The desert was a crucible of sun and silence. The hoverboard's hum was a lonely sound against the vast, wind-scoured expanse of amber dunes. Zhèn had wrapped his head in a spare cloth from Elara's pack, squinting against the glare. Blitz's blue hair was dulled by a fine coating of dust, his usual boundless energy tempered by the relentless heat. Even Elara's relentless drive seemed to waver under the hammer of the sun.
So when the shimmering promise of an oasis resolved into a cluster of sturdy adobe buildings and the skeletal outline of a water tower, the relief was palpable. The settlement, little more than a waystation, boasted a single, sprawling building with swinging wooden doors and a faded sign that simply read: SALOON.
"Civilization," Elara groaned, her throat parched. "Or a reasonable facsimile. I'm using a break."
Inside, it was blessedly dark and cool. The air smelled of stale beer, sawdust, and the ghost of a thousand cigars. A handful of dusty patrons glanced up from their cards and drinks, their eyes assessing, then dismissing the odd trio, a city girl, a mountain boy, and a hyperactive kid covered in dirt.
Elara made a beeline for the bar, slapping down a few cred-chits. "Something cold. Anything."
The bartender, a taciturn man with a magnificent mustache, slid a tall glass of fizzy, pale liquid towards her. Condensation beaded on the sides. Elara closed her eyes, bringing the glass to her lips with a sigh of anticipation.
The glass exploded.
The shot was a thunderclap in the confined space. Shards and cold liquid sprayed across Elara's face and shirt. She stood frozen for a second in shock, then let out a yelp, diving behind Zhèn, who had instantly moved between her and the door.
Four figures stood silhouetted in the bright rectangle of sunlight. They didn't look like Circuit's clean, mechanical enforcers. These were feral, weathered by the desert. In the lead was a man with a sneer etched into his lean face and a gaudy, feathered bandana, Khalid. To his left stood Spark, wiry and twitchy, fingers dancing near the twin pistols on his hips. To his right loomed Ivan, a mountain of scarred muscle with arms thicker than Zhèn's thighs. And beside him, with a quiet, watchful intensity, was Rashaad, his hand resting on the worn hilt of a sheathed cavalry sword.
"This here saloon," Khalid drawled, his voice like grinding stones, "sits on our turf. You just drank our water. That costs. Drop all your valuables, packs, jewelry, tech, on the floor now, and you can walk out into that nice, hot sun."
A tense silence gripped the other patrons. They stared resolutely at their drinks.
Blitz shook the dust from his hair, a wide, challenging grin spreading across his face. "Haha! You're dealing with the fastest thing in any desert, bandana-brain."
He moved. To the saloon's occupants, it was as if he teleported. One second he was by the bar, the next he was between Khalid and Spark. A spinning kick swept Khalid's legs out from under him, sending him crashing into a card table. A simultaneous elbow jab to Spark's solar plexus doubled the wiry man over, gasping, before he could clear leather.
Blitz pivoted, aiming a flashy roundhouse at the tall swordsman, Rashaad.
Shing!
Rashaad's blade was a silver blur, still in its sheath. He used the hardened scabbard to block the kick with a solid thwack, the impact vibrating up Blitz's leg. Rashaad's dark eyes showed a flicker of surprise at the speed, but no fear.
"Fast," Rashaad acknowledged, his voice low. "But not careful."
He went on the offensive, not with the blade, but with the sheathed sword as a staff, and his own disciplined fists. He and Blitz became a whirlwind of precise strikes and hyper-accelerated counters. Blitz was faster, but Rashaad's technique was flawless, his defense an iron wall that anticipated and redirected.
Seeing his ally engaged, Ivan let out a grunt and charged Zhèn like a bull. Zhèn set his feet, meeting the charge not with evasion, but with immovable force. They collided with a sound like two boulders crashing together. Ivan wrapped his massive arms around Zhèn in a bear hug meant to crush ribs. Zhèn grunted, muscles straining, but he didn't buckle. He began to slowly, inexorably, pry the arms apart.
The saloon was a chaos of splintering wood, grunts of effort, and the clatter of fleeing patrons.
"ENOUGH!" Khalid screeched, back on his feet. He hadn't drawn on Blitz or Zhèn. He'd circled the chaos, and now he stood behind the bar, one arm locked around Elara's throat, the cold barrel of his revolver pressed to her temple. Her eyes were wide with terror.
"You better stop right now," Khalid snarled, spittle flying, "or I decorate this pretty wall with her brains!"
The fight froze. Blitz and Rashaad broke apart, panting. Zhèn ceased his struggle, letting Ivan hold him, though the giant's grip was now the only thing keeping Zhèn from exploding forward.
Rashaad's face hardened. "Khalid. What are you doing? We don't take hostages. We're thieves, not butchers."
"Don't be so soft!" Khalid spat. "This is how you win! Now, you two!" he yelled at Blitz and Zhèn. "On your knees!"
Ivan, seizing the advantage, drove a heavy fist into Zhèn's kidney. Zhèn gasped, buckling to one knee. Spark, recovered, landed a sucker punch to Blitz's jaw that snapped his head back.
Rashaad watched, his knuckles white on his sword hilt. He saw the genuine fear in Elara's eyes, the brutal pragmatism on Khalid's face, and the furious, helpless defiance in Blitz and Zhèn. This was not a score. This was cowardice.
"I'll watch the girl," Rashaad said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension. "You two go help Ivan teach these fools their lesson."
Khalid's sneer turned triumphant. "Good idea. I want to hear 'em beg." He roughly shoved Elara towards Rashaad and stepped away, levelling his gun at Blitz and Zhèn.
The moment the gun barrel left Elara's head, Rashaad moved.
It was a single, focused motion. He didn't draw his sword. He turned his body into a coiled spring and drove a devastating reverse elbow straight into Khalid's diaphragm. The air left Khalid's lungs in a pained whoosh. His eyes bulged, the gun dropping from nerveless fingers as he folded in half, unconscious before he hit the sawdust.
Rashaad didn't pause. He was a desert wind. He spun, his sheathed sword becoming a blur. A strike to the back of Spark's knees dropped him. A jab to Ivan's brachial plexus made the giant's arm spasm and release Zhèn. A final, sweeping blow to Ivan's temple sent the mountain of muscle crashing down beside his leader.
Silence, deeper than before, filled the saloon.
Rashaad stood amidst the fallen members of his own gang, his chest heaving slightly. He walked over, offering a hand first to Zhèn, then to Blitz, pulling them to their feet.
"Sorry for the trouble," he said, genuine remorse in his eyes. "I signed on to steal from the rich and foolish, not to terrorize travelers. That..." he gestured at the unconscious Khalid, "is not what I agreed to."
Elara, her knees weak with relief, didn't think. She just acted. She ran forward and threw her arms around Rashaad in a tight hug. "My hero!" she breathed into his dusty shirt.
Rashaad stiffened, then slowly relaxed, a faint, surprised blush visible beneath his desert tan. He gave her an awkward pat on the back before gently disentangling himself.
Blitz rubbed his sore jaw, looking at Rashaad with newfound respect. "Not bad, swordsman. Not bad at all."
Zhèn bowed formally. "Thank you for your honorable action."
Rashaad nodded, sheathing his sword fully. "Your business is your own. But if you're heading further into the wastes, travel fast. This desert has worse things than failed bandits in it."
With a final, lingering look at the group, the fierce girl, the unshakeable mountain boy, and the impossible speedster, Rashaad turned and strode out of the saloon, leaving his old life in the dust behind him.
Elara took a deep, steadying breath, adjusting her pack. The shards within hummed, their call more urgent than ever. "He's right," she said. "We've stopped too long."
They left the cool darkness of the saloon for the blinding desert sun, the brief, violent interlude a reminder that their enemies were not all made of metal and circuits. Some were human, flawed, and capable of unexpected redemption. The path ahead shimmered in the heat, leading them deeper into the unknown.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfEF8g6Oswm
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