Sayeed's doubt lingered, but he had seen enough impossible things to suspend his disbelief. He gave a curt nod. "Alright. I'll draw his fire."
They separated without another word. Sayeed began the long walk across the open desert toward the crash site, two kilometres separating him from his objective. He made no effort to hide, his silhouette a clear and deliberate target against the sands.
Raymond circled the rear of the bunker, melting into the long shadows cast by the setting sun. He decided to activate his [Basic Sneak] skill. A subtle awareness settled over him, a sense of every grain of sand his boots might displace, every breath that might carry on the wind. The air around him shimmered faintly, a slight distortion that broke up his outline.
He emerged from the outpost's far side, body low to the ground. He hugged the right side of the open desert, moving from one shallow dune to the next, a phantom against the sand. The skill wouldn't make him invisible, but it quieted his advance, blurring his form just enough to turn a clear figure into a trick of the heat haze. The bandit's attention would be on the lone figure walking towards him from the front. Raymond counted on it.
Huddled in the second buggy, the bandit's hands slicked the grip of his rifle. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging. He risked a glance at the merchant, Rakheel, who sat bound and silent, eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own.
When the lead buggy had flipped, he thought the driver had just lost control on a bad patch of sand. Simple bad luck. But then his two mates, had run to help and just… dropped. One moment they were running, the next they were sprawled on the ground, not moving. A single, distant crack was the only sound. A sniper.
Relief had flooded him when Boss Bracken emerged from the wreck and donned that magnificent power armour. A walking tank. Bracken would smash the shooter into paste. He'd watched his boss charge toward the mountain, a god of metal and vengeance.
Then the ground had shaken. Explosions. After that, nothing. No blaster fire. No return shots from the rifle on the mountain. Just silence. The quiet was worse than the shooting. It was a cold, heavy thing that settled in his gut and screamed that he was next.
Rakheel's heart hammered against his ribs. He had braced for another long, brutal stay at the gang's main den, a prospect that filled him with cold dread. But this… this was surreal. A sniper, explosions, and then a silence that felt heavier than any sound. He did not know who orchestrated the ambush, but a desperate flicker of hope ignited in his chest. Let them spare me, he prayed silently, just let them spare my life.
The bandit's ragged breathing sawed through the quiet. Sweat streamed from his brow, blurring his vision as he stared out at the desert. A figure emerged from the heat haze, walking slowly, deliberately. Not crawling or running. Walking. The posture was unnervingly confident, the weapon held at a low ready not a sniper's rifle, but a standard Sentinel-5.
Panic seized him. He dropped the rifle in his lap, his hand fumbling for his sidearm. He yanked the Vector-7 from its holster and jabbed the muzzle into Rakheel's side.
"Get out! Now!"
Rakheel scrambled from the buggy, stumbling on the sand. The bandit followed, pressing close behind, using the merchant's body as a shield. He kept his own frame hidden, training the sidearms' muzzle on Rakheel's temple.
The figure was closer now, within earshot. The bandit screamed, his voice cracking with terror.
"Don't take another step! I'll blow his brains out if you do!"
Sayeed halted his advance, the sand crunching under his final step. Eighty metres. Close enough to be a threat, far enough to seem compliant. He kept his Sentinel-5 at a low ready, his eyes locked on the trembling handgun pressed to Rakheel's temple.
A jolt went through Rakheel. Through the haze of terror, he recognised the approaching man's silhouette. The posture, the deliberate calm. It was Sayeed. Alive. A desperate, painful flicker of hope ignited in the merchant's chest.
Seeing the figure stop, the bandit felt a surge of control. The fear remained, but now he had leverage. "Who are you?" he yelled, his voice thin and cracking. "Why are you targeting us?"
A cold, mirthless smile touched Sayeed's lips. He let the silence hang for a moment, enjoying the man's sweat-soaked panic.
"Don't you know who I am?"
Sayeed's voice was laced with a chilling sarcasm that cut across the open sand.
"You lot locked me in that cell. Seemed to enjoy yourselves while you were torturing me, right?"
A cold dread washed over the bandit. He knew that face. Sayeed. The mercenary leader they had captured last week, the one they had taken turns breaking in the bunker. But he was supposed to be locked up, broken.
"How did you—"
The question died in his throat.
A presence materialized behind him, silent as the grave. Raymond, shrouded by the shimmering distortion of his [Basic Sneak], activated his [Basic Concussive Strike]. A faint yellow marker pulsed on the bandit's exposed neck, visible only to him. His hand chopped down, the edge of his palm striking the point with surgical precision.
The bandit's eyes rolled back. His body went limp, dead weight slumping forward against Rakheel. The merchant cried out, stumbling under the sudden load before he shoved the unconscious man away and spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Raymond stood there, dusting off his hands, a casual smile on his face.
"We meet again, Rakheel."
Rakheel's mouth hung open, words failing him as he stared at the boy he had watched get vaporized by a laser, now standing before him as though death were a minor inconvenience.
Ten minutes later, inside the functional but austere office of the outpost bunker, Rakheel still looked as though he was seeing a phantom. He sat opposite Raymond, hands clasped tightly together, Sayeed perched on the edge of the adjacent desk.
"I... I truly cannot believe it," Rakheel stammered, his eyes wide. "To be alive and well... and to have taken them all out, alone… I witnessed your death. Truly, my friend, you are touched by the gods." He kept shaking his head, a mixture of awe and terror on his weary face.
Raymond offered a faint smile. His mind, however, was already elsewhere, engaged with the silent metrics of the World System.
[ Combat Finished. Calculating rewards... ]
[ Total Kills: 5/(Tier 0), 1/(Tier 1) ]
[ Awarded 15 REP ]
The system's notification hovered in his vision, a stark accounting of his actions. Five Tier 0 enemies and one Tier 1. Last time, Tier 0s were worth 1 REP each. If that pattern held, the Tier 1 enemy, Bracken in his power armor, had been worth a solid 10 reputation points alone.
[ Sub quest 'Rescue Rakheel Abu Al Bakar from captivity' progress: 100% ]
[ Sub quest 'Eliminate Sand Rat Outpost' progress: 92.86% ]
The prompt for Rakheel's rescue glowed green, a completed objective. The outpost elimination quest, however, remained incomplete. His gaze shifted from the floating text to the unconscious bandit lying on the floor, now bound with the very restraints Rakheel had worn moments earlier.
Raymond's eyes flicked to the bound bandit, then back to Sayeed. A flicker of an idea, a test for the system, formed in his mind.
"Sayeed," Raymond began, his voice even, "you said this one enjoyed torturing you?"
Sayeed's grimace deepened. He nodded, his gaze hardening as he looked at the unconscious man. "He was one of the worst. Took pleasure in it."
Raymond watched a subtle shift in Sayeed's posture, saw the mercenary's fingers tighten around the Sentinel-5. "Want to kill him?"
Sayeed blinked, a puzzled expression replacing his anger. He glanced from Raymond to the bound bandit, then back again. If Raymond meant to kill him anyway, why bother capturing him? The logical inconsistency seemed to catch him, but he didn't voice the question. Perhaps it was some strange test for him, or a peculiar kink Raymond harbored. Sayeed merely shrugged.
"My pleasure."
He pointed the Sentinel-5 at the bandit's chest.
BANG!
The rifle cracked, sound loudly echoing in the small office. The bullet punched through the man's sternum. The bandit's body convulsed once, then went completely limp.
Raymond's eyes focused on to his quest log as the final enemy fell.
[ Sub quest 'Eliminate Sand Rat Outpost' progress: 100% ]
The text overlay faded.
So, it doesn't have to be my hand.
The system registered the completion of the objective, regardless of who delivered the final blow. A cold satisfaction settled in Raymond's chest. The rules were rigid, but exploitable.
Good to know.
He turned his attention to Rakheel. The merchant's face was pale, his eyes wide as he stared at the fresh corpse on his office floor. The casual execution had clearly rattled him.
"Rakheel. Our deal. Is it still valid?"
The merchant startled, his focus snapping back to Raymond. He scrambled to his feet, nodding with an almost frantic energy.
"Yes! Of course! Anything you need, my friend. My resources, my connections… they are yours. Whatever you plan to achieve, I will give you my full support."
Raymond gave a single, sharp nod. That was settled. He glanced at Sayeed.
"Let's gather the gear from outside."
They stepped out of the bunker, back into the harsh glare of the desert sun. The smell of burnt fuel and cordite hung in the air. As they walked towards the scattered remains of the convoy, Raymond broke the silence.
"That armour. Tell me about it."
Sayeed kept his rifle ready, his eyes scanning the ridgeline from habit. "Miniature Power Armour. High-tech, foreign goods. You see that kind of kit on the upper crust of Cyber City, maybe a bodyguard for one of The Table. How a rat like Bracken got his hands on one… that's the real question."
They reached Bracken's corpse, the lifeless metal plates reflecting the sky. The sheer bulk of it made the dead man seem even smaller.
"How do you get it off him?"
Sayeed knelt beside the body. "Every suit has an emergency release. For when the power source is dead, or the user is." His fingers found a nearly invisible seam on the chest plate. He pressed, and a small, secured panel clicked open. Inside was a single, recessed red button. Sayeed pushed it firmly.
A low hiss escaped the armour. Seams of pale blue light traced lines across the plates. With a series of smooth, precise clicks, the suit began to dismantle itself. The gauntlets retracted, the chest piece split and folded inward, the leg plating collapsed upon itself. In seconds, the entire mechanised shell contracted into the sleek, metallic case it had sprung from. Raymond watched, silent, as a weapon of immense power became mere luggage.
"Impressive," Raymond uttered, his voice low.
Sayeed gave him a silent, sidelong glance. The look was heavy with unspoken irony, a dry commentary that a self-collapsing suit of armour was hardly more remarkable than a man who pulled sniper rifles from thin air.
Raymond recognised the sarcastic gaze and a small smile touched his lips as he shook his head. He bent down, placing a hand on the cool, brushed metal of the case, feeling the machine-tooled texture beneath his palm. A transparent blue screen immediately filled his vision.
[ Name: K-FRM-05b 'Cascade' ]
[ Type: Power Armor - Light (Custom) ]
[ Description: A unique, helmet-less armor system (Kratos-Frame, Model 05, 'b' variant) that disassembles for carry and auto-assembles onto the user from a deployment base. Its segmented plates and internal mechanisms are powered by a compact Aethertech core. ]
[ Systems: Aethertech Core, Personal Force Field, Communications Earpiece ]
[ Armaments: Right Gauntlet (20cm Blade), Left Gauntlet (Wrist Blaster) ]
He absorbed the data, his mind already calculating the tactical advantages. With a conscious thought, he committed the item to his inventory. The case vanished from the sand, leaving only a rectangular impression.
Sayeed clicked his tongue, a soft, resigned sound. He had expected nothing less.
For the next hour, they worked with the grim efficiency of battlefield scavengers. Raymond moved through the crash site and the outpost's armoury, his hands briefly touching weapons before they blinked out of existence. A Sentinel-5 rifle, several loaded magazines, the Raptor-9 SMG from the bunker—each vanished into the invisible space of his inventory.
Sayeed, operating on a more tangible level, hefted heavy red cans of fuel, siphoning what remained from the wrecked buggies into them. He loaded the surviving vehicle with water skins and packaged food, his movements economical and practiced. Rakheel, his face still drawn but his composure returned, sorted through medical supplies in the bunker, his merchant instincts taking over as he assessed value and utility.
When they finished, the sun had begun its final descent, painting the western sky in bleeding streaks of orange and purple. The desert air started to lose its searing edge.
Sayeed wiped grease from his hands with a rag, his gaze fixed on the darkening horizon. "We're done here. Let's not linger."
"Where to?" Raymond stood beside the functional two-seater buggy, its frame scarred but its engine sound.
"Rocky Town. It's six hours east. If we push it, we can make it before the morning checkpoint shift changes."
Rakheel emerged from the bunker, carrying a small satchel. He overheard the merc's suggestion and nodded in agreement. "He is right. A wise suggestion. With a vehicle like this, questions will be asked by the Sultanate patrols. But before the sun is properly up… money speaks louder than regulations. My presence, and Sayeed's, will smooth the way."
Raymond considered it. He was operating in a vacuum, his only knowledge of this world coming from brief, violent encounters. An urban centre, even a minor one, was a wellspring of information. It was a place to listen, to learn the patterns of this world, to find a trail that led to the Sand Rats' main den. The desert had offered survival; a town offered a foothold.
"Agreed. We leave as soon as possible."
They took half an hour. Sayeed did a final check on the buggy's engine, the low thrum of its idling motor a steady promise of movement in the vast silence. He secured the fuel and water to the rear rack. Rakheel settled himself in the passenger seat, his slight frame looking swallowed by the utilitarian cockpit.
Sayeed slid behind the wheel. Raymond occupied the front passenger position, with Rakheel positioned in the rear. At their backs, the mountain outpost stood as a shadowed outline, a gravesite for those who'd perished within.
He pressed the accelerator. The buggy's tires bit into the sand, kicking up a plume of dust that caught the last rays of twilight. The engine roared to life, its headlights cutting two sharp cones of white into the encroaching night. They sped away from the mountain, leaving the wreckage and the dead to the silence of the Serenity Desert as it settled into its cold, nocturnal rhythm.