The Face of Your Father [BWNN]

[Thaal Sinestro]

Sweat ran down the woman’s face, her fever reaching its peak. Groaning, she rolled in the wet sheets, her skin sticking and pulling them along with her. Her ragged breath was laced with half-murmured curses, her ashy dry knuckles gripping furiously as pain coursed through her flimsy mortal form.

“I’ve never seen this before,” the old man said as he readied another basin. “Most primes either heal or die by now.”

Her bloodshot brown eyes locked on him, even as her body strained. Rage ran through her blood in equal measure to the fever, her entire body quaking.

He dragged the old wooden stool to her side and dabbed the towel into the basin. “I wonder if the infection is from a poison?” he pushed the towel into her wound and she hissed in pain. He wiped away the thick pus and blood that had encrusted her injuries. “But I don’t see any kind of… rot or anything?” He shook his head and cleaned the rag in the water, “It just looks like a run-of-the-mill infection though. I’m honestly shocked I don’t see more of them.”

“It depends on who you’re treating,” she groaned, her cracked lips barely able to form the words. “Or who made the person.”

His eyebrows furrowed and deep creases formed in his high forehead. “What do you mean?” he asked as he continued to tend to the wounds.

With a deep breath, the woman shifted her weight and pulled her head up, “Certain people are from backgrounds where they expect to get infections. Certain people are from places where that kind of shit never happens.” Looking to one of the thinly curtained windows, she continued, “People from places like eighteen-hundreds America are usually prone to getting sick. People from Pandora don’t seem to.”

“Hm,” he said, his eyes locked on the meticulous work of his hands, “I suppose that makes as much sense as anything else around here.” He lifted the ceramic bowl, now filled with dirty bandages and red-stained water. “I guess you’re just from one of the places where people get sick.”

“Told you,” she wheezed, holding her side, “I’m not from anywhere.”

“How exactly does that work?” he asked, pouring the basin out the window.

She shifted and looked away as if trying to avoid the question physically. “So, who did you used to be, a doctor or something? Like, where you’re from.”

He offered a soft laugh, “No.” He ringed out the rag into the bowl. “No, I was a preacher, I guess you could say.” He wiped the dish clean and set it to dry in the sliver of the sun that peeked out from the window. “A lot of folks used to call me Shepherd.”

“What do they call you now?”

He lifted an eyebrow back in her direction, a coy smirk on his lips. “Mostly, nothing. But I suppose if I were hard-pressed to give you an answer, I guess Shepherd would do.”

The tiniest of smiles grew on her face, “So you’re another person without a name. I thought that all primes had a name.”

“Do you?” he retorted warmly.

A protracted silence crept into the preacher’s small living space, growing deeper and wider by the moment. A sadness could be seen underneath the woman’s anger, a depth which she was yet unwilling to share.

The quiet was quickly washed away as the door swung open, a young woman waltzing in.

[Eighteen]

It was called the Endless Dunes for a reason. There were dunes as far as the eye could see. Although some would say that dunes of ice were a possible thing, out here, they were as dry and hot as the deepest pits of hell. If one wasn't careful they would find themselves becoming wrinkled husks of their former selves in the glare of the sun above. The inhabitants of this realm were prepared, or rather, had adapted to the harsh climate. Some had stumbled into the wasteland with curiosity brimming from their eyes, others had simply become a part of this place. While those who entered, often times became trapped, those who were created knew no better.

That's where Caret came in. There was only the sunset and the sunrise in her world. The glow of the sand was the very best thing. When night came over the world it was dark, and cold, and a lifeless place. This was when she usually slipped away and tinkered and fiddled with bobs and ends. The daytime was when she enjoyed the heat and the endless hills that went until the end of the world. It wasn't just the sand, though, that made her eyes blaze like little bulbs in her head. It was what they held.

Within the dunes lived a trove of treasure, well, treasure in her eyes. She scavenged the landscape for hours, or days, looking for scraps of metal and forgotten technologies. It was never a disappointment, even if all she could find was copper wire. “This stuff is not easy to get!” she would boast whilst sauntering through Shepherd's home. Mostly he would stare incredulously at the girl, but she was something of a gift in this world of sand and sun. Sometimes the things she brought back were not so useless.

Caret came back with a little more than usual from her last trip. She'd been minding her own business in the norther quarters, avoiding the Town With No Name as she was wont to do. Anyone who knew better would have avoided the sounds that erupted in the distance, surprisingly, away from the town. Not her, though. Where there was a fight, there was something worth salvaging.

Normally she left the dead to dying, and when the victors scattered...she stayed like a vulture. Waiting, and waiting, and finally claiming the spoils that were so easy to obtain. With goggles on her head, she jumped over piles of sand and cooling brittle glass to inspect the beautiful treasure that was the big ass truck left behind.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she exclaimed as she paid no mind to the bleeding corpse a few meters away. “Someone has run you ragged. Well, I can fix that.” Her gloved hands felt no heat from the metal as she pried up the hood. It was like Christmas in there, and her little mind swirled, until she was interrupted by the sound of the living.

If it hadn't been for sticking around with Shepherd, she would have left the bandit in the sun. She wouldn't have had a second thought. Her hands easily could have fiddled with wires and had that engine running. Caret didn't need keys. However, she heard his voice in the back of her head. The same voice she'd been hearing for Omni knows how long. So, reluctantly, and with trepidation, she salvaged one truck and one living person.

Rubbing at one raccoon eye, the tired techie walked into the old fashioned house with a little yawn. It was a quiet day, and she'd been working all night on that engine. It was a beautiful thing, and not often found, which made her so eager to sacrifice sleep for pleasure. She hadn't even noticed the time slipping away...but, such was her life.

Naturally she sought out the grey haired man, but stopped when a female voice fell into the hallway, “So you're another person without a name. I thought that all primes had a name?”

The youth heard Shepherd's retort, and then the gruesome silence that followed. Even out in the hallway she could feel the tension. Last she'd heard, the bandit was a hot mess on her way to the graveyard. It would appear that the old man was just as useful as always.

Heavy boots clunked onto wooden floorboards, and the door to the room opened. Young Caret strolled in with a toothy smile, and goggles nestled like they lived in her messy copper hair. Pig tails fell to both sides, and a smattering of freckles kissed at her cheeks. For a girl that loved the dunes, she didn't have much of a tan. It helped to have heavy gear to cover her from the vicious elements.

At home, however, she wore high leggings just past her knees with heavy boots that looked way too big for her. Thigh length, skin tight shorts with red trim matched her tank top which buttoned up along her slim boyish figure. Both of the occupants of the room looked in her direction, to which she gave a hearty reply.

“Hi,” with one hand scratching the back of her head and the other giving something of a wave, Caret looked all kinds of strange in this world of bandits and cowboys. “Er,” she began, smile faltering. Her maroon coloured eyes looked to Shepherd for assistance.

“Ah, yes, here is someone with a name I can offer,” he turned in his seat and gestured toward the girl. “This is Caret. She's the resident engineer, and she's the one that found you."

“Oh, yes,” she clasped her hands together in slight excitement. “It's been forever since I'd gotten my hands on a truck like that. How old is it? Did you build it? What fuel were you using?” the questions came faster than her breathing, and she had to stop to catch her breath. Which was fine, because Shepherd was standing up and gesturing for her to stop before she could start again.

“Our friend needs her rest, she isn't well enough for your questions today.”

Caret's lips pursed and pulled to the side in confusion, showing the beginnings of a pout. To her, the bandit looked well enough to answer. What did it matter if she was sweating, or bleeding, or whatever else there was going on? There were important things she needed answered, like how much mileage the truck had and how efficient it was on fuel.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The bandit scraped her dreads out of her face and looked at the girl, her vibrant colors popping almost offensively against the gritty yellows and bleached beige she was so accustomed to. The small creases in her hands were caked with black grease and more was carelessly smeared over her cheek. It was good to see another dirty face.

Coughing softly, he leaned to her side and propped herself up with an elbow. “High octane guzzaline, thick as blood and hot are fire,” she wheezed. “Refurbished M809. Six cylinder, inline engine. Supercharged, three-hundred-twenty horse power. Quarter-inch, in-cab armor with a V-bed undercarriage.” She grunted as one of Shepherd’s tight stitches popped, blood now dribbling from one of her fresh bandages. “If you fuck up my ride, kid,” she said with a tone that betrayed the words, “I’ll put you in the ground.”

The bright mechanic stepped back, the comment impacting her as if it was a physical blow. The moment when she had drug the woman from the sands ran through her mind; the half-dead bandit’s torched body had been ground into the earth, a bullet wound agape in her chest. For a moment, she wished she had left her there. “’Your truck will be fine, don’t worry,” she shot back, ire twisting her words.

“Yeah?” the dark warrior allowed her head to slump back down onto her perspiration-soaked bedding. Even the smallest exertion left her ragged, the exhaustion forcing her vision to spin and her gut to churn with nausea. “Good. She’ll be yours if I bite it. To hold is to own and all that.”

“You can get it when you come back,” Shepherd offered warmly, cutting through the vitriol the woman had cast between each other.

“Pfff,” the mechanic spat, “she said I could keep it.” Sauntering over to the counter, she leaned against it and plucked a toothpick from her pocket. Wiggling it between her teeth, she gave a wide grin and flipped her flamboyant hair to the side. “Finders keepers, huh?”

“That’s how it works out in the dunes,” the bandit uttered as she allowed her eyes to close, the curtain of unconsciousness closing in. “Steel for steel, blood for blood…” Her words trailed off as she slipped back to sleep, images of flames and the sound of grinding gears drifting through her fevered dreams.

---

The bandit started from her sleep to the sound of a roaring engine, sand and sun swirling before her in the smoke . Her arms thrashed out, pushing at the haze as she struggled to return to her feet, hand clutching for her missing weapon. Strong hands pushed her back down, her body strangely weak as she struggled. She jolted at their touch without the safety of her armor, confused why her flesh was barren and soft, without the loving embrace of steel and spikes. Throwing her knee up, she managed to knock her assailant away, a loud clatter and crash echoing as they tumbled off beyond her vision. Her head whipped has her bleary sight searched for her truck, and she rolled to the side to stand.

The woman fell from her bed and crashed into the hard tile floor on her elbows and knees, her sticky skin clinging to her coverings and taking them with her. She panted, looking around the simple room, the battle in her mind slowly fading. Wide eyed, she searched for her attacker, only to find the nameless preacher on the ground beside her.

Wiping the sweat off of her face, she took a few more breaths before bringing her hand to her chest, feeling the wet blood as it soaked through her dressings. Her heart pounded heavy even as the panic subsided, her body tense and coiled, ready to do battle once again.

“Woah!” Shepherd said loudly, holding a hand up, “Woah, now.” He slowly slid away, keeping his eyes locked on her as he brought himself up to his feet, his palm still extended. “Everything’s alright,” he said in with slow, soothing articulation, “Nobody’s here to hurt you.”

The bandit closed her eye and tipped her body over onto its back, pushing the hair from her face. Reality drifted back into her memory and the past several days of pain and heat rolled to its forefront. “How long was I out?” she asked, almost shocked to hear her voice so strong and firm.

“A few days,” he replied, relaxing a bit and allowing his hand to fall. “The fever broke yesterday, but you’re still pretty weak.”

She slowly rotated her arm, one hand on the shoulder. The massive bruise from the gunshot wound sent spikes through her nerves, but she did feel the aches or chills that had haunted her before. Still, they lacked strength. “I can tell,” she grunted and slowly began to sit up.

He tilted his head to the side and rolled his eyes, “Still strong enough to toss me like an old sack of potatoes.”

Pulling away the bandages, she looked at the hole in her chest, open and bleeding but mostly healed. “Yeah, I guess I’ve still got a bit of fuel left in the ta-“

The bandit was cut off as the door flew open, Caret barging in swiftly. She brandished a comically oversized wrench overhead, her leather work gloves and goggles still worn. “Shepherd?!” she shouted, her voice carrying some degree of true fear, “Shepherd are you alright?”

[Eighteen]

“Oooh oh oh, no no no,” the sounds of singing filtered out from the large double doors of the garage. Some would argue that it was a barn, but it was not meant for animals in the least. Music thumped from speakers that were rigged up with many a cable and line, leading directly to the large computer system. This, in turn, was plugged into multiple screens that held visages of people, places, and one that danced with colour as each beat was issued. “Tell me it isn't soooo!” The youth sang, one wrench held loftily toward her mouth as she leaned back and away from the engine. Her usual pale cheeks were smeared with engine grease and her hands were no better. It had taken a long time to salvage these parts and bits, create a hub, and operate with no purpose but for the fun of it out of this barn.

It was a hot day, the sun was beaming ferociously down on the lot. They had the advantage of having many dunes rising up like a sandy cavern around them, and many forms of camouflage otherwise, but there weren't many options against the pure dry heat. Caret had rigged up a cooling system for the garage, giving her some form of sanity as she worked, but it was no empire job. Ah, the good old days...

She wiped at her sweaty brow and stared at the beast below her. This truck was something. It was, obviously, made for bandits...but it was crafted beautifully. A well made machine. She wished she had the skills to do what primes could. Hell, if she could, she'd gladly take over for Omni too...but even she was sure that being a God wasn't what it was all cracked up to be. The youth chuckled at her own thoughts and shook her head.

The lid to the engined closed with a sound, and she habitually slapped her hands together to rid herself of grit. It had been a long few days, while Shepherd did his thing, she did hers. While his was more life and death, hers was...well, equally the same, but on a different level. Caret wasn't wealthy in empathy, only where it mattered. There was only one person she could really name when it came to caring, and that was...well...

“Shepherd, are you alright?” the girl called as she barged into the room. She'd been arms deep in one last job, goggles in place, and wrench in hand. It wasn't every day that she heard a scuffle and loud voices. With her free hand she pulled her eye wear off and shot a disapproving glance at the bandit.

“I'm alright, there was a misunderstanding.” Shepherd was getting to his feet, and extending both hands to help the woman off the floor.

“Okay, but last I checked, sheets weren't in season,” the red-head remarked with a bit of sarcasm toward the dark-skinned bandit. “You should have fixed her by now.”

“Caret,” said the man, with voice soft but ever so stern. He help the bandit to sit on her bed, and she was wincing less...but wincing all the same. He turned to the other girl and grasped her shoulders as if a father to daughter. “I told you, they aren't like your projects. They take time.”

Her lips pursed, pulled to the side, brows furrowed, as if the cogs were turning. “I suppose so. I'm done, though,” she said with a subtle shrug. “Can she at least move now? I'm sure she's worried about her truck by now. I would be.”

The proud youth shot the bandit a smile that was laced with the sweetest intentions. Where Shepherd was a compassionate man that could relate to, and help others, she was not as much. She made up for it in her skills, otherwise.

“She needs rest more than she needs to see to her truck.”

“Nonsense, it's just outside. Stop being such a codger. I've been waiting for, like, ever.” She replied with a wave of her hand. Caret was already grabbing the bandit's clothing and shoving it forward. “She'll come right back. That thing was all but broken until I got my hands on it.”

“Is she always like this?” said the bandit, until now, she couldn't get a word in edgewise.

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

[Thaal Sinestro]

The bandit fumbled with the pile of clothing as it was pushed into her hands, pain jolting through her any time she moved either of her arms. The mechanic’s brilliant enthusiasm countered her anger, pain and lethargy in an almost cosmic way; their moods the difference of fire and ice.

“Alright, fuck,” she barked, pulling her freshly-laundered shirt over her head, “Give me a few, ‘cause this might take a while.”

Shepherd brushed himself off and cast his strange friend a sideways glance, his mouth crumpling in soft disapproval. “Give her a moment, Caret,” he said softly, patting his hair back into shape. He walked from the room slowly, and nodded to her, “You might even offer her a hand?”

The absence of sand in her own clothes disturbed her more than anything else in that moment. She had literally never worn clean clothing. The fabric plucked and pulled as it ran over her scrapes and sutures, and when it finally came to rest, she looked down at it. A hole rested in the dead center of the garment, a long red stain of her blood spilling out and spreading down her front, drowning the other colors of the filthy garment.

The bandit pushed her hand up through the bottom of the shirt and poked a finger through the hole, her somber features softening as she wiggled it around. A smirk slowly grew on her face and she stifled a chuckle. “Try again, punk-ass,” she murmured to herself, her hand flicking out of the shirt and running down her front, smoothing it down.

“C’mon, lady, let’s go!” Caret demanded, planting one hand on her hip.

“Yeah, yeah,” the bandit croaked and gingerly bent to put on her battered cargo trousers, “I told you I’d be a minute.” Metal buckles and clasps rattled as she slowly worked her way down her legs, affixing a seemingly endless series of straps with pouches and tools down her thighs and calves.

The young secondary rolled her eyes and folded her arms, falling backwards into the doorframe. “Seriously, hurry up. I’ve been working on this rig for two solid weeks.”

Lifting a pair of heavy, black, leather boots from the ground she spit, “Fucker, I almost died.” She dropped them down in front of herself with a loud thud, dirt tumbling from the exterior steel toe and heel. “I’ll take however fucking long I want.” She pushed her feet into them, the tops resting at about quarter-calf. She carefully tucked the ends of her cargo trousers into the shoes and finished blousing them by pulling the laces down tight.

“Now,” the bandit grumbled, “where is my armor?” She swiveled, looking around for it, the simple task of putting on her shoes leaving thick beads of moisture on her forehead. A pile of mangled steel plates and nano-mesh lay in a heap in the corner, the damage to the suit obvious even from her perch on the bed.

With a heavy sigh, Caret gestured to the mess of metal. “What do you even need armor for? We’re just going out to the garage.”

Scowling, the bandit huffed and pushed herself up, standing for the first time in weeks. “The dunes don’t care if you’re just going to the garage. It’s got something waiting for ya every way you look,” she said with solemn assuredness. She sorted through the pile, eventually finding a loose harness. “You don’t wanna know how many times I’ve smoked some idiot who just thought ‘We’re only going to the garage.’” Winching, she wrapped the harness around her body and locked it into place with a metallic clink. “Days and nights spent out there, shooting dumb mother fuckers who think they’re safe just because they were doing to the shitter,” her voice was casual, dismissive even. Two massive shoulder-pads rattled as she put them in place, jerry-rigged connectors securing them to the harness. Plates over her forearms, knees and shins followed.

A large string of loosely connected scrap that was once her breastplate had been obliterated during the explosion, the leather and metal torn and twisted into an unusable state. She fussed with it for a few seconds before abandoning it to the floor. “I’ll have to fix that later,” she fretted with furrowed eyebrows.

Caret stalked over and plucked up the remains of the armor, hanging it in the air as she inspected it. “The fact that you ever wore this thing is impressive,” she scoffed. “I could piece something better together in no time.”

“Hng,” the bandit grunted, “Don’t bother. I’ll get it done.” She stooped down and snatched up her laser rifle, flipping a switch to turn it on. She peered down at the various readings and forcefully jerked, pounded and twisted its various components, performing a functions check before slapping an energy cell in. The technology hummed and bright red energy swelled over its surface, crawling over various grooves and seeping through exposed tubes. The weapon’s very appearance gave the air of agitation and hostility, the glowing surface casting crimson highlights over the textures of the bandit’s armor.

“Whatever,” the mechanic shrugged, lazily tossing the scrap aside, “are you ready to go?” She stepped into the threshold of the doorway and impatiently turned, looking back at the freshly steel-clad warrior.

“One more thing,” she said as she reached down to one of the lower cargo pockets. She pulled free a small tin of white grease paint and gently cracked it open.

Caret exhaled, blowing the hair from her face in yet another gesture of haughty impatience. The waved her hand in the direction of at the tin, “Is that the stuff we found slathered all over your face?”

The bandit nodded and pushed her fingers into the paint, withdrawing a thick dollop, “Yup.” She liberally applied the grease over her cheeks, the bright white in contrast to her features. Practiced movements swept over her face, a rough but recognizable skull slowly taking form with every smear.

She closed the tin and dropped it back in its place, facing Caret with the image of a scowling skull. “I might bite the dust just walking my broken ass out there. If I go down, I want my war-paint on and my rifle primed and ready.”

“That and the fact that your buddies might come and try to blast us?” Caret said, rolling out of the door frame and beginning down the hall.

“Heh,” she scoffed, plodding after her, “They better hope they decide to pick on somebody else.”

The woman had never been conscious to see anything of the house outside the room she had been recovering in. She didn’t notice the intense odor of her previous room until she stepped out of it, the fragrance of dirt and old timber washing away the stink of her convalescence from her nostrils.

The pair crept by the aging, parched walls of the wooden structure that Shepherd called his home, the Bandit’s footsteps short and cautious. Every movement was plagued by the agony of her various injuries, the explosion granting her hairline fractures and deep lacerations to accompany the gunshot wound given by the sheriff. Still she stood with her back straight, her muscles tensed. She would not be cowed by the petulant whining of her body.

Caret exited the door, and the refreshing blast of heat and sand brushed the bandit’s face. The scorching sun greeted her with a gleaming smile as they made the short trip to the garage. Her knees sang as her heavy boots sank into the shifting soil, the hot breeze lashing at her hair. She had feared she wouldn’t live long enough to see her desert again.

The woman took a moment to observe her surroundings, inspecting the small single story home. The exterior of the house was rough-laid stucco, bright beige and fighting off the intensity of the temperature. No more than five rooms, the windows were packed with thick blankets and have sheet metal bolted over them. If she had to guess, Shepherd inherited this place. A few black holes and scars burned into the clay implied that they didn’t leave by choice.

The garage and apparent workshop was of similar construction, with two fifteen-foot rolling metal door it its front. Caret slipped into alternate entrance on the side of the building, into the darkness of the shop. The punch of a button could be heard, followed by the loud grumble of an electric motor. Clattering with every movement, the rusted sectional door slowly lifted up, revealing the garage within.

[Eighteen]

Many would have said that Caret was an impatient girl. It was especially apparent when it came to the things she was capable of. Such attitude was liken to the excitement of a toddler showing off their most prized piece of art. In this case, it was the large truck the bandit had nearly driven into destruction. The youth all but danced when she pulled open the garage doors. Inside the darkness was all but snuffed out by the myriad of screens filling the center of the large building. The core of her base was full of tech, most of it pilfered from Empire soldiers having toured the desert.

“This is...” the bandit began.

“Amazing, right?” said the red head, thinking that the woman was referring to her ride. She ran up to the truck and motioned vigorously. “See, I fixed the bullet holes that were here,” she said as she smoothed a gloved hand over the exterior. It was new, shiny, as if it had never been damaged at all.

The bandit's vehicle, as a whole, was nearly the same. It was made almost new, and when Caret started the engine, it purred like a tiger. She gestured toward the back, her eyes alight with eagerness. “I built this though, I think this will help a lot.”

Rigged to the back of the truck was the most high tech gatling gun the bandit had scarce seen. It was large, and seemingly powerful, but it also posed a question. “Why?”

“For shooting,” said Caret, standing behind the device with confusion in her eyes.

“But I can't drive and shoot,” said the bandit, deadpan.

Caret rubbed the back of her pig tailed head and laughed slightly. “Oh yeah, I'm going with you.”

A silence filled the garage, except for that of the engine rumbling so nicely in it the truck's bosom. A sound that the tech loved to hear. However, the look on the ebony woman's face spoke volumes, where she said little.

“You didn't know? Huh, well, I guess not.”

“Is this his idea?” the bandit all but scowled, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the house. Shepherd, of course, was to whom she referred.

“Um, no, he has no idea about this,” said the youth as she jumped out of the van. One by one she pulled the fingers of her gloves off. “Look, it's like, this desert is pretty big...and I go out there a lot,” she began, flipping a pigtail over her shoulder. “But, well, you know, some places are too far, or too dangerous, and stuff.”

Her voice trailed off, and she look at the bandit, “All I'm here for is this.” Her gaze swept over the beaming computer screens, humming towers, and jumbled cables. “I don't know why I do it, but I need to build, explore, create and change. Lately it's been getting harder to find this stuff...and so I need to go further. That's where you come in.”

“What makes you think I'll take you along?”

Caret's somber features brightened, and she chuckled softly with a smile. “You mean besides saving your life? If you saw how powerful this gun is, I think you'd realize why you need me. Especially after the way that guy kicked your ass. I mean, you do want revenge, don't you?” she tilted her head to one side, and as if by magic, she blew a bubble of gum from her mouth. It was as if she'd been chewing it all along.

[Thaal Sinestro]

A gentle stirring formed in her breast, the heat of her fury stoked at its mere mention. “Revenge,” she uttered, her eyes narrowing briefly, “Yeah.”

The rage that churned through her veins burned hotter than guzzaline in her eight-cylinder heart. The flames only grew as she reached her hand out and made contact with the fresh paneling of her war truck. She slowly made her way around the beast, her fingers tracing along the harsh angles and rough paint. Her war was still waiting for her and every moment wasted felt like a tiny defeat.

“All the bullet holes are gone,” she said, almost wistfully.

“Yup,” Caret said proudly, seemingly oblivious to the woman’s mournful tone, “it’s all new plating, all new coating. It’s fresh now, right?”

The clean surface of the M809 almost looked unfamiliar to her as she admired the fine craftsmanship of the repairs. Many of the old, crappy repair jobs had been cut out and replaced, neat, beaded welds replacing the, drunken lines that once scarred its surface. The bandit nodded, “Sure is.” Her steps suddenly stopped and she turned to the mechanic. “This truck has survived a lot, you know that?”

Chewing, Caret nodded and stepped on the bumper and hopped up onto the hood. “Yeah, there was some serious damage to the exterior. A few cracks to the frame, too. You’re lucky I got to it.” She blew another bubbled and popped it, chewing it back into her mouth.

“Yeah, I guess so.” The woman’s fists clenched and unclenched as she searched for the right words, her dreadlocks hanging down and hiding her face. “Back at the camp, near the Vault, the grease-heads used to just make the damn things drive again. They never really ‘fixed’ anything. They just patched it up good enough to get it rolling again and sent it on its way. Same with the bonesaws; they just plugged the hole where the blood was coming out and sent you on your way.”

Caret’s eyebrow perked and she shrugged, “Sounds like they sucked.

“You got to keep your scars, though, you know what I’m saying?” The bandit’s words, for once, sounded as though she was looking for something from the ears they fell on. They wanted to be heard and truly understood.

Her hand drifted to her blood-soaked garment, balling it up between her fingers. “You don’t wash the dirt out of your shirt. You don’t ever clean the blood away. You leave the bullet holes and only stitch something if the tear is so bad you can’t wear it anymore. You take your battles with you, because your battles are what make you.” She released her top and flipped her hair out of the way. “You battles are who you are, because your battles are what you survived.”

“And I took the scars?” Caret asked, for the first time displaying some semblance of empathy.

With a short sigh of relief, the woman nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s what I’m trying to say. I’m not trying to be ungrateful, or say you did a damn thing wrong, I just, I dunno, I wanted you to understand.”

“Nah,” Caret said with a wave of the hand. She dismounted the hood and fell to her feet. “I think I get what you’re saying.”

The skull-faced killer offered a small smile, “Thanks.”

She quickly wiped any illusion of softness from her face and slapped the hard plates on the rear cab and thrust her thumb at the giant automatic weapon now mounted to the rear of the vehicle. “So what the fuck is that thing?”

“Oh, you know, this and that.” Caret quickly climbed into the bed of the truck and took the weapon’s grip in her hand. She leaned back and swiveled the weapon back and forth, sweeping an imaginary horizon for imaginary enemies. “It’s mostly a chain gun I picked up out of a fight,” she squinted and looked down the sights, chewing her gum quickly. “No survivors,” she added quickly.

The bandit laughed in approval, “To hold is to own, kid.”

“Tch, yeah it is,” she released her grip on the handle and ran her hand down the barrel. “Made a lot of my own ‘modifications’ though. This heap of crap barely worked when I first put my hands on it. Now?” She allowed a wild grin to grow on her face, “A thousand rounds per minute of three-point-five-ounce ammunition.”

“Damn kid, that’s no fucking joke,” the skull faced bandit said with utter sincerity. “Ever shot anything like that before?”

“What’s to know? You pull the trigger and point it at the bad guys,” Caret scoffed.

The bandit rolled her eyes, “Maybe flip that order.”

With a grunt, she grabbed the top rail of the bed’s short walls, her chest instantly reminding her that it was a bad idea. She ignored the pain and pulled herself up, the fractured bone of her sternum screaming in complaint. Sweat once again beaded on her forehead, but she blamed it on the heat.

“Yeah, you can walk it in,” the bandit took command of the weapon, squatting down with bent knees and a straight back, allowing the weapon mount to support her, “but you really wanna be blasting this baby in bursts. Forty to fifty rounds at a time. Conserves ammo and you’ll be counting more kills. Even though this fucker is mounted, there’s gonna be some recoil, so putting it on-target and then when the bullets start hitting dirt you just walk it in. You just put it in their general area and do the fine-tuned aiming with the bullets themselves telling you where to move.”

“Good to know,” the girl nodded. “It’ll come in handy when we’ve gotta blast some raiders or scavs or whatever.”

With a wide grin, the bandit slapped the mechanic’s narrow shoulder, jolting her forward. “Damn straight.”

[Eighteen]

It was night again and the air was cool. That's how this wasteland worked. Hot as balls in the day, and cold as a witch's you-know-what at night. Caret didn't mind, in fact, sometimes she barely noticed how the world felt. Her eyes were always stuck to one project or another, and when that happened, her whole universe was forgotten. There was a secret drive to explore and create. Sometimes, when she stared at the stars, her mind would struggle past basic binary and question why she was even in the desert. Surely, out there, was a place that made more sense for her. These talents were all but wasted...

The truck shook and she sat up. The techie had been laying along the back seat looking up at the sky, her big eyes stared at the bandit, almost offended. “I was having a thought,” she said and sat up fully. “What's the big idea?”

“You wanted to go, right?” said the woman, voice as stern as steel.

Shepherd had no idea, well, maybe he had some. The bandit needed time to heal those wounds of hers, but not much longer. It had always been her plan to leave once she was able. If she'd had it her way, she would have been gone many days ago. It wasn't until he felt she was ready, that she could get back to her plans.

“Well, yeah, are we leaving?” said the youth with a look of confusion and she lithely jumped out of the truck. Supplies had been dumped into the back by the dark-skinned woman, provided by her kind host. “I was starting to get bored.”

All of the gadgets she had built here had served a purpose. They were complete. The surrounding area had been picked clean of supplies. If she wanted to find more, she would have to go futher. When she had found the bandit, that had been the furthest she had gone. Any further and she would have found the Town With No Name.

“You won't get bored where we're going,” said the bandit with no name, as she jumped up into the drivers seat. There was something of a knowing look in her eyes. It wouldn't be a cakewalk. There would be danger, and a high possibility of death.

Caret slinked around the vehicle and rounded up a pack full of bits and ends. She shoved her goggles over her eyes, and on her side, she holstered an oddly shaped gun. It was the sort that went pew-pew rather than bang-bang.

Geared up in her scavenger attire, the young red-head made herself comfortable in the passenger seat, and as an added measure, she buckled herself in. At this her new travel companion lifted a brow. “Better safe than sorry,” said the girl with a toothy grin. “Let's go do stuff.”

With a rumble, and a cloud of sand, the truck exited the garage and left behind the only home Caret had ever known. On her computer desk resided a letter to Shepherd. She would be back, because she always came back.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The beast of a machine roared even louder than it had before, its supercharged engine sending a plume of sand and dust into the sky behind them. The ravenous creature lustfully mounted the peaks of dunes only to soar over them and onto the next. Joyfully it rocked from side to side after each leap, the newly-repaired suspension cushioning every thunderous impact.

A wide grin was spread over the bandit’s face, the lithe engineer who sat behind her equally happy though she clutched the dashboard with every titanic movement. “So where we headed?” she asked when the terrain flattened out into a long, hard-packed plain of sandstone and dirt.

The bandit’s eyes never left the road, swerving to hit a wandering mutant lizard. “Headed back to the old base, see if they’ve got any leads on the asshole that I was running down.” The animal barely even made a bump as she ran over it, extinguishing its miserable twin-headed existence.

“Oh,” Caret said, not quite sure how to follow up. “Well, I man, there’s gonna be cool stuff to check, right?”

Smirking, the bandit said, “There’s always cool stuff if you look hard enough, kid.” She glanced over and offered her companion a nod, “I’ll make sure you get something real nice.”

Caret returned the smile and nod, affirming the answer.

“For now though…” the woman pulled down the sun shade and extracted a dusty cassette tape. Blowing it off, she set it into the player, pushing it the rest of the way with her index finger, “… let’s just ride.”

A dreamy, almost hallucinogenic guitar sang through the speakers, drowning out everything but the sound of the engine’s rumble. The winding, psychedelic tune lead the duo through the desert, the sand giving way to stone and scrub-brush as they rode onward. Soon, red-rock buttes and bluffs sprang up beside mesas and spires, leaving behind the undulating waves of the yellow sea. The tracks of the cassette rolled over each other and day gently turned to night. The cloudless sky allowed the moon’s cool blue light to illuminate their way, a span of wild stars stretching out above them on a celestial highway.

The pink-haired engineer yawned and slumped down in her seat, stretching her limbs in every direction. Propping herself back up, she gazed wistfully out of the window at the seemingly purple landscape that blew past them. “When do we get to take a break?” she asked, more of a casual question than a complaint, “We’ve been driving all day. The fuel’s gotta be running low by now anyways.”

Tapping the gauge, the bandit confirmed the girl’s assumption. “How’d you know?”

“You get a knack for that kinda stuff after a while, I guess,” she lazily replied, sighing out her answer.

“Alright, I guess we can take a quick break,” the conceited, grabbing the stick shift and transitioning down. The truck began to slow down, the heavy thrum of the engine softening as they pulled to the side of the trail.

Caret quickly grabbed her door handle, but the bandit snatched her shoulder and pulled her back. “Always check before you leave the vehicle,” she scorned her.

Caret shook her head, “Oh yeah? For what? It’s not like there’s anyone out here. We’re not near anything.”

The bandit’s eyebrows furrowed, “Even if vultures didn’t come out this far, and they do, there’s plenty of other shit to be worried about, especially in the Red Rocks.”

Caret rolled her eyes, “I’ve been scaving these dunes as long as I can remember, I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on what to look out for.”

“Apparently not,” she said gesturing out the door, “There’s tons of UXO out here, Unexploded Ordinance. Vulture mines, to be specific. As soon as you hit the ground, they pop up and rush at ya, blowin’ the fuck out of any fool that didn’t think to look for ‘em.”

Caret’s expression was much starker than it had been when the bandit started talking, “Oh, uh… well, are there any?”

The bandit planted a hand on the dash and leaned over the girl, scanning the ground outside her door. “Nope.”

“Oh,” she said flatly, “Good.” She glanced back and forth for a moment, nervously rolled down the window and leaned out all the way to the waist, searching over the ground once again.

Laughing the bandit opened the door and grabbed her rifle, “I told you it’s fine.” She leapt from the cab and hit the dirt, immediately beginning a search of the vehicle.

Caret took a deep breath and carefully dismounted, exhaling a sigh of relief when she didn’t burst into a million tiny pieces. She ran to the rear of the vehicle, dragging the huge gasoline container from the bed with a tug of her thin arms.

“The truck’s holding up really well,” the woman said, sliding a hand over the freshly dirtied side plating.

Caret twisted the lid off and screwed on the neck of the gas can, sliding it into the vehicle’s tank opening, “Well of course it is.” Grunting, she hefted the container up and the gasoline started to glug into the tank, “I do good work. Don’t you know?”

“Heh,” she coughed, “I guess I should by now.” The woman gave the tires each a firm kick and lifted the hood, checking the various fluids. “Not even burning as much oil as before.”

“The breather hose coming off of your crankcase was full of it. Those ‘mechanics’ back at your base sucked ass.” The container emptied and she pulled down another, beginning to repeat the process. She laughed to herself, “At least this thing doesn’t have a PCV valve. A bunch of vehicles I see rolling around are so worried about low emissions that they sacrifice the efficiency of the motor.”

“Huh,” the bandit grunted and slammed the hood, “I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Caret shrugged as the last of fuel emptied into the machine and hurled the can back into the bed. “I’m used to that by now. Nobody ever knows what I’m talking about.”

The bandit reached up into the cab and retrieved a small, filthy cooler from behind her seat, placing it on the bumper. “Sorry kid,” she said, opening it up. “I have a little bit ok know-how, but I’m not that adept.” She retrieved a small bag and tossed it to her companion.

Caret caught the bag and jumped up onto the hood, her dangling feet kicking below her. She opened the bag and took a bite out of the white-bread sandwich. “Mm, too much ketchup,” she complained and peeled the snack open, scraping some of the red off.

“I don’t know what the hell half that shit it, I just liked the color.” She opened her own and took eagerly pushed the snack into her mouth. A few chews in and her nose crinkled, “Ugh, yeah, I think I added too much. What the hell is this stuff?”

“It’s like a… tomato, sauce, THING. I dunno.” Caret flicked the condiment off her finger onto the ground. “You really don’t know what ketchup is?”

“Nah,” the bandit tried to replicate the engineer’s technique by sliding the bread along her boot knife and shaking it off. “We don’t have a damn thing out here. I barely knew this shit was bread.” She took another bite and contemplated the flavor for a moment. Apparently satisfied with the flavor, she continued to chew.

“Huh,” the mechanic chirped. “What else did you put on them? Like, what meat is this?”

Rolling her eyes, the bandit finished her small meal. “The pink kind.” She rolled her fingers over one another, “You know, the kind that was walkin’ around, then it died, then somebody sliced it up and put it in a little plastic package kind.”

“Oh. Specific,” Caret quipped, also finishing off the sandwich. “Tasted like ham, I think.” She hopped down from the hood and landed, knocking the air out of her a little bit. “Got anything else in there?”

“Yeah, I just grabbed some of those good chips he kept hidden in the cupboard.” The woman tossed Caret a full-sized bag of “Let’s” BBQ flavored chips and closed the cooler. “Now chips I know. Anything that’s sealed in a tin, can, or bag I’m pretty familiar with. Though I gotta admit, chips were kind of rare, ‘cause the package usually doesn’t stand up too well for travel.”

Spinning around, Caret leaned against the wheel, staring up at the stars. “Well I bet it was nice when you guys did get some fresh food, though. Did you like, hunt or anything?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, pushing the cooler back where it came from, “Well, kinda, I guess. We shot stuff sometimes, and sometimes we ate it. I guess I’ve been on a few trips where we were out looking for something to eat. It’s not like, a thing though, you know?”

“Yeah, I think I get ya,” Caret said and folded her hands behind her head. “It’s just such a different lifestyle than the one I’m used to. Shepherd could make us whatever we needed, just like that.”

The bandit crossed her arms and tossed her shoulder into the grill, a snarl on her lips. “Yeah, we have plenty of primes around too. They’re just assholes! They think we’ll perform better if we don’t got enough to eat or something. Maybe they suck at being primes, don’t got enough omni to keep us fed. Either way they’re fuckers.”

Caret sighed, looking over to her friend. “Yeah, well, nothing we can do about that out here, right?”

“Right,” the bandit replied with the ghost of defeat in her throat. “Ready to hit the road, then?”

“Yeah,” Caret nodded, a grin already on her face as she ambled into the seat, buckling herself in.

The bandit pulled herself up the steps and slid into the seat. “Let’s roll.”

The tires spun angrily, tossing red dirt back and forth as the cassette twisting out wild tunes and stories of a wandering path once again.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The valley that stretched alongside the Vault was flanked on either side by towering cliffs and lone crags that scratched the sky. Ample cover and a vast selection of higher ground made the basin a pathetic tactical choice to make a base in, and there was an absolute lack of countermeasures that might make the situation at least slightly more survivable in the case of an attack. The placement of the encampment was entirely based on Sledge’s obsession with the Vault, its massive gates still unmoved after all the years he had been there.

A huge black scar was still seen where the three thousand gallon tank of fuel had been blown up, a reminder of both the gang’s disgrace and of her mission. Her grip tightened on the wheel as she saw the alien’s red face, his sharp features burned in her memory like fire.

Disorderly lines of parked trucks, speeders and other transports were scattered all around the front of the encampment, the wretched hands of the unskilled engineers fumbling with parts made from half-drawn diagrams. In many ways she was unhappy that Caret had put hands on her beastly war-truck, but the care and craftsmanship she had put into the vehicle’s reconstruction was something the slack-jawed grease-heads of the Sledge gang couldn’t have matched, and something she could only ever be grateful for.

She pulled the M809 in front of the refueling pumps, a collection of angry looking bandits already beginning to gather outside. “Where the fuck’ve you been this time?” the lead mechanic shouted, banging on the door.

“Watch it, I just got all the dents out,” Caret sneered.

Shushing her with a hand, the woman threw upon the door and planted a foot on the step, glaring down on the man below her. “The hell does it matter to you, Crank?” she demanded, her brown eyes broiling in the sockets of the white skull on her face.

“Ya can’t just jack one of my trucks and ride off inta tha fuckin’ desert with it!” he spat back, brandishing the heavy metal wrench in his hand.

“Tch,” she spat, “It ain’t your truck, shithead, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want with her.” Her hand grabbed the AER9 laser rifle and it slid over her thigh, conveniently pointing it at his face. “What you gonna do about it, fucko?”

The group of bandits, slavers and psychopaths stared the woman and her companion down, a collective group of chuckles and guffaws calling out from the congregation. “Well, I got about a hundred hands that might rise in answer to that.” He patted the wrench in his hand, the gentle metal twanging as a soft reminder of its presence.

“Interesting counting,” she said, pulling a small metal tin from her pocket. He twisted the cap off and scooped her fingers into it, then wiping a broad swatch of white over her forehead.

The mechanic snorted and stared that the woman, a bit baffled by her actions. “Oh yeah? You got a better count?”

The broad strokes of her hand hastily covered her cheeks and looped around her eyes. Finally, three fingers swept down over her mouth. The skull-faced woman’s bone-streaked lips parted, “Yeah.” The can slipped back into her pocket. “I count ninety-nine.”

The AER9 erupted, blowing the man’s entire upper torso away in a swath of steam and red light. Before the group had a moment to counter-attack, a hail or red light flashed into it in angry pulses, the packed members of the crowd unable to effectively disperse as he rattle off shots. The manic woman came to her feet on the step of the truck below the door, her face twisted into a maniacal grin.

“Caret!” she screamed as the swarm of skin-headed brutes surged her, grubby hands and weapons reaching out desperately as she gunned them down, “Turret!”

The lithe, pink-haired girl scrambled from her seat between the rear of the cab, through the small rear window and into the bed of the truck. Grabbing hold of the mount, she hoisted herself up an d depressed the trigger.

A quick burst of laser pulses soared into the sky and another into the dirt to the far left of the ground as she wildly swung the turret about, attempt to gain control of its aim at the same time as she gained her balance. Finally the girl regained her equilibrium and swept a long, powerful arc of blasts along the peripheral edge of the fleeing mechanics and gearheads, clipping a few and perforating a few more.

It was at this time that the mobs of gun-toting marauders began to pour out of the nearby stones, brandishing an arsenal of weapons. The bandit slammed her hand on the roof a few times, shouting, “Caret! Enough!” The maniacal girl’s thumbs depressed the butterfly for just long enough to claim another life before she let the minigun power down.

“Who’s that at my door step, killing my men?” a thick, somewhat impaired voice echoed over the valley of sandstone and pillars of red rock. The massively broad, almost hilariously disproportionate man trundled down the metal catwalks from his office and onto the dry soil, a massive hammer propped on his shoulder.

The bandit grinned and depressed a button, the energy cartridge of her rifle flaying out with a trail of red steam. She slapped another in and hopped down from her perch, using her free hand to shove the remaining gear heads out of her way. “Well hey there,” she growled menacingly, “you hear anything about that fella who done blowed up our guzzaline?”

The hulking figure grunted and continued walking towards her, until the two met in the center of the carnage that she had wrought. “It’s about time we finally met face to face, don’t ya think,” her strong finger jabbed him in his exposed chest, “Sledge?”

[Thaal Sinestro]

The hulking, powerfully build psychopath loomed over the woman, her well-built and imposing frame seeming meek beside his own. A massive welding mask with a red eye-shield concealed his face, though a childish drawing of a toothy grimace filled in his features. A horn and a half erupted from either side of the black steel mask, one shattered mid-shaft from some long-past altercation.

The bandit allowed her finger to linger on his mysteriously uncovered chest before retracting it. His naked chest and massive, scrap-metal pauldrons mirrored her armor, though her absence of torso coverage was out of necessity rather than choice.

“So what you gotta say for these fuckboys over here?” she jabbed her thumb at the bloody pile of dead and injured mechanics that lay behind her. “I’m going out to get info on the jackass who went and blew up our guzzaline, and they think they can come at me? What kind of operation are you running here?”

The mutant’s heavy breathing could be heard under his makeshift helm as he searched for words, the strained cogs of his mind grinding. She could almost smell the smoke coming from his ears. Sniffing, he swayed to look over her shoulder at the carnage she and her partner had wrought. “Kill Sledge’s men…” his deep voice bellowed, “make Sledge angry!”

His meaty fist reached to the massive hammer that was slung over his shoulder, grabbing it by the pipe-fitting handle. Pulling it free of its harness, he hefted the huge weapon overhead for all to see. The head of the sledgehammer was literally an engine block, metal spikes protruding from it at every angle. The man twisted the handle, and the bandit’s eyes went wide with surprise when the V6 actually roared and spewed forth a puff of smoke.

“Well shit,” she scoffed still shocked as Sledge’s gargantuan weapon roared in the gleaming light of the sun. Her awe only lasted until he brought the hammer down upon her. She dipped to the right of the blow, allowing the spikes to graze her armor with a streak of sparks. She had just grasped the handle of her las rifle when Sledge’s weapon hit the ground and a massive shockwave erupted from the ground, sending the woman flying backwards. “Sledge will crush you!” he groaned at an almost deafening volume, “Crush you style!”

She hit the earth in a plume of grit and dust, coughing her way through having the wind knocked out of her. “Well at least he isn’t mincing words,” she muttered and finished drawing the rifle.

Sledge took a heavy step to square himself on the fallen bandit, and again lifted the hammer high over his head. Scowling, she swung the rifle up to her shoulder, looked down the sights and began to fire. Two thin beams whizzed by him, a third striking his shoulder armor. A shimmering blue light seemed to interrupt the energy, stopping it before it hit its mark. Two more blasts were issued, peppering his shielded chest and forcing him backwards, allowing her enough time to pull herself to her feet.

The group of bandits had formed a massive circle around them, Caret struggling to peer over them from the bed of the truck. It was impossible to tell who the scowling faces were cheering for, as it seemed that they supported the very concept of bloodshed with their yips and hollering.

Not one to disappoint, Sledge quickly recovered from the shots and swung the hammer in a wide, horizontal arc, the V6 blazing. The bandit was barely able to avoid the strike be leaning backwards but a bystander was less lucky. The mallet struck the cowboy’s chin and knocked it from its socket before a shockwave erupted out and blew the rest of him across the motorpool.

Strafing to the side, the bandit let out a couple ore bursts, one flying wide and winging yet another bystander. The crowd seemed unbothered by the high potential for death and only continued to cheer as red lights zapped over the hulking man’s body. He flinched as the beams struck the gleaming barrier that surrounded his body, though otherwise he didn’t seem to notice or care that he was being shot at. Snarling in frustration the woman pushed through the crowd and continued her volley, the messy shot-group quickly clearing the crowd as her sporadic attacks continued.

As his quarry moved further away, Sledge grunted and replaced his hammer back in its sling. In the same motion he quickly retrieved a well-worn shotgun from an adjacent holster and began to pump and fire in the bandit’s general direction.

Dirty hands grasped at her hair and armor, tugging and pushing her as she shouldered her way through them. Blossoms of red washed up as Sledge’s aimless attacks penetrated the group two or three bodies at a time. A supermutant grabbed the bandit by her armor and pulled her in tight, snapped a few of the straps of her scrap-metal plate. “Let go of me, freak!” she snapped, smashing the mutant’s nose with a backward elbow. The green-skinned creature released the woman just in time for another spray of pellets to splatter into its chest, the bandit falling to the ground harmlessly.

Bounding forward, the bandit leapt between the legs of the woman in front of her and planted herself in the prone firing position. With her body firmly pressed into the ground, she took a deep breath and closed one of her eyes, lining up the shot. The marauder that stood over her began to protest before one of Sledge’s shells split them open.

As the brutalized marauder crumpled backwards, the bandit with no name began to pop off as many shots as her she could, her finger bouncing back and forth on the trigger wildly. A swarm of buzzing red lit up Sledge’s shielding, a brilliant wall of static surrounding him as it deflected every shot.

“What the fuck!?” she swore, the heap of dead flesh that was once her cover tumbling behind.

Charging forward the gang boss howled out, “Sledge give little runt a BIG death!” Another batch of gunfire followed his declaration, dirt tossed up all around her. Pellets impacted her armor, a labored twang crying out as the buckshot pushed all the air from her body and submerged her into a torrent of stinging, pounding agony. She gasped for air and attempted to roll away, only to eat a kick to the jaw from one of the less-neutral members of the mob.

A firm glare and a pulse from her rifle incinerated a large portion of the assaulting woman’s torso, what remained of the woman toppling over beside the bandit. As Sledge continued his mindless onslaught, a few more shells cycled through his shotgun followed by several loud clicks.

Grinning, the bandit snatched up the corpse she had made and held it up as a human shield while the behemoth reloaded his shotgun, his thick fingers fumbling with the ammunition as he pushed them into the feed. “Caret!” the bandit shouted, “Hit the fuckin’ tunes! I don’t wanna die to the sound of this fuckwit’s voice!”

Reeling back, the pink haired mechanic took a moment to process the woman’s request. When the words finally clicked, she shook her head and dived head-first through the opened rear-cab window, her scrawny legs kicking behind her. She reached forward, suspended in the air and straining with tongue stuck out to the side. With a final jerk, her fingers slapped the cassette tape, sliding it into the player.

There was a short pause before a whining note sung and the [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1H5s4yVc88] crash of symbols[/url] echoed out from the truck’s booming speakers, the blood-soaked battle finally granted a fitting soundtrack. Narrowing her eyes, the skull-faced warrior peered through the smoldering hole in her human shield’s chest and grinned. “That’s more fuckin’ like it.”

Sledge slammed the pump forward, leveling the gun at his target. The woman’s body ate up most of the shotgun’s power, the bandit’s nanomesh absorbing the rest. Using the like a riot shield, the bandit slid the barrel of the AER9 through the tunnel it had carved and continued firing, illuminating up the blue screen around Sledge in a wild display of color and light.

A few more impacts sunk into the bandit’s bulwark body as she marched towards her target. When she was within range, she lurched forward and hurled the wet corpse onto the massive man, rushing in after it. The carcass bounced off of his meaty frame without much effort; regardless it distracted him from the real threat as the bandit slid feet-first beside him, rifle up and ready as his back became clear.

A battery of laser fire erupted as she powered past, peppering the leather that held the huge harness in place. Despite her poor aim, it only took one hit from the burst to free the hammer from Sledge’s back, and it fell to the ground with a rumbling thud.

In one motion she spun her slide and grabbed the massive weapon from the ground. Rolling up to her feet, she rotated her whole body, spinning on her heels like a dervish, and swung the hammer at its owner’s head.

Screaming in glorious cacophony, the sledgehammer’s engine spewed a wall of exhaust and impacted Sledge’s shield with a thunderous smack. The luminous wall shattered, the shockwave of power splitting the mutant’s flesh and sending his face crashing into the ground.

“I was getting tired of that shit,” the bandit barked, spinning the hammer in her hands.

Shaking his head, the titan crawled up to his hands and knees, looking up to the death-headed warrior. "Sledge doesn`t need shield! Sledge gonna crush you to bloody stumpses!" he spat, blood trickling down his front from beneath the welding mask.

Shaking her head, the woman kicked him over onto his back. “Yeah,” she scoffed, shrugging the chunk of sagging metal back into place, “about that.” Straddling the downed leader, she hefted the hammer high above her head, it revved wildly as the crowd cheered battle-bloodied bandit. The sun dimmed behind the head of the clamorous machine, sputtering as she twisted the handle again and again, surging with each wave of lusty cries.

“Looks like the people have spoken,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk, and the hammer fell.

[Thaal Sinestro]

“Heh,” the bandit snickered, wiping a splotch of blood off of her cheek. “I always knew I could smoke your punk ass.” She dragged the massive hammer out of the tattered remainder of what was once Sledge and planted it on her shoulder. She shook her hand and wiped it down her shirt, not seeming to notice the red streak that her hand left behind.

The excitement of the crowd had yet to die, the gore-splattered scene the epicenter of a din of howls and yips, the Secondaries of the gang seemingly overjoyed at their leader’s death. Or at least most of them were.

The cheers quieted as a husky supermutant barked “You kill Sledge!” from the back of the crowd, her thick hands shoveling the measly bandits and thieves out of her way to the front of the line. “You die now!” The mutant’s massive green mitts reached out towards the bandit as she lumbered forward, her fingers grasping at the air.

With one hand, the bandit with no name grabbed the handle of her laser rifle while it dangled by a sling at her hip, lazily aimed, and squeezed the trigger. A beam of red light rushed forward, instantly turning the super mutant’s head and shoulders into a fine, black ash. The creature unceremoniously flopped to the ground, tainted blood mingling with Sledge’s.

“Anybody got something else to say?” the bandit asked, her eyebrow lifted and her lips pursed mockingly. She looked over the silent crowd incredulously, her weapon flagging each of them as swept it around calmly. When no more dissenting voices called out, she smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Allowing the rifle to slip down to her side, the bandit lugged her new prize towards her truck, smiling up to Caret. She tossed the hammer up over the side walls of the bed, slamming with a clatter as it landed. She nodded to the mechanic joyfully and gestured for her to come down.

Caret vaulted the railing of the truck bed and fell to her feet on the sand. “That was totally,” crazy she rattled off, excitement rushing through every expression. “How did you even do that? I mean, after all you’ve gone thr-“

The bandit wrapped an arm around Caret’s shoulder and brought their heads together close. “I’m going to need your help,” she whispered to her companion, still cockily grinning and waving to the marauders, who had only grown in numbers.

“What?” Caret said, clearly confused.

The bandit led their path, pulling them around the edge of the truck. As soon as they had passed the threshold of the grill and were out of sight, the bandit collapsed into the truck’s door. “Oh fuck,” she gasped, pulling at her armor with trembling hands, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Caret’s expressed shifted from one of elation to panic, her hands moving to the armor in an attempt to help. “What happened? What’s going on?” she stammered, searching for the issue as they stripped the metal carapace from her shoulders.

Wincing, the bandit ripped the tattered back-plate off of herself and looked it over. Three small holes perforated it where Sledge’s shotgun had hit her. “Piece of shit,” she swore and tossed it to the side. The ran her hand under her shirt, feeling along the long series of sutures down her front. She attempted to take a deep breath, but it caught halfway through as a sharp, stabbing pain radiated through her chest and upper back. “I don’t know, I think maybe the stitches ripped or something.”

“What, where?” Caret said, eyes wide. “Are you sure the bullets didn’t hit you when he got you on the ground?”

Shaking her head, the bandit began to pant heavily, sweat rolling from her forehead and her dreads tumbled around her face. “I dunno.” She wheezed heavily and looked up to the pink-haired woman. ”I don’t know, it just hurts.”

Care grabbed the edges of her tatter, blood-soeaked top and began pulling. “Pull up your shirt, let me see.” The bandit acquiesced and bent over, allowing Caret to pull the fabric over her shoulders. “I only think one went in. I think I… Ew,” she poked the woman’s dark skin, trying to get a better angle to see the blood of the injury. “Ew, yeah, I can see it. It didn’t go in very deep.”

“Son of a fuck it hurts,” the bandit wheezed. “I mean, I haven’t made a big habit out of being shot, is it supposed to hurt this bad?”

“I don’t know! Why the hell would I know?” Caret threw her hands in the air in total exasperation and then grabbed the top of her head, tousling her hair anxiously. “We met because you got shot! Didn’t it hurt then?”

“I don’t know,” the bandit said angrily, awkwardly standing and fixing her shirt, “I was pretty much unconscious the whole time.”

“For Omni’s sake man, why did you fight like that? You had surgery like, a month ago! Don’t you like, need more time? Isn’t that something that takes time to heal, surgery?” Caret rattled off, now pacing back and forth.

“Fuck if I know, man.” The bandit sighed, resignation washing over her posture. She leaned against the side of the truck, eyes looking towards the cliffs that spanned in front of her. She spied the sun, hanging in the sky, staring down with its dispassionate gawking pupil. “Yeah, fuck it,” she said, shaking her head. “Yup.” She pushed herself from the door and took another shallow breath, “Fuck it.”

The woman walked from the shelter of the truck, Caret staring at her with confusion and lingering fear. The bandit held her hand up in the air and yelled out, “Yo, who’s got a smoke?”

A short, mohawked man opened a breast-pocket of his jean-jacket, from which the sleeves had been torn off. He pulled out a red pack and tossed it over to the bandit, tilting his chin back. “Keep the pack, boss.”

The bandit nodded, “Thanks.” She opened the carton and flipped one of the butts upside down before withdrawing another and putting it between her lips. She painfully hoisted the las rifle from its sling and held the barrel up to the tip of the cigarette, pulling the trigger to light it. She inhaled deeply, allowing the burning sensation to intermingle with the stabbing agony of her wound.

“Alright,” she said after another puff, “Who’s ready to go fuck up some townies?”