The scorching sun poured like molten lead onto the endless Badlands, searing the air until it shimmered and evaporated.
A heavily modified Goodwood-style off-road vehicle, now trailing thick black smoke and with its rear bumper miserably dangling, careened wildly and struggled through the dunes like a dying input.
"F*ck F*ck F*ck!" Rebecca's fist slammed against the steering wheel. Her small, powerful body, augmented with heavy chrome, vibrated with furious rage. The horn emitted a hoarse, grating wail—a bizarre contrast to the fury erupting from her petite frame.
Her light green hair was slicked with sweat, plastered to her forehead, and her face was covered in dust, oil, and an almost palpable irritation. Her eyes, magnified by her ocular implants, tracked the instruments. Those Wraiths are getting paid way too much to be this damn stubborn, she thought, her neural interface screaming warnings.
"This piece of junk is gonna stall! Pilar! Did you patch it or not, you choom bastard?!"
"Workin' on it, sis! Workin' on it!" In the passenger seat, the tall, thin Pilar, wearing exaggerated, reflective goggles, had almost half his body crammed into the engine compartment. His multi-tool futility tried to tighten a connection that was constantly spewing acrid blue smoke. He coughed, spitting dust.
"But those Wraiths' slugs had heat-seeking cybereyes! The radiator's a goddamn honeycomb! It's a miracle we've gotten this far, preem or not!"
"A miracle? F*k miracles! What I want is to skedaddle out of this dump alive!" Rebecca roared, stomping the accelerator to the floor again. The engine emitted a teeth-grinding metallic screech; the RPMs redlined, but the vehicle's speed barely shifted.
"If you hadn't taken that crappy job without confirming the 'goods' weren't the Wraiths leader's private sweetheart, would we be chased like two wild dogs shot full of holes, choom?"
"Hey! Be reasonable! The eddies were dizzyingly generous! Who could've known that scumbag had such good memory, and that one of his scavvers just happened to recognize my car!"
Pilar yelled back defensively, his hands still working, his long fingers manipulating wires. "Seems... seems stabilized, for now? But the coolant's leakin' like a broken dam! We won't last more than a few minutes!"
Behind their vehicle, on the distant horizon, several menacing plumes of sand and dust, far from dissipating, were approaching at an alarming speed, like hyenas scenting blood.
Those were three armed pickup trucks, fitted with crude armor plating and heavy machine guns—the Wraiths' ride.
"Damn it! They're like ghosts on our tail!" Rebecca saw the ever-enlarging shadow of death through the cracked rearview mirror, the fury in her core almost overriding her fear.
She yanked the steering wheel, and the off-road vehicle plunged wildly down a steep sand dune. The violent jolting almost sent the disintegrating vehicle into orbit, rattling her internal chrome, as she tried to use the complex terrain to shake off their pursuers.
Pilar was violently thrown against the car window by the immense inertia, his goggles askew: "Ow! Easy, sis! My natural bones aren't as tough as your prosthetics!"
"Shut your input! Check the ammo!" Rebecca yelled, one hand frantically fumbling for her combat suit pouch.
Her pistol magazine was almost empty, and her most trusted Mama-san shotgun had fired its last slug in the previous desperate firefight.
Pilar quickly rummaged through an open weapon crate in the back seat, his face instantly falling: "Scratch left, sis. Maybe enough for one last short burst, provided they don't get too close... And don't forget, the heavy machine gun jammed and flatlined a long time ago."
He slapped the silent heavy machine gun on the roof, the metal hot under his touch.
A cold despair, like a venomous snake, quietly coiled around their core processors. A vehicle on the verge of collapse, dwindling ammunition, and relentless Wraiths—everything pointed towards the same dark outcome.
"F*k!" Rebecca squeezed the word through gritted teeth, her eyes slightly red, not from fear, but from the furious, untamable rage of being cornered. "Are we really gonna die in this dump? Shot full of holes by a bunch of mad dog thugs?"
Pilar was uncharacteristically silent for a few seconds. He adjusted his goggles, his voice low, but with an unusual firmness: "No, sis. I ain't lettin' that happen."
His gaze eagerly swept forward, then he suddenly pointed at a distant, distorted outline shimmering in the heat haze. "Heads up! Over there! It looks like an abandoned town!"
Rebecca squinted, her eyes stinging from sweat.
Indeed, on the scorching horizon, a cluster of low, dilapidated buildings vaguely appeared like a mirage.
"Drive there, now!" Pilar almost yelled the suggestion. "Maybe we can hide! Or find something useful, even a choom to patch the ride!"
It was the only straw they could grasp in their desperation.
Rebecca no longer hesitated, squeezing the last bit of life out of the off-road vehicle, steering it towards the ruins in a final, frantic charge.
The engine let out an extremely unwilling, final wail and then completely dead.
The vehicle miserably slid down the last dune on inertia, its front end crashing into the crumbling remains of a half-collapsed house on the town's edge, finally shuddering to a stop with a screech of grinding metal, kicking up a cloud of sand.
"Quick! Get the chrome out!" Rebecca kicked open the deformed door with a powerful surge of her prosthetics, grabbed her almost empty pistol, and sprang out.
Pilar frantically grabbed his toolkit and the light ammunition box, following closely.
Behind them, the growl of the Wraiths' ride was already echoing from the top of the dune, like the mocking laughter of approaching death.
"Into the town! Find cover, bro!" Rebecca shouted, her petite frame erupting with surprising speed as she dashed towards the nearest abandoned street.
Pilar panted, his tall frame awkward against the rapid pace, following close behind, nervously glancing back occasionally. We're so screwed if we don't find a bolt hole fast, he thought, his reflection gleaming in his massive goggles.
They plunged into the desolate ruins of the town, mercilessly eroded by wind and sand, their organic hearts pounding against their chrome cages, their lungs burning as if they had inhaled fire.
The sound of the pursuers' vehicles abruptly stopped outside the town, followed by chaotic, malicious footsteps and shouts—the Wraiths had dismounted and were entering the town on foot.
"This way, sis!" Pilar, sharp-eyed, suddenly pulled Rebecca, pointing to a relatively intact building ahead.
It was a garage, its entrance crudely reinforced with thick metal plates and riveted baffles. "That door! It looks preem!"
The two rushed desperately towards the garage door. Rebecca slammed into it with her shoulder; the door made a dull thud but didn't budge.
"Damn it! It's locked! Or blocked from the inside by some scavver!" She desperately pounded the cold metal with her reinforced fist, frustration burning.
Pilar anxiously fumbled and observed, quickly spotting a rusted hole near the ground on the side wall, just big enough for a thin person to squeeze through.
"Here! Sis! Quick! We gotta squeeze through this!"
Behind them, the shouts and footsteps of the Wraiths grew clearer. They could even hear the chilling snick of gun safeties being disengaged.