Ares shot a quenching round into the skull of a scorch. The silver bullet pierced through its skull and out the other side with a small explosion of slimy copper gore. Even with a hole through its head, the scorch continued to writhe. The once viscous vitality and starvation for Ares's flesh had been doused into something more manageable. It attacked, aimless and lethargic as if blind and ill. An ironic observation, being a scorch was an illness to begin with though. The black charred skin and puss-like gelatinous bones underneath combined into an odd humanoid puddle with claw-like skeletal hands. Its face looked like it had been smashed by a boulder long ago, a moaning face of disjointed goop and the oozing hole Ares had added.
Ares left the mindless monster and walked to his automata: a stout animal machine covered in bluish patina bronze. Taking out a metal drum and cables from off the back, he examined the dark lining inside of the container and its lid. The seal wasn't compromised, he wrangled the scorched into the drum and sealed it shut, smashing the lid into place with a hammer from his belt. Ares checked the seal several times and used the cables to tie it to the back of his automata. He looked at his watch; it was at 4:15 amber and a train was coming soon.
He mounted his automata and grabbed the antler-like handles that connected to its neckless head. The frigid wind clawed through his coat and woolen hat, gnawing on his lukewarm skin. His ash eyes scanned the barren valleys of dust and skeleton gray mountains while he rubbed his woolen fingerless gloves. No observable threat below the ashened sky, he began his journey down the frozen mountainside. Ares piloted his machine down hostile terrain that tried to maul him with fang-like shattered boulders and stones. Ravines littered down the ancient stone's spine, a spiderweb of death that he weaved through. A couple hours alone was spent to get past the traps nature set, but it was better than becoming another fool who made this mountain their grave.
Ares reached the mountain's base, and rode into the valley of toxic plains. Miles of flat ground covered in ancient dust from calamities so ancient they are regarded as myth and occasional booling toxic pools. The corrosive influence of the bordering Badlands, each toxic pool had its own color and behavior, united together only by the fact that they all would kill a person in a long and painful way. Fumes bubbled up with a smell that leaked through his mask no matter how hard he held it to his face. The mask was a simple face-fitting filter separated by a navy bandana to guard against the skin-biting edges. Clean air was assured, but the smell of rotten piss and toxic chemicals still leaked through. At least it wasn't worse than the corrupted flesh of a scorch. No drum, metal, or even act of the gods could ever contain those abominations' stink.
Ares found one of the main trails, a path carved through the cold wastelands by generations of explorers and hunters. Ares followed the trail away from the mountain range into an empty basin. A blank horizon that must have once been fertile and prosperous with the amount of strangle weed that flourished here. Plants born from the Dedurgon himself, stangle weed could survive the dust season and human genocide attempts. Despite not being lethal, the amount of torn clothes and injuries caused by them are greater monsters. There wasn't much frost but the cold was still malicious without the sun.
This hellscape of vicious weeds was the cradle of the outpost he had been living in for countless years. It was a small settlement that the locals called The Edge, the furthest place possible to live in the Pelevia Empire. The only reason a place like this could exist was for idiots and bounty hunters, of which Ares was a part of; those who so sought fortune and a chance to advance in life, and were willing to risk their lives doing so.
Ares's automata waddled onto the center street of The Edge. Shops made from a collage of tent canvas and carts that sold anything from rations to armor piercing quenching rounds. Ares parked in front of the saloon called the Golden Mug, grabbed his metal drum that had started to leak the wretched smell of its captive, and walked through the canvas door.
The saloon was better than the other shops in town. Instead of it being just a tent or a cart, it was a combination of the two. A large tent, spacious enough for twenty people, filled with tables and chairs and a bar on top of compacted earth. The tent's fabric was well insulated, made from alchemic fiber and durable leather thread. In the middle was a pabulen-burning stove that fought the wintery outside and allowed Ares's bones to thaw.
Nero, the bartender, nodded his head at Ares when he entered. A businessman at heart, Nero never flaunted his wealth like the other bounty brokers. His businesses solidified him as a dependable individual and pillar of the outpost. He wore a crisp shirt and dark pants that were old but well kept. His eyes were a piercing brown and his hair had aged silver. Beneath Nero's calm facade was a ruthlessness that anyone couldn't help but admire. No sane person would ever come here, much less stay here. It took courage and cutthroat intelligence to survive this far from civilization.
"Morning Ares, what do you got for me?"
"Hey Nero, I got something special for you. I got a scorch, a slugger specifically. This one was shot in the head. I am sure you can probably smell it."
"Yes, I can smell it. Still alive, I assume? That must have been a lot of work, it hasn't even been a couple of days since your last one."
"It isn't hard to find them. I have a much better nose than most."
"That isn't the only thing. Even if you find one, just taming it enough to capture it is difficult for large groups of people. Caught this one by yourself too?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wish my sons had your guts. Of all the manics you can find here, I think you're the one that trumps the lot. Honestly, going out there by yourself isn't bravery, its just being stupid. No matter how many times I tell you though, you ignore me and always come back more or less alright. I would do anything to get your kind of luck."
"I don't think luck has much to do with it."
"Trust me, in this line of work, luck is all it is. The only difference is whether you can take advantage of it and know when to not abuse it. Anything you need to tell me?"
"I shot it in the head."
"You shot it with a quenching shot, right? Well, that does make things difficult. You know how demanding they are; even a scratch makes them try to haggle the price halfway. Honestly, they should get their eyes out of their ass and realize that a scorch is a blemish itself and whine to their mothers instead. At least it is alive, I can shut them up with that."
"Can you speed this one up, I have a train to catch."
"Oh, you're leaving already? The party has only just started."
"I need to start becoming someone, can't stay here for the rest of my life."
"It is a bit sudden, but I am not surprised. If I had another chance, I would leave this place and head to the University. Besides, you're young, you shouldn't be here in the first place. Still, it is sad to lose a competent hunter like you. The migration was about to start, and a person that can use their head is always in short supply. Wherever you go, I hope that luck of your's follows after you. So, you want your money now, you know the fees right?"
"Yes." Ares handed the drum to Nero to inspect. Nero prodded the drum until the scorch got annoyed and tried to fight back. Sloshing and banging inside its prison, Nero nodded and bent down under the counter.
"Alright, here you go." Nero dropped his several handfuls of netrium coins on the table and grabbed the metal drum. Ares grabbed the pile and counted the coins.
"There is a little extra?"
"Consider it my gift to you. If you ever find yourself back here again, make sure to chat with me. I will miss having someone that can talk in complete words. Goodbye, Ares." Nero walked into the back carrying the bounty.
"See you some time, Nero."
Ares exited the bar back onto the dusty streets and put the piles of coins into his satchel. Various mercenaries, bounty hunters, and slaves sold their catches to the different brokers. Others were examining the wearers, purchasing extra rounds and rations to prepare for their hunts. Scorch weren't the only thing here, rare minerals, herbs, and ancient relics could be found along the borders of the Badlands. There were many things here to keep one's greed salivating.
The watch reminded him that the train was coming. He mounted his automata and set off at a gallop out of The Edge and to the train station. The trail became clustered with ruins and reclaimed farms. Several hours on the trail, the city of Salvar emerged from the horizon. An expanse of squat buildings made of different shades of gray concrete and towering mineral and metal refineries. Ares rode down the main street along the lane dedicated to automata. The merchants gave a generous offer when he sold his automata, labor was in short supply as the city began the move into the mines. The streets were busy, full of peddlers and rushing miners as Ares walked to the train station.
It had been a very long time since he came to this corner of the empire, and now it was time to leave. The train came at 10:30 Amber sharp, under the light of Flavus. It was made from a patchwork of dark red metal, dyed from the alchemy and the coating it has. The odd hum of the orgone technology, its beating heart, cut through the squeals of metal. Behind the train cars used for transporting passengers, an endless line of cars were filled with metal, minerals, and food from a nearby district.
Ares entered and seated himself on one of the empty rows. The passenger car had a cozy atmosphere, small but comfortable with cloth seats and small windows. The loading was quick; it only took a half an hour. It was always dangerous to stay too long in the Gray Desert; scorch loved to surprise you when you least expect it. An odd steam whistle blew and the train lunged forward, to the start of Ares's new life.