The flames of the incinerator grew larger and more vicious as the chants of the Sinners grew louder. A cult that had believed the lord had forsaken them. A man stood at the end, lowering a steel barrel into the pit, whilst he yelled into the crowd.
The head priest, draped in tattered robes with symbols of a forgotten faith etched into the fabric, raised his hands. His voice, though steady, echoed the desperation of a man who had long since lost hope.
"Great lord, we offer this vessel, cleansed and purified, in penance for our sins. In your infinite mercy, return to us, and restore this world to its glory."
The crowd droned in agreement, as the darkness of the night was lit by the flames. The Bishops were adorned in a grotesque mix of tactical gear and ancient armor, their faces hidden behind helmets made from cracked visors and the remnants of medieval knight helmets. Their bayonets gleamed in the orange embers of the fire as it grew longer, licking the base of the barrel, before the roar of engines were heard, a Lawmaker Patrol appearing, opening fire on those that charged. Screams replaced chants as panic erupted among the Sinners.
The Bishops yelled at the top of their lungs, pointing their weapons at the Lawmakers.
"PROTECT THE SACRED GROUNDS! THE CEREMONY MUST NOT BE STOPPED! FOR OUR GREAT LORD AND SAVIOR!"
The Lawmakers moved in with military precision, sweeping through the crumbling structures, their rifles spitting fire. But the Bishops were no ordinary men. Their tactical training, even after years in the wasteland, made them formidable. One of them opened fire, felling two Lawmakers in quick succession. He then charged forward, skewering another officer with his bayonet, swinging her into the crowd, before firing through her into another scout. The Bishop's rampage would be curbed, though, by a clean shot into the back, directly hitting his spine, making his body limp instantly.
The second Bishop, now alone, roared in fury. His rage was far greater than his agony shooting up his body from the gunshot wounds. He charged forward, his rifle empty, using his bayonet as a last weapon, beheading another Lawmaker, skewering more as he ran forward, before a few decisive shots had him. He crumpled to the dirt, his armor clattering as a final shot took him out. His body, unfortunately, was not as resilient as his rage. With the Bishops gone, the cult was defenseless.
The remaining Sinners screamed, helpless and frantic. The Lawmakers moved in, securing the non-threatening ones, pushing them down, zip-tying hands, and dragging them to the side. The Priest, in a last desperate attempt, reached for the cable, pulling the barrel toward the incinerator, but to no avail.
"Civilians secure. Are Relocation Services en route?" one of the soldiers asked over his comm.
"Negative," came the reply, cold and decisive. "Further orders: Exterminate all non-personnel."
"Roger that."
A straggler beckoned one of the soldiers closer, wide-eyed and trembling. "Oh, Kind Soldier, are you going to help us?"
The soldier looked down at the straggler, his expression impassive behind his visor. He raised his gun.
BANG.
All hell broke loose.
The remaining Lawmakers opened fire, gunning down the Sinners who had once been secured. The helpless followers screamed, some trying to run, but the sound of gunfire drowned them out.
The Lawmakers swarmed the area, their objective clear.
Leave none alive.
The priest, abandoning all sense of order, screamed and ran toward the barrel. But before he could reach it, a burst of gunfire took him down.
The bloodbath finally ceased as the bodies cleared, the final being a woman desperately jabbering into a radio. The incinerator's flames died out, the steel barrel dangling atop the crane. The Lawmakers didn't even think to examine it, leaving it to rust with the rest of the cult. The roars of their engines muffled the noises of screams and banging from inside the barrel.
***
The soft hum of the engine had lulled Mara into a rare, brief sleep. Her truck, battered and worn from the relentless desert, was parked on the outskirts of the Guild's compound. The stars above were cold, distant pinpricks in the vast, empty sky, and the Dunes were quiet for once. Still, even in the silence, Mara's dreams had been filled with the sounds of gunfire, the crack of bones, and the haunting screams of the dying. A storm. The tower. Betrayal. Loss.
She woke with a start, instinctively reaching for the shotgun rigged at her side. Her breath was heavy, heart pounding as the remnants of the nightmare faded into the dim reality of the night. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Mara swung her legs over the side of the driver's seat and planted her boots in the sand.
"Fuck…" she muttered, rubbing her face as she pushed herself to her feet. Sleep had never been a friend. Not since it all went to shit. She tied her messy hair, slinging her balaclava over her face, before putting the skull on. The respirator held in by the jaws, the goggles in the sockets. It was a way of life at this point. She tread though the sand, her boots halfway buried in the sand.
She swung open the steel door to the guild bunker, her cloak gently waving in the purified air. She removed her hood, sitting once again in front of Chuck. She spoke, her voice modulated by the mask.
"Pour me something strong, Chuck."
Chuck grunted, pouring a familiar golden liquid into a glass, sliding it towards Mara. She unhinged the jaw on her mask, the respirator falling with it, before knocking the drink back, her throat burning as she shook her head. Chuck then slid her another object.
"Some guy came in earlier, requesting you specifically. Refused anyone but Lady Death."
"Flattering."
She grabbed the fob, reading the request. Something about a kid, and transporting her across the border. Pay was steady, but there was a problem.
"Borderlong travel's gonna be an issue. I'll expect an up front payment."
"Seems like he knew you'd say that."
Chuck brought out a jerrican, presumably filled with petrol, setting it atop the bar.
"Where's this kid?"
"Gave you the card for a reason. Co-ords for the site. Sinner territory."
"Sinners," Mara repeated, "They got tired of knockin' on wood, so they started snatching kids. Whoopty-doo."
***
The truck's tires crunched over the debris as Mara slowed to a crawl. The headlights sliced through the darkness, casting long shadows across the wreckage. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and metal, the unmistakable signature of a bloodbath. Sinners, Lawmakers—bodies lay tangled in the dirt, their final moments immortalized in grotesque poses. Mara stared through her cracked windshield, her fingers tightening on the wheel.
"Looks like the pigs had their fun," she muttered, pulling the truck to a stop just outside the main junkyard gates. She killed the engine, and the sudden silence that followed felt suffocating.
The incinerator still flickered with faint embers, throwing dim light over the scattered remains of what had once been a "sacred ground." Mara stepped out, her boots sinking into the sand mixed with ash. She pulled the cloak tighter around her, the night air biting even through her gear.
Her eyes scanned the carnage, taking it all in—like she'd done a hundred times before. Lawmakers sure as hell didn't hold back. They never did. She wasn't here for them, though.
She was here for the kid.
Moving carefully, she stepped around the bodies, her shotgun slung low but ready. Sinners were sprawled in all directions, bullet-riddled and burned, some half-buried in the twisted wreckage of cars. This wasn't just a raid; this was an extermination. Her eyes caught the glint of a bayonet still buried in the chest of a Lawmaker. The Bishops had held their ground, and had been overrun by sheer numbers.
Thunk.
A dull, rhythmic noise broke the silence, faint but persistent, coming from the direction of the incinerator. Mara's attention snapped toward it. She didn't rush—she never rushed—but her steps quickened, her gaze sharpening as she neared the source of the noise.
The incinerator loomed ahead, its flames long since subsided into a dim, smoldering glow. A steel barrel hung from a crane nearby, suspended over the remnants of the fire. It swayed slightly.
Thunk-Thunk-Thunk.
"Son of a bitch," Mara whispered to herself, realization hitting her.
The Lawmakers hadn't checked it. Whoever was in there, they were still alive.
Mara reached the crane controls, her fingers moving with practiced ease. The barrel lowered slowly, creaking as it descended until it clunked heavily onto the ground. The banging from inside intensified, frantic now, as if whoever was trapped inside knew time was running out.
Mara didn't waste a second. With her prosthetic arm, she gripped the barrel's rusted lid, planting her boot against its side. With a grunt, she heaved the lid off, tossing it aside with a loud clatter.
Inside, curled up in the bottom of the barrel, was a young girl, no older than fourteen—filthy, trembling, her eyes wide with fear. She looked barely human, her hair matted and tangled, skin smeared with soot and ash. Her clothes were little more than rags, and her lips were cracked, moving soundlessly as if begging for mercy.
Mara crouched down, resting her arm on the edge of the barrel. "Hey," she said, her voice low but firm. "You're okay now. I'm not one of them. What's your name?
The girl flinched at first, recoiling into the back of the barrel, but Mara held her ground, keeping her tone calm. She'd seen this look before—seen it in her own reflection too many times.
The girl's mouth moved, barely forming words. Her voice was hoarse, almost a whisper, but Mara caught it.
"Eve…"
Mara exhaled, nodding once.
"Alright, Eve. Let's get you out of here."
She reached down, offering her hand. Eve hesitated, her eyes flicking from Mara to the wreckage around them, then back to Mara again. Slowly, as if testing whether she could trust the world for once, Eve placed her hand in Mara's.
Her grip was weak, but Mara hauled her out of the barrel with ease, steadying her as she wobbled on unsteady legs.
"God…" Mara muttered under her breath. The kid looked like she hadn't eaten in days. Weeks, maybe. Her arms were little more than sticks, and her whole body trembled from exhaustion, hunger, or fear—or all three.
Mara glanced around once more, her instincts telling her they didn't have much time. "C'mon," she said, keeping her voice low. "We need to get out of here. Fast."
Eve didn't argue. She didn't have the strength to. She simply nodded, clinging to Mara as they made their way back to the truck. The burning remains of the incinerator behind them felt like a distant nightmare now, but Mara knew better.
Nightmares didn't stop in the Dunes.
They simply waited for you to close your eyes again.