A miniature sandstorm brewed, covering up footsteps that led to a teenage boy in an ecru thawb(an ankle-length garment usually with long sleeves, similar to a robe). Scarce clouds ornamented the sky, shielding the sun from completely beating down on the sea of vast, boring sand. A camel carrying some packages wandered beside him. It licked his face, moisturizing his skin with camel saliva.
"Ew." The teenage boy thought, puking inside his heart. Camouflaged in the desert, he laid lazily on his stomach, remaining motionless behind a dune. It was impossible to resist wiping off the slimy liquid on his face, but he told himself not to.
[It's protecting me from sunburns.] He convinced himself. [The moisture will keep my skin in tip top condition. I read it on a science magazine. Did I?]
In reality, he just couldn't bother. He was too snug and comfortable in that position.
Painted in desert sand, the tip of a Lobaev sniper protruded from the dune, pointing towards the horizon where tiny shadows emerged.
Baggy clothings; Parade of wagons; Silly mustaches to complement their sly, greedy looks. It was certainly a group of merchants.
The tripod attached to the sniper perched on a flat, compressed area of sand. His elbows took shape of the two concave holes he dug, whereas a sand pillow cushioned his chest.
He scoped in. The merchants were doing whatever merchants do. Counting gold, counting resources or even counting the grains of sand they passed by. The wagons had fabric roofs to contain the merchandise, all except for the wooden wagon representing high social status in the heart of the parade. Heavily guarded by mercenaries in gray uniform, there was no way for anyone to sneak up close without being noticed.
Ephemeral flurries whizzed past the group of merchants, flapping the window curtain outside the wagon sporadically. A scarred face of a malnourished man appeared indistinctly by the window pane. A face of full of worry and debilitation.
Two hair colors of opposite extremes, bright-golden and ink-black, ruffled in the sandy wind as the teenage boy gently reached towards the touchscreen watch on his right wrist. Right index finger still intact with the trigger, he tapped the icon 'Mission Accomplished'.
The man in the wagon shivered. He looked out the window with his sunken eye bags. His heart was astoundingly calm.
Death called.
Within the complex structure of the Lobaev sniper, a tyrannizing .338 Lapua Magnum bullet rested quietly on the barrel chamber, awaiting its owner's commands. The red dot on the centre of the scope aligned with the man's forehead.
He pulled the trigger.
Furnishing the four letters, a ray of sunlight sprayed onto the well-polish cartridge. Branded in bold font, "*Nova*" illuminated an eerie blaze.
Cleansing his weapon from the grains of sand, Nova packed up the external components and the rifle into a deployment case and slung it over his camel's hump.
"Beep!"
His watch sirened. Nova read the information emotionlessly.
[Next destination: Daxrim city]
[Reward: Low grade Aura stone]
[Quantity:1]
[Difficulty: Unknown]
[Target: Atlas]