cab.

The greasy driver ripped a pistol from behind the seat, a wild look in his dark brown eyes. His thick dreads flipped from side to side as his weapon darted back and forth searching the dim blue light of the wasteland. “I’ll shoot ya! I ain’t made it in this fuckin’ wasteland this long to be done in by some freak in the middle of nowhere!”

His words were for her, not for the assailant. Sinestro could almost taste the terror as it crawled up the driver’s chest and seized his throat. It was the sound of defiance, the sound of resilience, that he heard in that voice. It was a sound he had heard so many times on Korugar, shouting from the pitiful masses as he led them towards a better tomorrow. It was a sound he himself had made once, in the face of the most powerful creatures in the universe, the Guardians.

He pulled himself up onto the roof, and the handgun called out his name as bullets tore through the metal all around him. The behemoth swerved from side to side as the driver attempted to shake him off, but he rolled forward and to the opposite side of the truck, just above the wheel. His thick, red arm jabbed through the open window and snatched a wrist, wrestling back and forth as she struggled and jerked. A few more errant shots fired into the night sky, the muzzle flare displaying the horror of his face with flashes of bright, sinister yellow.

Tossing the spent gun into the night, the driver clawed at Sinestro’s arm and wrapped his fingers around it. He grunted and swung his body away from the window, pulling the attacker down from the roof with a firm tug. Sinestro pivoted downwards and slammed into the door, his boots dragging in the dirt as they sped ever more quickly down the path. Thaal’s grip on his wrist refused to give way, and instead he hoisted himself up by the arm that had just pulled him down. Scrambling for stability, he steadied himself between the rear view mirror and the step just outside the cab.

The man let out a primal shriek and kicked the door open, pushing Sinestro from the step and away from the vehicle, dangling by the thin metal of the rear view mirror, legs kicking wildly. The wasteland warrior retrieved a sawed-off shotgun from a leather holster wedged between the seats and leveled both barrels at the alien’s face. Sinestro ducked just as the weapon went off, a loud ringing filling his ears. Glass and shards of steel exploded in all directions as the mirror was ripped from the frame, biting into Thaal’s fingers.

The frail metal gave way when there was no longer any structure to support it, and Thaal was forced to switch and hold on to the lip of the door, still hanging and swaying over the gravely earth that darted beneath him. He heard the shotgun being cocked and he swung the door back in, slamming it closed and knocking the weapon to the side, another thunderous blast echoing into the night, the shot wide of its target.

Screaming in fury, the man swung the shotgun down onto Thaal’s head, beating him angrily with the hot steel. A gash opened up on across the forehead after a second blow, and he was forced to shield his face with his forearm as he awkwardly climbed in through the window.

“DIE!” he screamed, the driver’s eyes wide as thin, powerful fingers wrapped around his throat, pushing him down into the passenger’s seat. Sweat dripped from Thaal’s face as they struggled, his feet trapped in the compartment below the wheels with the pedals. His eyes slowly turned red as he thrashed, purple blood dripping from Sinestro’s head onto his face.

Terror filled his chest as the darkness began to close in on him, every futile movement a wasted moment as life slowly drained away. His eyes locked with the monster’s and he managed one final pleading glance before they went dim, and the fear stopped forever.

[Thaal Sinestro]

Accuracy with a power ring wasn’t physical, it was mental. The ability to focus on a target, to see the line between you and them in your mind, to trace a beam of thought and emotion and feel it executed before you ever even attempted it. Theoretically, you could extend your attack across the galaxy, destroying an area as small as you could imagine. The same cannot be said of a rifle.

A rifle is a weapon where mind and body must meld into a single unit, almost unperceivable movements of your hands attuning to the almost unperceivable movements of your mind. You had to place the same rifle in the same place on your shoulder, rest your face on the same place on the stock. Your hands had to find a perfect place to rest, tugging it tightly, but not too tightly, into your shoulder. You were always trying to find the rhythm of your own body. You were always correcting for elevation, movement, wind. It was a skill of its own, and Thaal Sinestro knew not to assume that it would be as simple as pulling a trigger.

The sun cast its rays down as searing bolts onto the backs of the thugs, diesel-freaks and mutants that roamed in the valley just in front of the massive steel gate to the Vault. Roaring flame belched up from super-powered engines, bright containers of red, yellow and blue littering the landscape. The encampment was a stain on the desert, the power of desperation and cruelty surging up like black tar from the red sands below them.

They each scurried and flexed, each a dog trying to bark their way into dominance. There was barely a leader among them, let alone a Commander. Whoever Sledge ended up being didn’t seem to instill a real sense of order or discipline in their absence. It was an army without order, and an army without order isn’t much of an army at all.

Sinestro’s mind flooded with the nightmares he had forged into champions: Karu-Sil, Slushh, Arkillo. Each of the members of his Corps were destroyers, psychopaths, monsters, and yet he had made them into something greater. Discipline and order had made their madness into a weapon, and transformed fear into to power.

His Corps had laid waste to entire sectors, destroyed civilizations, brought order to chaos. This… rabble, this meek and feeble collection of simpering children and animals, their ranks would shatter before him. They would break at the knee and bow to the herald of their destruction.

But not yet.

A single, slow breath entered his lungs, and he gently let it go. He shuffled his hips, scratching along in the dirt, attempting to feel more grounded. He pulled his shoulders tight and down, pushing the heavy steel into his backpack. The sun glinted in his eye, and he bumped his hat, which was perched on his head, until it fell just right and shielded his eye. He took another slowly, long breath, and held it at its apex. He closed one eye, and squeezed.

The crack of the heavy rifle echoed out over the canyon, breaking the blustery silence like a blasphemy in the middle of a cathedral. The tracer round burned bright as it trailed across the vast abyss, and Thaal could not help but watch in wonder as it made its journey.

A soft, “tang,” whispered as the bullet pierced the tank, and a massive explosion painted the sky red and orange. Panic washed out with the shockwave, blossoming into a riot of gunfire and screams.

The seeds of pandemonium, in all of its glorious splendor, had been sewn.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The roar of engines spread through the canyon, the wild yips and war cries punctuated every rev. Anger, aimless, mindless fury, swelled within them. Anger because they had lost their control, anger because their power had not only been questioned, but challenged. Their glorious kingdom of violence and horror had been trod upon by a lonely wild man with a gun.

They were angry because they were afraid. This was all that it took. It took one gun, one man, one brightly streaming tracer round, and the façade was shattered. They were not untouchable, they were not all-powerful, they had no control. They were just scared little rodents, scurrying around in the sand, just as hungry and thirsty as anyone else. They were afraid, and Sinestro had won.

All of that rage, that fear, had to go somewhere. If they could just find a scapegoat, find somebody to pin it on, somebody’s blood to soak the sand, they could reclaim their power and banish their failure. And so Sinestro would be forced to ensure that they caught nothing.

The sensation of running was horrible. He longed for the hours and days he spent in space, the very thought of speed being synonymous with its application. His breath burned, his legs screamed, and every pound of his heavy garb felt like a lead weight pulling him into the smoldering earth.

Scrambling up, he mounted his camel and pulled the reigns, practically shouting, “Hut, hut!” and spurring the animal’s sides. The tumbling stones of the cliffs crawled into view as they overcame a mild hill, the jagged red refusing to betray his destination. It wasn’t far, but there was a strong chance they might not make it. The poor beast was tired and hungry, so it was barely making better time than Thaal had on foot. The rations from the truck had lasted them this long, but if he planned on keeping both himself and his mount alive, they would need something more, and soon.

He bound from the beast as it came to a stop, sand splashing up when he hit the ground. He pressed himself into the rock face, hands smoothing over a broad, flat stone. His heart jumped at the notion that he might not be able to find it again, but he strangled his anxiety and swallowed it back down. There could be no doubt in the mind of the Greatest Lantern.

His fingers slipped into the gap and he pulled the slab to the side, a cool air gusting out as he revealed a shallow indent that had been carved by the wind. It was barely large enough to fit himself and the camel into, and even that would be a tight fit.

“Come,” he commanded and grabbed the reigns. Snorting, the camel reeled back and pulled away. “Come!” he snarled, jerking firmly and leaning his back against the massive animal. Far stronger than its master, the camel pulled away from Sinestro and let out a low, agitated groan. The churning black clouds of exhaust began to show over the horizon, the screams of the engines drawing nearer. Furiously, Sinestro grabbed both of the reigns and yanked the animal after him, towards the alcove. Refusing to budge, the animal let out an angry gurgle and spit a thick glob of snot and saliva onto the back of his head.

For a moment, Sinestro considered killing it. Instead, he pulled the rifle from his saddle, held it by the barrel, and whipped it like a bat at the animal’s head. With a crack, the camel stumbled, fell to one knee, snorted, and finally toppled over.

Tossing the rifle into his hiding place, Thaal quickly knelt down and wrapped his arms around the saddle. Squatting down and leaning backwards, he began to pull. The veins in his arms and neck bulged, every aspect of his lean, muscular physique straining. He huffed, spittle flying from between his lips as he pulled the thousand pound creature against the sand.

Pull, urged himself. The heat-warped image of the raiding party’s dirt cloud grew on the horizon. Pull! The echoing chatter of gunfire echoed against every stone around him. PULL! the voice inside screamed, panic beginning to lash out, it’s vicious tentacles sinking into every corner of his thoughts.

“PULL!” he shouted, digging his heels in and hefting. The creature slid a few inches, and he used the momentum to carry it a few more.

Digging down, he grit his teeth and lifted the creature again, shimmying the animal towards the opening. Each time he pulled it he felt like he was going to vomit. Every inch felt like it was the last one, like he could never imagine pulling the beast any further. But he did. One more time. One more inch. And the inches and the effort compounded upon themselves until finally, sweat soaked and limp with exhaustion, he completed his task.

Just as the final hoof was in place, a war buggy howled up over the hill and began barreling towards the cliff side. The oversized wheels spun and kicked up a spray of earth as it landed, the rear end fishtailing madly as it found its traction.

Sinestro grabbed the flat slab and pulled it in place, sealing him in the darkness as the onslaught came. He heard every snarling monstrosity that the dunes had to offer peeling around his small, indefensible shelter. Pounding steam engines, roaring diesel, the clatter of electrical and the hum of hover. Almost every conceivable mode of transportation threatened to crash in upon him at any given moment.

More worrisome than the sound of an engine running, however, was the sound of it turning off. The search party began to dismount from their fleet of angry vehicles, boots and hooves and steel all crunching over the rocky soil. Angry shouts came from all directions, egos and anger making leaders of them all, without a single follower to listen. The spread out over the cliff face, most moving not scanning for detail. If a single one of them had a power ring or a spark of discipline, he would have already been found. Luckily for him, they had neither.

The stampede of angry bandits had mostly passed him, the limping rabble being the last to pass over him. He doubted most of them had the good sense to leave a guard behind in the trucks, but there was no purpose in stealing one of their vehicles. He would expose himself as somebody that needed to run, a mortal man that required transport, food, water, shelter. He wanted to become a specter in the wind, not a man. A man can be killed. A man can be forgotten. For now, he would remain unseen, gone with the dust that the explosion had pushed over the dunes.

The grind of leather on stone sounded a few feet away. Apparently not every raider had been so over eager; at least one remained. The footsteps were slow, careful. They were moving directly towards him. A hand scratched over the surface of the stone slab. He heard the buzz of a laser rifle ignite.

“Freeze right where you’re at, scum!” a bright, excited voice shouted from at least ten meters away. “Deputy Jessie isn’t gonna let a bunch of outlaws tear up her home turf!”

The boots that were just outside of the alcove spun on their heel and three shots from the laser shrieked. One miss, two hits. Gunfire erupted from the cliff side as the bandits joined in fire against the party that claimed to be the “law” of this land. It was clear the peacekeepers were outmatched and outgunned. Jessie couldn’t be heard anymore. The first two shots of the exchange had probably killed her.

Sinestro dared a single glance out from behind the stone, and he saw the woman that had been inches away from him only a few moments ago. Tall, well-built, heavily armored with rusted steel and nanofiber mesh. She wore white face paint resembling a skull over her dark black skin, her long, dreadlocked hair kept tied back. She was coated from head to toe in anachronism, like she came from a million different lands of a million different technologies. All of them were brutal and unforgiving.

Soon the law enforcement was turning tail and the cheers of the bandits rang out alongside celebratory gunfire. The last vestiges of resistance were quieted as the snipers and sure-shots picked the deputies from their vehicles, only blood and grease remaining. Sinestro watched in woe as they began to mount up again, their sacrificial lambs slaughtered. They had abated their fear with bloodshed, and everything he had done was for nothing. A foe that you can destroy is not foe that you fear. The woman that almost found, with her skull-painted face, only glanced back and sneered.

“It wasn’t them,” she spat, her voice surprisingly gritty and torn. “Do you all really believe it was a bunch of those broke-back deputies that rode into the desert just to blow up a single fuel tank? They don’t have the numbers to fight all of us. Even they aren’t that stupid.”

A massive woman, easily nine feet tall, dark green and hideously deformed leapt from an overhanging stone and made a crater when she landed. “Wot you say, den?” she asserted angrily, “We no kill man dat make guzzaline go boom?”

“No, you super-mut idiot. They weren’t the ones that attacked us,” her voice growled, easily four feet shorter than the behemoth that stood before her. “We need to keep loo-“

The super-mutant waved her massive hand dismissively. “Maybe dey still out dere, but I go back now. No more to kill.”

Spitting, the skull-faced woman gave one last look over the cliff side and tipped her rifle back to rest on her shoulder. “Probably gone by now anyways,” she lamented. “Alright, let’s go.”

The war band crawled down from the stones of the cliff, more out of herd instinct than true understanding to command. They ambled up into their mounts and whipped them around before they sped back into the abyss of the endless sea of sand.

[Thaal Sinestro]

Six bodies, one deputy, and more holes than anyone should bother to count. The bloody scene told the story of what had happened, the whole gruesome brutality of it, at a glance. Whoever these people were had a lot of nerve, thinking that they could take on a mob of blood-thirsty psychopaths, and they paid the price for their hubris.

Their wagon, seemingly from a place where wooden stagecoaches were still in use, had already been gutted. Not a drop of water nor bite of food left to pilfer. The camel would not be happy, if it ever woke up. Thaal was strong, and the animal was summoned with plenty of energy in reserve, but neither could last forever. The only thing that caught the korugaran’s eye was the glint of gold that came from the chest of the recently deceased deputy.

Jessie had long red hair, freckles across her nose and cheeks, a childish, pastel outfit and a series of massive laser burns carved into her abdomen and chest. Half of the badge was melted into nothingness and most of the other half had been discolored into a black that faded into a prismatic blue, green, and umber. The small portion that remained true to its nature glimmered like lost treasure in hateful eye of the sun.

Tearing it from her, he swatted off a small portion of the charred flesh and cloth that clung to a corner and inspected what he had found. In reality, it wasn’t much more than a chunk of metal with the only the letters “UTY” remaining, but for the man who created one of the most powerful weapons in the universe while banished to another dimension, he knew he could forge a future from a little piece of yellow ore.

---

“What’dya think you’re doing, scrub?” the bald, greasy, well-muscled wasteland survivor asked as the woman stormed past him, laser-rifle in hand.

“I’m going back out,” she spat and grabbed the olive drab handle of the war truck.

“The fuck you are!” he shouted, dropping the wrench he was carrying to the side with a jangle. “These vehicles don’t go anywhere without Sledge’s say-so, and he ain’t said shit.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “Sledge told us to kill the fucker that blew up all that guzzaline,” Flinging the door open, she crawled into the driver’s seat, drew her handgun and blew off the lock that held the steering wheel in place.

Jumping at the sudden gunfire, the mechanic grabbed the woman’s spiked armor and pulled. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Sneering, she pushed the still-hot barrel into the man’s head and pulled back on the hammer. “I’m gonna go kill ‘em.”