Hot. Possible fever. He needed a thermometer. Hydrate himself with lots of water. A good bed rest. Numbness in limbs. Suffering from possible dehydration. He needed to sleep. He needed to rest. It was over already for him. It was the cycle of blood as foretold by his mentors in the Abattoir. Just as the blood of the Maiden of Night and the Holy Flamingo had given rise to his great knowledge, it was his turn already. His own blood would seep back into the sands, sowing the land with red, to give life to knowledge, beautiful knowledge that would burgeon into a wholesome full-life. He laid content with his fate, grinning teeth full-bare, knowing that the Great Hippo would bless a heathen to happen upon his corpse, to discover the fruits of his works, the Panacea lying alongside him. He frowned. It should have been lying with him.

Wait, where was the Panacea?

His panic sharpened his dulled senses, blood-shot eyes spilling open as his body was suffused with manic energy. Rustling around weakly in the deceivingly heavy sand, his hands dipped through the rough land into his pockets, his shirt, his chest, for any signs of the sacred text. The cure to ignorance itself. Aeons of the blood, sweat, tears and the lives of Organic Mechanics would not be wasted and the efforts of experimentation would not be all for nothing.

Sawbones had already lost track of how long he laid under the baleful bask of the blisteringly hot sun but he knew that his weakness had already cost him precious time. His already sun-torched skin seemed to crackle and hiss from the intensity of the light. He was lodged underneath an ocean of dusty sand that carpeted his entire lower body. He could taste the grinding of sand grains between his molars as he greedily sucked the stale air. With each aching movement, he slowly rose out of the sand, stumbling onto his feet as he walked onto the loose but coarse land. He needed to find the chariot that the Great Hippo had bestowed upon him. He moved through the smoking battlefield with a purpose, seething anger in his clenched fists as he thought back to the ambush.

It was quick. Unexpected. Merciless. It’d all happened so quickly. Thunder and flame alike had been exchanged between the two sides. He had remembered slicing open the belly of a raider before the right wheel of the Hippo’s Chariot had burst apart. The last thing that he saw before he was knocked out was the relentless tossing and turning, watching in horror as the pages of the Panacea were torn from their binding. He couldn’t afford this loss. He refused to believe the fate of the Panacea.

The surrounding landscape was a graveyard of junk and rot. Wrecks of bikes, speeders, buggies and trucks were beached on the coast of sand dunes, pitiful wafts of grey rising from their crumpled corpses and the acrid, pungent odour of guzzoline was oozing out of every vehicle. Bodies of half-life scum and full-life material were bobbing up and down in the waves of sand, drowned in the storm that had razed the entire armada. The entire convoy had been gutted, pilfered of its riches and left to decay, like carcasses.

There! Sawbones spirit lifted as soon as he saw one of his prized possessions. His foot-steps had quickened the moment he saw his buried vehicle. The Hippo’s Chariot was in a sorry state, indeed. The frame had been badly buckled and would require the touch of a Blackfinger in order to restore it. That was, of course, if there were any other survivors of the attack along with him. He sifted through the sand that had filled the driver’s seat, trying to extract whatever supplies were left. His expression continued to grow sour as he rummaged through the contents of the vehicle. There were just scraps. A few enamel scapels. A scratched jerry-can that was a quarter full of guzzoline. He’d began guzzling down on the canteen of water in greedy gulps before slowing down to shameful sips. He continued to search through whatever was remaining in the Hippo’s Chariot before his fingers grazed something familiar.

He couldn’t believe it.

Pulling it out of the mound of sand and dusting it off, he flipped open the pages of The Panacea and balked at severity of the damage. A good half of the pages were ripped straight out of the book by the gales of winds. Organ-planting. The recipes of his lord’s blessings. All of the rudiments were still there but the storm took everything away from him. Everything that he had accrued in his journey. One question was burning in his mind as he slowly read through the Panacea, trying to account for all that was still there.

Had he failed his lord?

No. He hadn’t. In all consideration, he should have been torn in the dust storm but by some miracle, he’d managed to survive. His faith in The Great Hippo had not fallen on deaf ears after all. If he had failed his lord, the dust storm would be punishment enough for his mistake. It was a sign for him that his journey, his quest was to continue unabated. The path to redeeming himself in the eyes of the Great Hippo was clear now. To reclaim the knowledge that he had lost and to continue on his quest no matter the cost. He kneeled upon the desert sand and clapped his hands together, muttering a short prayer in reverence of his saviour.

“I thank you, oh Great Hippo, for my blessed survival per my membership of this great covenant. Oh Great Hippo, May your blessing allow me to further do know the wonders of harm itself. Onward, mechanics of the Great Hippo, continue to repair, for blessed are we in our eternal union with the Great Hippo.Oh Great Hippo, Allow me to continue to act as an emissary of your will in this world. Oh, Great Hippo, I hear you not but feel your power growing within me every second. I, your emissary, await your orders, oh Great Hippo.”

With fresh vigour, Sawbones stood up, the Panacea cradled in his right arm, and eyed the horizon. He spotted the signs of a settlement, a faint column of smoke in the distance. He only knew what that meant. Guzzoline. And lots of it. He then reminded himself that it would mean nothing without a working vehicle. The more he thought about going to the settlement, the more it seemed foolish. It could have been very well the home base of the raiders that attacked them.

He needed supplies. He needed material. He needed experiments. He needed protection if he was to continue on this journey. Signing in frustration, Sawbones began to tread towards the smoking wrecks of the convoy, scavenging as much usable equipment and trinkets that he could manage from the vehicles.

The ways of the Great Hippo were mysterious at times.

Kalahan awoke with a start and threw a vicious punch that connected with nothing, as if he'd been put on pause in the middle of a fight. He quickly stumbled to his feet and whirled around then back again, expecting someone to come at him. When no threats made themselves known, his shoulders relaxed just a bit and he let his hands drop to his sides. It was then that he became aware of an acute pain in his head. He moved his dreadlocks aside and hissed when his fingers grazed the bruised flesh on his scalp. His fingers came away spotted with flakes of dried blood which promptly scattered into the wind.

Other than his head injury and assorted minor injuries, he felt alright so he took a look around and shook his head at the sight. Machines and bodies were scattered all about. It was clear from the ratio of the corpses he could see that the raiders had won and made off with their loot. At least he'd made away with his life.

Fear suddenly ripped through him as he began frantically searching for his beloved. Where could she be? He scanned the area in a panic and saw her lying on her side at the bottom of a dune, splattered with blood and covered in scratches.
"Are you alroight?" He gently lifted his bike out of the sand and set her on wide-footed kickstand so he could check for any grievous injuries as he gently stroked the chassis as if to soothe it. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here, you'll be just fine."

He swung his leg over the seat ad said a quick prayer to whoever might be listening before flicking the choke on and gave a sharp kick downward. The engine sputtered to life and Kalahan threw his arms up with a loud whoop.
"She lives!"
The Road Ripper laughed and hugged his machine before killing the engine again. No use wasting gas just yet. Though it was a slim chance, he figured he might as well look around for supplies. Raiders were often sloppy and sometimes left things behind. Putting up the kickstand, he pushed his bike along as he wandered from wreckage to wreckage, body to body, in search of useful items. He found only a few scraps of extra food which he devoured in moments along with a few pieces of prime shiv metal he tucked away for later. Not seeing a single survivor other than himself, he was preparing to leave in the direction of the smoke when he spotted the organic mechanic that had tagged along with the caravan earlier.
"Oi, mate! You still in one piece?" he called out.

---

---

And the malevolent eye in the heavens remained unblinking, beating down with sweltering force. The crash into the dune brought an unwelcome stupor, leaving Zer nearly oblivious of his surroundings. Wet. He can feel something moist. What is that? Awareness slowly seeped in and the functionality (partially) returned to his extremities. His digits moved an inch, gracing the fabric of his clothes and felt the wetness. Closed eyelids obstructing his vision slowly lifted and revealed the splatter of crimson encompassing his torso. The trepidation set in instantly as he shot up to full awareness, hyperventilating some. Every breath was like breathing glass shards instead of air. Zer frantically checked himself for any entry wounds, sighing in both relief and confusion when he found nothing.

But where'd- oh

His eyes fell upon the raider sprawled on his buggy, ghostly pale and with one hand firmly grasping the steering wheel; yanked to the left. The causer of the crash. He was worth putting the last 3 bullets into. "Suck on that...you..fucker..". He shifted to move and the transfixing pain shocked his entire being. Nope. Not ready to move yet. Another attempt, turning his head to examine the battlefield. The corpses of vehicles and man alike dotted the grounds, wafting stygian smoke like factory plumes. Zer knew the raiders would've picked everything clean, and that the chance of survivors was slim. Still, there could be something amidst the husk of twisted steel and the sand ravaged bodies.

The series of events that led to this unfortunate situation weren't unusual, hell, if anything this was routine out here. Granted, being on the receiving end didn't feel too great but at least he was alive. Of course, alive doesn't mean too much if you're out of food, water, and guzzoline. Speaking of, lifting the seat of the opposite..well seat, he found that his meager stash of emergency supplies was untouched. Enough food and water for 3 days(4 if he rationed and 5 if he went to extremes) and a canteen of guzzoline barely amounting to a quarter tank. To make matters worse, he was completely out of ammo.

Fuckin' hell, I'm buggered ou-

The telltale spurts of an engine broke the somewhat surreal silence, meaning that at least someone survived. Zer tried the door. Jammed shut. "Fuckin fuck..". He began, pulling himself up through the roof."This is exactly why I don't do convoys..Exactly fuckin why!". Zer slid from the top, landing with a wobbly stature. He'd been in enough crashes that the feeling of vertigo was nothing new, and was over quickly. He began to inspect his vehicle for any serious damage, and found nothing too serious, though getting it out the sand would be a pain.

"Oi, mate! You still in one piece?"

That was...Calvin? Killian? He'd learn the name. He wasn't really addressing him though."The fuck are ya talkin- oh". Looking pass his dreadlocked companion, he spotted Sawbones, the questionable organic mechanic with questionable medical practices that made you question things. "That's 2..thought we had more..well had is the keyword there, eh?"

Results so far
Overall conditions change

---

As the survivors began to pull themselves together, and pull what they could out of the sandlogged wreckage around them, it soon became clear that there was little of value to be had on the highway. In fact the smoke still spiralling up into the air from several of the ruined cars was probably sending up a flare for scavengers and carrion eaters for miles around.

On the distant horizon clouds of dust could be seen, although it was unclear whether these were the remnants of the storm which had recently hit the convoy or the makings of an all new duster heading their way.

Sawbones frowned as he slammed the door of the one of the dozens of cars he had searched closed. The driver’s head had been smashed through the wind-shield, his exhaust punctured with shards of glass and a permanent dying scream on his face. All of the full-lives that he had discovered in the wreckage so far were unable to be salvaged properly. It was a right bleeding shame, as far as he was concerned. Their bodies had the potential to be ample forges for his own creations and they had been desecrated by those infidels. Most of their blood had dried up into paste and their organs had become quarry for maggots. The most that they could be used for right now was just blood. Sawbones scoffed as he drained the last viable corpse of all of its blood, removing the dripping needle from the vein. None of them were universal donors.

As far as he was concerned, trying to survive in this graveyard would be useless without the help of a Blackfinger. The Great Hippo was a great patron in many respects but he wouldn’t dare intrude in the territory of the Angel Combustion. All that he had managed to scrounge up in his pitiful attempts at scavenging was two jerry cans worth of guzzoline, several cans of grease-laden pet food of various types and enough water for a day’s journey at best. It was everything of use to a Wretched and yet, nothing of use for an Organic Mechanic. Sawbones lazily stabbed open a can with his scapel, scraping out the contents with his fingers and licking it, taking mind not to gag at the horrid taste. He stared at his plunder in disappointment.

“ Oh, Great Hippo, why do you forsake me now?”

He wasn’t going to survive for more than a day or two, a week at best. Perhaps, he should have considered going towards the settlement…….
Suddenly, a hoarse voice cried out towards him. Sawbones thought it was an illusion at first. The shimmering waves of heat blurred the dark figure that was walking towards him until he came within a few yards away from him. There was no mistake. It was another survivor. Tossing the can over his shoulder, Sawbones walked towards the survivor in a frantic pace.

“Amazing. How did you manage to survive? I thought I was the only one. How?”

Sawbones examined him closely as if he was an art collection, admiring every detail on him, his figure, his sand-soaked apparel and his injuries. Without warning or hesitation, Sawbones swiped at his forehead, a lick of dried blood on his thumb, and sniffed at it, murmuring to himself.

“Of course. Why didn’t I notice sooner? You’re a full life. Yet, there’s something more. There’s asphalt in that blood of yours, and yet, there’s a hint of chrome in there. It’s no wonder you survived. A warrior of the roads with the strength of a war-boy. Interesting….”

The man standing in front of him was a prime species indeed. A very interesting study. In this blighted world, you could rarely encounter a full-life much less a half-life that was near an empty tank. This must have been a gift from the Great Hippo. Sawbones turned back towards the warrior, the mask of rags disguising the grin on his face as he spoke with an enlightened tone.

“The Great Hippo has blessed us both, road warrior! My name is Sawbones. I am sorry but I appeared to have forgotten your na-”

There was a sudden crunch of metal and a bout of furious swearing that interrupted his sentence. He’d turned around, only to notice a man standing behind him, his knees bent and shook like all of them were from the crash. What he was more concerned about however was the rapidly approaching maelstrom of dust behind them. It was a giant behemoth of scything wind and blistering desert sand, frothing at the mouth and swallowing the horizon whole. Sawbones quickly scrounged up all of the supplies he had managed to discover into a hastily knitted leather ruck-sack, a slight stammer in his voice as he pointed behind Zer.

“ I suggest we make haste and run away immedietely. I doubt even the Great Hippo can save us a second time unless the two of you want to test his strength today.”

The Road Warrior eyed Zer and mentally shrugged. He seemed like pretty standard wanderer material, at least for now. He eyed Sawbones with suspicion but his travels have taught him so many things. He knew if you had a brain-tilted organic mechanic on your hands you either were looking at a glorious boon or a horrid curse; Kalahan was willing to roll those dice. He grinned and revealed a mouth filled with equal parts crooked and straight teeth.
"You're damn straight I survived! You think a few raiders are gonna put ol' Kalahan down?" Following Sawbones gaze, he turned to the approaching storm and whistled in appreciation. "Ain't she a beaut? You got wheels, Bones? What about you, Masky?"
As if to emphasize his question, he vaulted over his darling and plopped down on the seat before giving a vicious kick to the start lever. The bike snarled to life and he flexed his wrist, making the engine purr. He giggled with excitement at the sound of his pride and joy. He never grew tired of the sounds his baby made. With his ride intact, he turned his attention to the storm and couldn't help the small grin that parted his lips. Kalahan always loved dusters, seeing them as nature's way of challenging him. He'd charged headlong into a storm on more than one occasion for the thrill.

Sawbone’s courage desperately plummeted as his eyes laid upon the encroaching storm in the distance. Normally, he’d been willing to venture into the storm but the mere thought of that had him clutching his Panacea closer to his chest like a life-line. He couldn’t afford or bear the thought of losing another page, knowledge, his life’s work over chance. He shook his head quickly at Kalahan’s query, looking at the Road Warrior as if he was becoming madder by the moment. There was a psychotic energy in his every movement, a feral aura in his eyes that couldn't be tamed. Sawbones replied with low spirits to Kalahan's question, his gears whirring in his mind as he tried to process a possible solution to the problem that was facing them right now.

“The Hippo’s Chariot is beyond repair as of the moment. I was hoping that a Blackfinger might have been able to survive the attack......”

They barely had enough guzzoline to travel long without bartering with the nearest settlement. That was, if, the leader of the next settlement they would encounter was charitable enough to lend them supplies. That was a fool's dream. Right now, Sawbones was mainly concerened about staying as far away from the storm as humanely possible. Sawbones opinion of the Road Warrior had plummeted by the second as it didn’t take a half-life to put two and two together. The Road Warrior was a speed freak, pure and simple. The man stared at the incoming blanket of dust with a look of enthusiasm instead of fear. Maybe, the crash had done more to the Road Warrior than leave a scar on his head. He looked at Kalahan with a nervous glance, his eyes shifting back between the Road Warrior and Zer, looking as if he was begging Zer for some sort of relative sanity.

“ Do you two have any suggestions for how we’re going to get out of here that doesn’t involve being near that storm at all?”

The beating ways of the sun bored down onto Razar's back as he laid face down into the blistering sands. Slowly, he raised his head with a groan, looking all around him. He could make out the silhouettes of people but needed to clear his head to make it out. Razar clambered up onto his feet and shook his head before looking about. It was his group! Looks like there were some survivors from the ambush. Razar clenched his teeth from behind his mask. How could they get away? Razar would have to look out for them another time. He patted his back, only to find them bare. Where were they? Where were his weapons? They didn't take his axes, could they? Where were Slice and Cleave? Razar spun around in a panic, looking for his prized possessions.

"MR CLEEEAAAAVVVVEEE!?!?!!?? SLIIIIICE!?!?!?!"

Anyone nearby would've been able to hear Razar screaming out for his weapons. It was then when he noticed the his rusted axes buried into the spine of a raider. Razar growled as he stomped towards the dead body and ripped out his axes before kicking the head of the dead man. He bent over and got his face close. "Mine..." He growled before snapping back up. Now that his head was clear, he sheathed his still bloodied axes onto his back and began to walk up to the silhouettes he saw. It was survivors from his group. There was the shooty man, the nice driver man who liked to fight and the body mechanic who'd repair Razar sometimes. He ran up to them, waving his arms around to get their attention.

"HEEEEY!!!" He yelled out in greetings. When he got closer, he saw the fixer man was staring off somewhere. Razar got close to him and followed his gaze out until he could also see the oncoming storm. Razar saw the concerned look on Sawbone's face and he sat there in thought for a moment. The fixer man seemed worry. Razar should scare the storm off. Razar pulled out his axes and climbed up onto one of the wreckages.

"YOU CALL YOURSELF A DUST WHIRLER!?!?!?!?" He began to yell out across the desert, using Senor Slice to point at the storm. "YOU COULDN'T BLOW ME BACK A SINGLE STEP!!!!!" He continued, following that up with a scream as he stomped on the metal roof of the wrecked truck and shake his axes furiously.

Results so far
Overall conditions change

---

The ragtag survivors began to pull themselves into a group once more even as the sun slowly began to dip beneath the distant horizon. As the light filtered through the storm clouds they lit up with fiery hues, almost as if threatening the little man screaming his defiance at them. At the same time they seemed to falter in their approach, perhaps held back by the war crier's rage, or just a change in the wind.

With the light fading subtle glows started to fire up across the sands. Some were singular and subdued, as if desperately trying to hide from sight, while others were bold and unashamed of their brilliance as they lit up the dusky sky. Trails of smoke began to rise into the sky, pointing out several camps and settlements which were strong enough not to worry about giving themselves away to any who could see them. Whether this was due to their actual strength or a misplaced bravery was yet to be seen.

"MR CLEEEAAAAVVVVEEE!?!?!!?? SLIIIIICE!?!?!?!"

Kalahan knew that war scream. He'd gotten quite an ear full of that during the raid and an eyeful that wonderfully insane War Boy plunging his axes into raiders left and right. The Road Warrior grinned wide and waved in his direction.
"Axeman!? Is that you ya Kamikrazee bastard!?"
It was hard to gauge who was who in the wondrous chaos from a few hours ago but he had caught glimpses of that mask around the battlefield and oh what a sight he'd been! That kind of crazy was something he could relate to and always took pleasure in riding with.

Looking to the sky, Kalahan admired the brilliant streaks arching across the sky with bloody reds, fiery yellows, explosive oranges, and royal purples. What a lovely day to still be a alive! Turning his gaze to the smoke clouds rising into the air, he picked out the biggest smoke pillar and pointed it out.
"We're going that way if you wanna join us!"
Not that it was actually decided among the group, but Kalahan seemed to have everything decided.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s salvage.” –desert proverb

Rex knew what he was likely to find beneath the black pillar pinpointing the aftermath of a battle: wrecked vehicles and charred corpses. Ammo, guzzoline, food and water, bullets and explosives were rare, but they could be found in the more intact vehicles ... intact being a relative term in a place like this. Scrap metal was the only reliable haul from the smoldering graveyards, not a resource in short supply like the rest.

He rode along the low grounds, keeping out of sight and somewhat muffling the growl of his motorbike. He parked in a gully, using a square of sheet metal he ripped from a fender to set the kickstand on. It kept the bike upright on the loose sands. One hand hastily unslung his rifle as the other rummaged blindly through his ammo bag on his left hip. ‘Where are my bullets?!’ He threw the bag to the ground, confused, and then gave it a good shake. Four rifle rounds were left. He checked both of his guns for ammo, each coming up dry. “Fuckin’ fantastic ...” he cursed under his breath.

He knelt down and chambered his last four rounds, gently seating each round into the rifle. He crawled on all fours up the steep wall of sand to take a perch over the wreck site. God forbid the place was crawling with looters. Four bullets did not, a clean sweep, make. He finally settled in to make some observations and possibly crack a shot off. There weren’t raiders at least ... but there was activity. Survivors it seemed. It certainly wasn’t a common sight in a wreck this bad. He felt he should head down the dune and help them; they sure as shit needed it. “Don’t do it Rex ...” he muttered again, shifting his posture up and away from the sights of his rifle.

“Ah fuck it,” he swore again as he stood up and slung the rifle across his back. With a half-stumble he fell back and slid down the dune towards the wreck site, rather than walking downhill on loose sands. It was faster and safer. “Hey!” he shouted out as he approached the area, “who’s not dead?!”

The bellow of smoke from the highway spoke loudly to Ransom, who was moving down a patch of desert parallel to the road. It was the nearest thing to him and was very likely a spot that may have some scavengable equipment or gasoline. He went off his main course and got onto the road, following it to the new destination. It wasn't long before he had closed in enough to see the wreckage of a battle. Luckily he was still far away enough that the moving figures would not be able to stop him.

Ransom killed his bike and kicked the stand out so that it would rest in place. He immediately moved to the wreckage of a vehicle, hiding behind it for cover as he watched over the others in that distance. Ransom knew that he would have no chance of combating them and thought over his next plan of action. There was no way he was getting past this scene unless he turned back around and went a longer way. Considering the amount of gasoline that was in his bike, this was not a viable option.

Using the cover of vehicles, Ransom moved from one position to another, stealthily approaching the small gathering of survivors. He wanted to be able to hear them and get a better view at the very least and make a decision on his next move from there. Upon getting close enough without warranting too much suspicion, the infiltrator began to listen closely and observe the strangers. It wasn't long before he deemed these men as little more than a minor threat, considering that they seemed so dazed after whatever event had just occurred.

He noticed that they were planning on moving toward the nearest settlement. It was likely going to be Ransom's next stop anyway, so why not have these strangers as cohorts? They may prove useful in the long run, after all. Hell, he didn't want to be alone on the road if there were more raiders out there.

So, Ransom, how are you going to do this? Ransom thought as he contemplated his decisions. Deciding that there was not much time and that he should get his point across, Ransom stood from his crouching position and waved to the group, declaring himself rather quickly, and slipping in a little lie.

"It's truly a miracle there are /other/ survivors", Ransom said, acting as if he were a part of the convoy that was raided. A small grin formed at the corner of his lips and he slowly approached. He came to a stop as soon as he was only a few feet away from the nearest person. Ransom gave them a solemn nod.

"We need to be careful here, boys. If we head out there, we're going to make sure the road ahead is safe", he said, displaying a fake sense of concern. He looked out to the road before him. While it was true that danger could look ahead, he was more interested in seeing what type of people these were.

"I could volunteer to scout ahead on my bike if one of you has a splash of gas-...", Ransom explained, before trailing off. Perhaps being a stranger among the crowd wasn't the best option if he were trying to get gasoline from them.

"Ah, where are my manners? Ransom, at your service."

Razar's attention was turned away from the storm and back to the group. Before he hopped off of the truck he looked at the axe in his left hand. "Good job, Senor Slice." He said, complimenting the axe for helping the Choppa scare off the storm. At least, in his mind he was scaring off the storm. When he hopped off, he looked at Kalahan, grinning behind his mask. Kalahan was Razar's favorite ally. He enjoyed the fights and didn't mind Razar chopping and dicing opponents. He listened and looked where Kalahan was pointing to and then nodded. "Bad people need hurting, Drivey man?" He asked as he began to wipe the blood on his axes against his cargo pants. "I know you don't like being dirty, Cleave." He whispered.

It was then that more people began to gather around them. Two of which he recognised. "BAGHEAD!" He exclaimed happily when he found out one of the survivors was Dog Bob. Dog Bob used his 'Looksee', as he called it, to help find Mr Cleave and Senor Slice when Razar accidentally lost them one time. Razar waved frantically to Dog Bob, but with his mask up, it looked more unsettling than welcoming. Then there was another shooter. Sending bangs to his enemies wasn't Razar's style, but if it helps you survive, then it doesn't matter at the end of the day. It didn't get in the way of his fighting. However, Razar's scattered mind had turned his attention once again to something else. His bike.

"Wait, where's Reaver? You boys seen 'er?" Razar asked his axes, looking at them. He began to trudge off in search for his bike. He thought he caught a glimpse of someone approaching the group. Someone different, but it was no concern for him. If it was a bad person, then they were severely outnumbered. Razar began to look at every single bike he could. Any of which that weren't charred, burning, twisted wreckage anyways. He thought he found Reaver, but this bike was missing it's front wheel. Razar growled and continued his search until finally he found it. A bit of sand had it buried, but Razar soon shaked off the dirt and managed to get the Reaver free. He rolled it along the sand and back to the group.

"Someone give her a quick check up? You can have first dibs on whoever I scalp next?" He offered to anyone that would listen.

Just when he’d thought his sanity couldn’t break any further, another war-boy popped out of the wreckage like a cockroach. He seemed even madder than Kalahan was. By the Hippo’s Troth, it wasn’t that surprising. Most of the convoy were composed out of raging, suicidal War-Boys who sprayed chrome endlessly into their mouths. Sawbones sniggered derisively at the War Boy’s attempts to threaten the storm. It was comical but in good spirit, though. The War Boy’s attempts were futile. How was he going to stop the dust sto-

Then, the dust storm stopped in the middle of its journey. It was on the horizon but it was no longer bearing down upon them. Sawbones eye twitched as he stared at the axe-wielding War Boy and then, at the space where the dust storm was.

What in the name of the Red Cross was the Great Hippo trying to tell him?

Sawbones stayed unerringly silent throughout the whole debacle as a slew of survivors appeared to crawl out of the woodwork like fetid moths. Every-time he thought that it would be the end of it, a new full-life would rise out of the dust as if they had spawned from the wreckage. He felt like a stranger in this gigantic mass of War-Boys. It wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter. There was danger in solitude and safety in groups. It would be enormously stupid for him to try and traverse the wasteland on his own, especially without the Hippo’s Chariot. So, what was his lord trying to say to him right now? Why had the lord destroyed or taken away almost all of his possessions and gifted him with these…..mongrels? He was absolutely dumbfounded by the turn of events.

No. Wait. Sawbones began to view the current situation in a different light. The storm had halted suddenly as if it was nothing more than a phantom threat. Those who had been marked by harm itself were rising upwards, full-life and half-life alike. It was akin to some type of divine intervention. It was blindingly obvious that the Great Hippo had responded to his prayers in some manner. Perhaps, this was his true reward for his faith? Sawbones looked around him, staring in wonder at the individuals gathered around him in one single conglomerate. He’d finally manage to get it.

In his entire career as an Organic Mechanic, Sawbones had never encountered a larger group of interesting specimens such as this. The wide array of possibilities and wonders that were found in this ample group of individuals made him salivate. Oh, it was simply exciting! Trying to imagine the harm they would wreak and suffer made him giggle with glee. In front of him was an entire menagerie at his disposal, to toy with, to experiment with, the ink in which he would use to complete his sacred Panacea. It was a fertile breeding ground for the fruition of knowledge, for the Great Hippo’s salvation to be spread across the blighted land. A single tear dropped downwards from his eye as he muttered in assent to himself, his knees quavering in awe.

“ Oh Great Hippo, forgive me for my blindness. May the spirit of the Holy Flamingo continue to light my way and may The Great Hippo continue to bestow upon me the knowledge of harm.”

Someone then interrupted the discussion of their rag-tag group from behind. Sawbones thought he looked suspicious. He spoke with the charm of a charlatan and Sawbones certainly didn’t recognise him in the convoy. There was a general theme of insanity that seemed to be common with all of the members and this man looked relatively sane. He brushed off his concerns, however. The Great Hippo hadn’t punished him yet and he would take whatever reward would come his way. Sawbones considered Ransom’s suggestion and mulled over it out loud.

“ There’s barely enough guzzoline to share between all of us as there is. One thing’s for certain, though. We can’t stay in here for long. The moon will rise soon and with it, the flies.”

Kalahan smiled as he watched Razar scamper off toward the black finger. What a happy person the ax wielder was, he was glad to have someone like that in their group.

His smile quickly turned sour when a suspicious man emerged from behind a car. There was three things that immediately put the man on his bad side. First, he looked much better off than anyone else in the group which meant he'd avoided most of the fighting like a spineless coward. Second, he was asking for guzzoline to scout ahead where he could easily split and make off with a free tank. Third, and this was the most crucial, he didn't recognize the man's face and was almost certain he'd not been among the people in the original caravan. He wasn't completely sure the newcomer was trying to pull the wool over their eyes but he hadn't survived this long in the wastes by not listening to his gut.

Quick as a whip, Kalahan unclipped the hand crossbow at his hip and leveled it at Ransom's heart as he stalked toward him with menace in his eyes.
"I don't think so you rustin' thief! You best get to beggin' somewhere else before I have to risk a bolt gettin' broken in your sorry hide!"

Results so far
Overall conditions

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Group Project "Reach the large settlement" Objectives

• Scout the route
• Defend the vehicles
• Contact the settlement

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As the last of the sunlight slowly slipped below the horizon the winds suddenlybegqn to swell, almost as if by turning his back on the distant storm Razar had shown it disrespect, inviting it to attack. The sand began to whip around the survivors' legs, along with any small, light itens which weren't bolted down. It wouldn'tbe long until the main storm hit them, and they needced to find cover soon otherwise it would be all the worse for them.

Just to make matters worse in the approaching stormcloud could be seen piercing beams of light, which anyone who'd survived the wastelands this long would clearly recognise as headlights beaming through the darkness. Whether this was tghe same gorup of raiders who'd hit the convoy, using another storm as cover just as they had before or another group copying the first's tactics was something only waiting to greet the new arrivals would uncover.

Sawbones was intrigued by Ransom’s request but Kalahan obviously wasn’t. The Road Warrior had whipped out a crossbow in an instant and had deemed the wanderer’s life forfeit after he had requested of the blood of the Angel Combustion. While he couldn’t give a fangin’ kidney about the life of some nobody half-life, there was a use to him. His presence, his voice….it would require more observation. Besides, having him alive was more beneficial than dead. He couldn’t risk Kalahan damaging his corpse beyond repair……

Sawbones rushed towards Kalahan, right in front of his crossbow, acting as a barrier between him and Ransom. He made sure to position himself so that the crossbow wouldn’t hit his squishy bits. But, which one to choose? Liver wasn’t really that essential….He could live with one kidney……It would be painful with one lung…..

Right in front of the kidney it was. Sawbones spoke in an even tone, raising his hands upwards towards Kalahan to placate him.

“ Road Warrior, please stay your blade! This full-life may be of more use to us alive than dead. Besides, we can just kill and dissect him afterwards if he betrays us. “

Sawbones then slowly crawled over towards Ransom, his googles hiding his lecherous gaze, as he inspected each and every part of Ransom as if he was a juicy animal, muttering under his breath. He then pointed at the side of Ransom’s neck with his scapel, poking the bulging vein playfully with the rusty sharp edge.

“ If you do want to kill him, make sure to aim for the neck. At the side. It’s where his carotid arteries are…..Organs are just so fragile after all…..”

The wind then whipped and then, began to jiggle the sand up and down as it lightly pushed down Sawbones back. Sawbones head twitched to the front, at the encroaching storm. His first reaction was to bolt down and huddle around his treasured Panacea but he stopped as he saw distinct lights irradiating out of the dense fog. Headlights. Headlights that belonged to cars. Several cars. Cars with people in it.
If it was the same raiders who nearly ended his quest of fulfilling the sacred commandments of the Great Hippo…..Sawbones pulled out his scapel and toyed with it in his hands, his bandaged mask hiding his grin.

“Would you look at that…. More practise….”

The wind began to kick up, the broken vehicles tilting to the side now, metallic yawning filling his ears. Sawbones screamed over the roar of the encroaching storm, his mask and goggles protecting his face from the particles of sand that collided with his face. It wasn’t that far now.

“ Convoy coming in with the storm! Everyone, hide behind something! Fast!”