Another day in paradise.
Mara's moment of rest was broken by another straggler knocking on her window, making her jolt awake. His gas mask failed to hide his expression of peril, begging for her to spare a litre– repeatedly tapping on her window. She groggily waved him away, gloved hand holding her head as she wrestled with her headache. But the idiot wouldn't shut up, the combination of his mask and the barrier of glass making his voice barely legible. Something about a wife being stranded. Mara shook her head as the masked man put his hands together. Finally, she had enough of it. She slammed her keys into the ignition, starting her engine, the old truck's filter coughing and gagging as it sputtered to life, leaving a cloud of smoke in its wake, the rumble of the engine sending the man outside running, as she stepped on the gas.
She supposed that she could check in at the nearest guild, see if there was any work. She was on her last week's supply of litres anyway. The endless view of dunes (and the occasional abandoned hut) on either side of her field of vision finally gave way to a complex of vehicles and caravans parked around a large steel bunker. Mara slung her mask on, taking her weapon around her shoulder. Her cloak was still caked in dust from the last storm, beige patches showing on the otherwise navy colored fabric.
Entering the guild bunker, Mara was greeted by the noises of all kinds of survivors. Scavengers bargaining for water rations, all kinds of smiths selling supplies and wares. Few looked at her, and even less stared. They mentioned her alias, Lady Death. She adjusted the mask, the skull clinging to her as the respirator hissed. It seemed she'd made a bit of a reputation for herself. She walked over to an older man, sitting by a counter. She set a dog-tag on the wooden table, a trinket from her last job.
"Alright, Chuck. You owe me twenty. And don't skimp on the powder either. Misty's needy."
The man, Chuck, adjusted his glasses, holding the tag up to the lens that wasn't shattered. He grunted, grabbing the canisters of water along with a jar of gunpowder, setting them onto the table. He wheezed, coughing hoarsely, before speaking, adjusting his spectacles.
"That's ten. All I got. Pick up the rest when I get another shipment."
"That's not what we shook on."
"You wanna be picky, kid? Then it ain't yours or mine. I'll give you the tag–"
"Fine. I'll take it."
She slid the canisters into her backpack, being careful with the jar of powder. She slung her 12-gauge– Misty, as it was called – back across her shoulder, her steel prosthetic shining in the dim light. The rubber-tipped ends gripping the front of the firearm as she glanced at the Blood-Board; A table of names, along with the prices on their heads. She glanced at a smaller one, with a familiar logo neatly stenciled beside it. The Lawmaker sigil. The pigs were desperate, hiring public guns to do their dirty work. She scoffed, looking at the price. The litres weren't all that substantial, and the gunpowder seemed to be only for decoration. She sighed, walking back to her truck.
She set her pack on the passenger seat, when she heard clinking on her steel shoulder. She turned to see that she was staring down the barrel of a pistol.
"Howdy. I don't suppose this fine beauty here is yours, miss?"
The man wore a military-grade gas mask, but even that wasn't enough to hide the stupid, shit-eating grin on his face.
"Now, I ain't lookin' for trouble, just lookin' at that iron ya got there. Too much firepower for little ol' you, I think. How about you take that weight off, nice an' slow?"
Her eyes lazily followed the barrel, up to the man's face. Bastard was grinning like he won the lottery. Mara sighed, her hands brushing across the strap of her weapon.
"Sure, I'll hand her over."
"Alright! Jus' don't try anything stupid!"
Click.
The man's grin disappeared.
Click. Click. Click.
His attempt at a sucker-punch was ruined. He fumbled around with the pistol, trying to fix the misfire.
Mara stared down the barrel, smiling as she leaned into it, gently tapping her forehead to the gun.
"Aw, it's okay, everyone has a little trouble once in a while."
She then kicked the man into the side of her truck, slamming his face against the door, with him howling in pain, stumbling, before he haphazardly threw a punch, hitting the truck. Mara then threw her prosthetic fist at him, slamming him down with a sickening crunch as bone met steel.
"Let me introduce you to Misty."
BANG.
Ch-Chunk.
BANG.
The man's cheap, mass-produced vest tore away in seconds, crimson staining the sand as Mara fired. She sighed, ejecting the last round as she got in the truck, parking it in the complex for the evening. She took out a flask from her pack, taking a swig. Cheap liquor stung her throat as she drank, before she brought her seat back, shutting her eyes.