There’s something about the way she moves—purposeful, steady, like someone who has walked paths far more dangerous than this one. Her eyes scan the horizon with a practiced ease, always watching, always aware. I can't help but think she has been travelling before, surviving places I wouldn’t dare step foot in. I shake the thought out of my head. I must be out of my mind to think it is possible.


"Pack whatever you'll need for the trip to New Boston," she says.


"Suggestions?" I ask.


"Masks, a cloak and hood, goggles. If you have one, a sword or a gun." She lists her basics. "After that, you fill a bag with water." She sighs.


"No food?"


"Only two days' worth." She glances at me.


She seems so concise with what she says and does. I am more of a coward than one to try to walk through the Badlands. My gut twists. I’m not built for this kind of thing—wandering the Badlands, facing the unknown. But the thought of Mia going alone, walking straight into death, sits even worse. I may not be brave, but I’m not a coward either. At least, I don’t want to be.


"It's enough to stop you from starving, and it's light enough so you can run," she explains.


"Oh." I sigh


She sounds like she speaks from experience. I don't ask. I continue through the home and grab some water and scarves, a mask, and a pair of goggles. I shake my head.


"The old world had to have been better than this... Why would they lay the world to waste?" I ask myself.

"Probably money." Mia takes a deep breath. "We aren't far from finding out, though."


“God knows how many feet down,” I huff.


"Well, that and New Boston." She smiles.


"What's that supposed to mean?" I say as the walls rattle lightly from the breeze outside.


"I mean, we have to travel across before we even climb down the site," she says.


"So, who's all in on this?" I ask.


I swing the door open as we walk outside into the intense heat. The sandstorm left more than just heat. The air feels scorched, the ground still shifting as dust settles. My boots sink slightly with every step. The wind, though calmer now, still carries a stinging bite, like the storm is whispering that it’s not done with us yet. Sometimes Basha is lucky to have people still living here. The rumours of the coast settlements like Lost Angels sound like they are paradise. However, I don't have a clue as to what may lurk below the water's surface. Let alone if they can drink that water.


I suppose this is why Mia wants the instructions for making a water purifying system. Sure, we boil every bit we get, but that doesn't always kill all the disease that is within it. I've seen people go without distilling fully and end up dead a few days later. Nobody is sure what kills us like that in the water, but we assume it's from the Old World.


"Well, let me think." Mia pulls out an odd black device. "About seven for this trip." She recollects. She places a small set of twelve batteries into the black device.


"What is that?" I ask.


"It's apparently from Old Russia. A laser blaster. One of the many violations of the old laws, I am sure." She sighs.


"What's it do?" I can't help but be curious.


We continue walking for a while before she even acknowledges my question. Mia’s eyes narrow, scanning the sand like she’s reading something invisible. Before I even think to ask, she raises the blaster, her hands steady. A sharp whine fills the air—then a flash of red. The scent of burnt flesh follows a shriek of pain.


"What did you see?" I ask.


THUD.


A sickening crunch fills the air as the body slams into the sand, bones shattering on impact. The scent of scorched flesh and blood mingles with the dry heat, an iron tang thick enough to taste. The creature had been closer than I thought, its death rattle still lingering in the air. As the dust settles, it emerges from the shadows—a grotesque mass of sinewy muscle and blistered pink skin, its six legs twitching in their final spasms. Its oversized tusks, yellowed and cracked, carve deep furrows in the ground as its body convulses in one last violent shudder before falling still.


"I call them camo-riders," Mia says.


"Alright." I look at its pink skin and set of six legs with tusks that would drag along the ground, it seems.


"They are usually hiding from something bigger. Either way, let's keep going. Any more questions?" she asks.


"Not right now. No." I sigh.


Mia and I walk along the desert. The heat is unbearable. The sand shifts under my feet like I’m wading through an ocean of fire. I don’t think the world will ever cool down from the war of the Old World. It's been over two thousand years, and we still see the effects from the amount of radiation.


I look up and around. It seems like endless sand every way I look. Mia seems determined and certain of her travel path. Now that I am away from Basha, I know it's nearly impossible to just wander into another settlement without someone who knows their way or at least has a map handy. The Old World tool of a compass no longer works, as the radiation messes with its ability to find true north, so even then, it's unlikely to find another settlement.


"Hey, Etha." Mia breaks the silence.


"Yeah, what's up?" I ask.


“Have you ever seen anything growing before?” she asks me.


“The one lot of land in Basha, it grows these small red tomatoes,” I reply.


"I see." She sighs. "Well, be careful not to touch the greenery up ahead."


"What for?" I ask.


"If you get scratched by it, it can kill you," she says flatly.


I swallow deeply. The plants ahead shimmer under the fading sun, their deep green spikes swaying ever so slightly. They look harmless—until you notice the brittle skeletons tangled in their grasp. Whatever venom they hold, it works fast. If we slip up, we’ll be joining them.


"We are going through. Walk through where I clear," she says.


"Alright."


Before I even think more about it, she's firing her laser blaster into the field of plants. The high whirring repeats with every shot she fires. I only wonder what purpose this tech had in the Old World. Are we really ready to handle the Old World technology?


I follow behind Mia as she guides me through the plant field. It seems like everything out here is lethal. Anything has the potential to kill me, and the thought is terrifying.


As we come through the other side, you can see mountains off to the left in the far distance. I take a moment to enjoy the view. The sun is on its way towards the horizon line for nightfall.


"We're going to want to set up a camp," she says.


"A camp? What for?" I ask.


"Well, we stay put and rest up, eat, and watch each other overnight until we can actually see where we are going. I take it you've never been out at night?"


"I haven't. I was always told it was a danger to do so."


"Well, I do it a lot. Comes with my field." She sighs.


"And what field is that?" I ask her.


"I'm a mercenary. The last known guild for us to work from was in Fifty-Five Hundred Twenty-Seven." She replies.


She stops in one spot and takes a seat on the desert ground.


"Hey, uh, Mia, not to question your experience, but don't we need shelter?"


"We do. I have the solution." She laughs lightly.


She pulls out a short silver cylinder and throws it. The metal casing unfolds like a blooming flower, expanding piece by piece with smooth, fluid motion. No creaks, no hitches—just perfection. My jaw slackens. This isn’t just survival gear; it’s a relic of a world that had everything. And we lost it.


Before we have the chance to really set up camp, we approach a small metal shack. We aren’t all that far from Basha, though this metal shack is somewhat out of the way of the settlement. We walk up to the shack, Mia seeming to know exactly where we are heading. She mentioned making a camp, but i assume that will be later on because of where we are.


We enter the shack, a merchant seems to reside in the rust-scented shack. The place is covered all over with all kinds of technology I have never seen. Mia goes up to the merchant, a shopkeeper who seems to be in their middle age. I let her get talking to them, while I walk up and down the lanes of displays of his wares. This I assume is where we will be getting equipment for us to survive the desert we know as the badlands.


Before I know it, I wander back up to her and the shopkeeper. They seem to be discussing a particular piece of armour that is far older than I can identify. I sigh.


“That thing looks like something that would be from the StormRiders.” Mia says as I approach the conversation.


The shopkeeper nods. “My great-grandfather was one of the last to see them in battle. He said they were more than human.” He gestures to the armor. “That insignia—there’s no mistaking it.”


I swallow. “Then why is he here? Shouldn’t a warrior like that have died fighting?”


The shopkeeper shrugs. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”


Mia’s gaze sharpens. “And what do you know about the A.R.P.?”


The old man tenses up, his eye flickering toward the door. “Not here,” he mutters. “Too many ears.”


Mia doesn’t press further. Instead, she turns back to me. There’s something dangerous in her eyes, a fire I don’t quite understand yet.


“Etha,” she whispers, her voice steady. “We’re about to change everything.”