Esthers, was a diner joint in the middle of a wasteland. It's location seemed rather random, considering how far away it was from the nearest settlement, but it was certainly no accident. A long time ago, there was a city there, on the wrong side of the border, across a large nation. A lawless city, known for it's anarchy and danger. When the nations dissolved, so too did the city, consumed in violence, it's anarchy concentrated in a single building. Esthers.

Only that restaurant in the downtown area survived, and the family that owned it has run it ever since. While at first it was exclusively a bar for bandits and thieves, over the years it became a simple roadside diner. However, it's never lost it's roots, and remains a popular place for outlaws, ensuring a blazing gunfight at least once a week. At some point, a nuclear generator was buried underneath it, and the diner has not closed since. A neon sign was affixed to the roof of the building, and at night, it can be seen from miles away.

Our story begins in that diner, one slow afternoon. A square, single room restaurant with a bar and a couple of pool tables. For once, the diner was almost empty, save for the staff. The once white wallpaper was stained yellow, from the uncountable amount of smokers that had passed through the building. The chef was asleep in the kitchen. He'd somehow found room for a hammock in there. The stench of cigars and acetone mingled, as the cashier polished her nails. From time to time, she'd wipe the sweat off her forehead, cursing the broken air conditioning under her breath. Simply waiting for someone to walk through the door.

Skylar stood beneath the blazing hot sun that relentlessly beat down upon the earth. She had pulled up her long, black hair into a low messy bun and stuffed the strands into an old and tattered hat. Despite not being touched directly by the sun's rays her hair still felt as if it were on fire and was only getting worse. Down the street she knew of a small diner that served the clientele she gravitated towards, the lack of fighting(or any kind of movement for that matter) suggested that the bar would be empty but it would at least put a roof between her and the sun. She walked calmly down the row and pulled the door open, escaping to a shadow gratefully. "Slow day, huh?" Sky asked the cashier, stepping closer to the girl. "Pity, I was really interested in racking up some favors and finding some work to do." She shrugged and sat herself at a nearby table, stretching out gratefully.

All she ever carried was a dirty old backpack stuffed with a specific set of clothes, a book and a journal with a pen. That wasn't including the twin blades she wielded, each one strapped at an angle to her outer thighs. All else she owned were hidden away in a place she claimed as her own, protected against prying eyes and thieving hands. Sky reached a hand up and swiped the hat off her head, setting it on the table before reaching up again and pulling her hair out of its binds. It draped gratefully down her back, the heat radiating from each black strand. "Hey could I get some water?" She called to the girl as she reached into her bag and pulled out her journal and the pen. This journal had been in her possession for a little while and yet it wasn't even half-way full, partly to due with lack of material and partly to due with how small she had learned to write. A tune had been nagging at the back of her head so every time she had a moment she would try to flush it out, but to no avail. She thumped the pen down on the table next to the book and growled, sitting back in the chair with crossed arms.

She walked for days, the sun beating on her pale face, scorching it to a tan muddy colour. Edmee wandered, her nomadic instincts taking over from when she was a child. Her satchel filled with cluttered paper was held close, as if she were afraid it would get lost in the vast empty space which once held great cities. Her empty canteen was tied to her waste, the sound of it clanging made Edmee grow parched. Now that she realized how thirsty she was, she began to realize how hungry she was as well. Her supply of crackers had already been used up from yesterdays travels, she used her rations unproportionally and now Edmee must face the consequences of her actions.

In the distance, Edmee could see a building? She hoped it wasn't a mirage as she picked up her pace, her feet shuffling along the ground. The faster she made it there, the less likely it would be for her to die in the heat without anyone's knowledge. As she walked closer, the building grew clearer and clearer, it was a diner, an old one at that, yet how was it able to withstand years of malnourishment? She opened the door of the diner, her voice dry as she spoke, "Food... Water..." Edmee smacked her lips together. She was never great with people, especially when it came to buying things, her manner was far under acceptable on social standards.

She opened her satchel and threw her papers onto the table in front of her, ruffling her hair and muttering curses under her breath, "Fuck me, fuck you fuck me... God... Fuck." The papers were a mess, people could clearly see. Edmee didn't have time to put her story in page order, but now she has the time while she waited for a meal. Edmee searched through the pile of papers and began organizing them from the first page.

Graham was lost. His map had been destroyed by an explosion in the ruins he was just exploring. He would have to find some sort of landmark if he had any hope of finding home. After looking at the sky to his orientation he decided to head north. As he started what he assumed to be a long walk he pulled out a small notebook and pencil from his pockets and started listing his loot from the ruins.
Identified: 7 kilograms scrap metal, seven AA batteries, four AAA batteries, 70cm usable electric wiring, 3 intact books- fiction.
Unidentified: A small metal "thing" in the shape of a spider, will need home equipment to inspect further.
Losses: Map, 2 shotgun slugs, 7 buckshots, "some" blood, 30cm bandages, 5 cans of beans, one canned chicken, everything eaten before the chicken, three liters of water.
Gains: Knowledge of the evil of canned chicken.

After this he let out a drawn out sigh, the trips were yielding less and less every month. Scanning the horizon for landmarks he noticed a small building to the north-east. "The first good thing all day" he muttered to himself as he trudged towards this structure in the distance. After a few minutes he reached the front door of this "DINER" and took a look in the front window, his shotgun in his left hand. Two women at different tables, assorted staff behind counter, smells like a bandit left out in the sun too long. With these facts in mind he put the shotgun back in its holster and walked up to the counter. After he got the attention of one of the staff he asked for a menu. Menu in hand he sat down and started reading it. After a minute or so he asked for a burger and water.

While waiting for his order he pulled out the metal spider and a few lenses. If anyone looked at him they would of seen a grown man cooing to himself while holding up a chunk of metal in one hand and a piece of glass in the other. Periodically he would take some notes only to scribble them out moments later. After a few minutes he gave up and started to draw what he was seeing. He did this for all of five seconds before his order arrived. He continued to stare intently at the contraption whilst eating and often had sauce drop onto his shirt and notes.

Outside of the building is where Monty was, fresh air was much preferable to smokey air any day. Especially to one as old as he is. Today though, today was busy, Monty had been in the area for around four days now and he was enjoying the relatively cool water and cooked food. Today he had seen three new faces enter the diner almost in immediate succession. Monty suspected foul play by these three people. Though, two of them looked like the nerdy sort, that wasn't enough to suspend suspicion however. Not two weeks ago did he meet a small child who radiated so much heat that the broken pavement melted beneath his feet.

Monty felt a little regret for leaving the boy to his fate.

It just goes to show what kind of hell the world still is. Superpowers that would have made young boys the happiest in the world only a few centuries ago can be considered a curse. Monty was fortunate, he had received only one small gift from what some would call mutation and others evolution. He was content with simplicity. But what about the three new folks in these parts? Are they together, a group of heathens who're here to get a free meal and then shoot up the place? Maybe they're inside already killing the people inside, but with some sort of magic powers. It didn't really matter, he'd just move on if they opted to kill everyone. There was no emotional connection to these people. Or anyone at all. A world that was once hell, a world that changed and is working for the future, is still a world that was once hell.

And you can change the name all you want. But hell is still hell.

A bit of dust started to kick up outside so Monty chose to go into the Diner, keeping his hands in his pockets so they were closer to his waists. Should anyone make the mistake of pulling out their gun, they'd get a quick surprise from guns the size of their head. He placed himself in the booth closest to the door, kicking his feet up on the table and pulling his hat down over his face. The khaki donned gunman was going to take a nap, and not a damned thing could stop him.

A group of men picked their way through a wet and hot partial forest. One of the new areas that nature had taken back. Thick, young trees raising from a spongy floor of mud, decaying matter and if you weren't careful, a hidden man-eating fungoid or ten. It was here that they caught up with a scout, sitting on his heels and examining a section of the forest floor, that quite honestly was COVERED in paw and foot prints of various kinds. The older man swathed in layers of rags, with dark blue goggles over his eyes was doing his best to try and piece out what had come through her. As the group of men joined him, the leader whispers, "Well scout?"

Tod Crayer, the scout in rags, holding a hunting rifle, with a back pack on his back and with a 2 foot long single edged knife on his hip, looked down at the ground closer, "Some other scouts came through here." He used the butt of his rifle to point out some boot and shoe prints, "This here, a herbivore, and one of those Moa like things here...as for what you're looking for..." The mission had been to find a saber-tooth cat like creature that was threatening some frontier mining communities, it had already killed a miner and his family. The communities had come together to track it down and get rid of it. Tod hrmed, "Here." He points at a track, "But it's old. Maybe 4 days. But it came through here." He pointed to the right further into the forest and towards the edge of the settled lands, and out into the wastes beyond the scouting ranges of this area, "And he's out there."

The hunting party nodded. Tod getting up with a grunt, "I'll scout ahead. Take your time...and watch your step."

Graham had just finished his burger when the grumpy man walked in. He had seen the type before, the type that think that the only rule of the wastes is that someone is always out to get you. Excellent back in the merchant days as they would always buy out your stock of ammo but no fun for expeditions. Closer inspection noted the fact he had his hands right next his guns. Graham, never a big fan of being caught off guard placed his shotgun on his lap and went back to inspecting the device.

He only managed a few more minutes of this however as some more wanderers had just walked in. To well armed for drifters, no sign of a merchant cart. Either bandits or mercenaries, neither a good sign when there aren't many guards around. Slipping the device into one of his more discreet pockets Graham got a good grip on his shotgun.

For now the mob was just keeping to themselves but nobody could tell how long they had before someone got shot. As Graham was preparing to pay and leave one of the men approached him and blocked his way. "Now friend, why don't you sit down for a while. Can't have a possible meal ticket leaving, can we?" growled the most likely bandit.
"Well then I suggest you watch what you do for the next few minutes."
"You threatening me creep?"
"No, I'm warning you that there are at least two people here capable of causing serious damage to your group." With this Graham gestured to "old-guy" and "sword freak". "Book worm" seemed busy.

Out of the corner of her eye Skylar kept tabs on each person who walked through the door, one seeming like normal travelers, others looked like they'd seen a few fights. None of them bothered her much so she continued to sit back and sip at her water. After a few minutes she realized she was getting hungry and decided to order something warm while she mulled over the tune in her head. Her food hadn't arrived yet when the bigger group walked through the door, ignored only by the girl with her pages, no doubt a story or journal of some type. The newcomers had a familiar vibe to them, moving like a group she had traveled with before. She didn't recognize any of them so she figured they were from a different area or not at all what she thought, but when one guy stopped a customer from leaving she had made up her mind. Gulping down the rest of her water, Sky rested her hands on the hilts of her knives as she stood and turned to face the two men. A grouchy expression plagued her face, quiet growls rolling from her stomach. "You guys friends or something, because you really don't look like the same type to me." She spat, purposely looking at the would-be-bandit. Turning her gaze to the other man she gestured to the nuisance. "This guy bothering you? This place is kind of known for its criminal activity, wouldn't want you to get mixed up in something dangerous." A sly smile played at the corner of her lips as she fought the urge to attack the larger group. It was a toss-up now of how things could play out, the annoying man could realize he was outmatched or her could be a fool and attack anyway. One way ended in retreat, the other in a blood bath. She secretly wished for the blood bath, it had been a while since her last decent fight. Another part nagged her to join up with them and make a little cash before striking out on her own again. Sky pushed the thought aside remembering that she didn't do groups anymore, hadn't for a couple of years.

The man began to hassle the smaller man while Monty lay there somewhere between sleep and awake. Monty was too tired to deal with this so he lifted Bad from its holster and planted her against the table. Without lifting the brim of his hat he let loose a shot from the barrel of his gun aimed at the side of the bandit's head. Before even addressing whether or not the bullet had struck he holstered his gun and covered his lap up again with his coat. There were some times that the most simple actions were more than enough to get a point across, and if Monty's aim is true he just killed a man for hassling someone. If not he just scared the shit out of a man. Either way, Monty was finished here.

Completely unfazed by the blood sprayed all over his face Graham calmly smiled at the knife nut and said "I'm fine, I'm more worried about them now." He gestured to the bandit who now was missing half a face. The bandits were scrambling for their weapons in response to the carnage. One of them grabbed Graham by the shoulder and yelled some sort of threat at him. One quick jolt was enough to stun him. Using the now incredibly compliant body as a shield he pulled out his shotgun and faced the rest. "Odds are against you friends, I would suggest leaving before short and slicey there has a turn."

"Oh and do any of you have a map?"

Monty's bullet pierced straight through the bandits skull, splitting it apart like a watermelon bashed open with a sledgehammer. Then it kept going, blowing yet another hole in the wall behind him, traveling for about a mile into the desert. The inside of the diner resembled a slaughterhouse, like all the other times it did. The cashier was ducked behind the counter, next to a waitress, smoking cigarrettes like it was just another day of work. There were about 6 bandits still standing, most of them brandishing Handguns of some kind. One of them stood at the front, wielding a switchblade. The last one wasn't even worried, finishing off his drink with one gulp.

"Everyone be cool!", he said, in a sort of booming, deep voice. It was a bald, bony, middle aged man, with tanned skin and a pair of metallic slits where his nose used to be. He wore black robes, handkerchief covering his neck, and holstered a huge, silver crucifix much like a gunslinger. He stood up, and walked towards the man with the shotgun. "Do you really believe the odds are in your favor?" he asked rhetorically. "You are not the only one with gifts. You will unhand our companion and leave," he stated, like it was a matter of fact. "Or you will risk death at our hands." He gripped his crucifix, awaiting a response.

Sky flinched at the sound of the gun, the vibrations of the noise resonating through her body. "A little warning might be nice, you know." She growled as she popped her knuckles and shook away the ringing in her ears. "I'd be worried about them too if they weren't asking for it." She shrugged and pulled her knives free of their sheaths. A man stepped forward, one she assumed to be in charge. Sky forced down a spurt of laughter but could not hide her smirk. "You can have your lame lackey once you've exited the diner and started on your way to your next target. I full heartedly believe that I have the upper hand because I don't have to touch you to kill you. I won't be merciful either. That right there..." She nodded towards the maimed body on the floor. "...was a mercy shot. You won't receive the same courtesy if I get involved." Sky scraped the blades of her knives together and listened to the sound, disguising the move as a taunt.

Another track trap, this one, a mud hole, with a pool of brown water in it's middle. It'd be silty, but it's water, animals would need to water even if laced with dirt, a little dirt hurt no one.

But Tod was curious about something else entirely. Sure the tracks of the beast they were after were here. And he had already marked the path, but what baffled him were boot tracks, and what looked like the site of a scuffle. As the hunters got ready to move one, Tod knelt beside the boot tracks, using his short "sword" to draw outlines around atleast seven individual boot prints. Maybe more. He duck walked carefully around the tracks, trying to get a sense of what was going on.

Slowly a mental image came to mind. There was a settlement close by, which had been raided a little less then a week ago. A few deaths and some injuries. Looks like the bandits who had done the raid met with some other group here. He wasn't sure if it was another bandit group, or a party from the town. He carefully moved, leaning down to look at some stains on the ground between some of the tracks. He narrowed his eyes, pulling his scarf down, sniffing at the stain, then boldly, taking his hand wiping at the stain a little and bringing it to his tongue, spitting it out a moment later. Blood. This meeting wasn't on good terms.

The hunter were calling him to hurry up, but Tod is by far to busy to listen to them. He spidered abit to the side, leaning out and judging the direction of travel. The one group from the town, the bandit group also, but their tracks from the town were older. The town had sent a posse. A fight had broken out. In his minds eye he could envision the fight. Knifes, short blades and clubs drawn, too close for guns. He found where a body had lain. Something had dragged it off. And another place where a body had fallen. So that meant atleast two people had been wounded bad enough they had been left, and atleast one of them had died on site. As he crabbed about, he finally found the right path. The remnants of the bandit group had headed away from the mudhole. He had their track. As the hunters called again he motioned, and called, to them, "No more then 4 hours, East by northeast. Keep following the six clawed print. You can take him...I want to check this out."

He got up, and walked off, this bandit group was raiding the frontier. He wanted to find them and stop that, it was part of his job.

They couldn't be that far ahead, the tracks were still somewhat fresh. He unshouldered his high-powered hunting rifle, based off of an old rifle model that used levers to load rounds, but this one had been wildcatted to fire a truly massive .454 winchester round, for when he needed to bring something big down. He picked up the pace, jogging, he needed to find these characters before they did any more damage.

Graham simply smiled at the weirdo and pointed his shotgun at the apparent leader of the bandits. "Please, tell me what sort of gift will save you from a load of buckshot to the chest?" The bandit glared at him and pulled out a piece of parchment from his robes. "I understand you needed a map? Unhand my lackey and hand over the piece you were tinkering with, and any notes you made on it, and the map is yours." Graham stared at him for a few seconds. Religious sort by the looks of it. Surprisingly coherent, most he had met were fanatics who worshiped old world tech like it was a gift from the gods, always a bother when they refuse to let him inspect the ruins. "And what, my man of faith, do you intend to do with this particular piece of tech?"

Like hell I'm going to hand this thing to anyone.

"That is of no concern to you. Just know that many of my order would rather kill you on sight for that piece. Hand it over and we will never see each other again."
"So my options are to let you have this one of a kind relic many scavengers would die for or deal with slightly more lunatics on a regular basis? It seems you underestimate my tolerance for insanity."

Yeah, brilliant, taunt the nutjobs.

The next second one of the bandits reached for Graham. The second after that one of the bandits was missing a good portion of his upper chest, neck and lower jaw.

Tod crabbed his way through the brush. He'd found his bandits. A bunch of loud, hairy guys, guns and knives, ragged clothing and a few pieces of armoring. But not something new or unique at all. One of them was brandishing the severed ear of a sabre cat, one of bigger, meaner beasties on the frontier, but the cats were smart enough not go near settlements, the only way one would go near a town or homestead would be if they were forced out of their range, and the only way one would attack a town is if it was hurt and angry. Likely the one he had been asked to help track was missing an ear. And had been right pissed and attacked the first humans it saw after coming around.

These five bandits though had made off with their prize, and laughed about the pain they caused. Tod, would make them pay. As much as he could on his own.

He crabbed and spidered his way closer to where the bandits were resting. Eating rations and getting something to drink. Tod hrmed, then began to load his rifle, making sure he had a full load of ammo, so he had a full compliment of rounds for when he opened fire. He studied them, listened and waited.

If had been abit of a feat, tracking them as he did, having to run actually, to close the long distance and head-start. But he had finally caught up to them, then began to stalk them up to this point. He'd had any number of chances to take a number of them down, but he didn't want to do that until he was sure he could get them all. So here he knelt, watching and waiting until they were vulnerable.

The group of bandits weren't exactly the careful type, loud and rowdy without a consideration from the things or people around them. They were a well known group at one point, feared by innocent and criminal alike. All that was a time when they still had their shining jewel, a young girl with the power to kill from a distance. After losing her the group had to fall back to easier methods of conning and thievery. They picked on the easier targets for cash and other valuables, but had recently gotten a new taste for blood. For a few days they had been terrorizing the frontier, torturing a beast they had never seen the likes of before. At one point they had even tried to poach it, though that encounter hadn't ended very well. The man in charge, a gruff looking man who could have passed for an old time Italian Mafia leader, paced around in circles like he usually did. Many compared him to a lion pacing about his pride, eyes on everything as he strategized his next move. The group had lost a couple of members to the beast, and a few more were injured but the majority of the group went unharmed and passing around a severed ear that served as a trophy. One of the men stood up and stalked over to the pacing leader, eyes wild and ready for the next fight. "When do we leave, what's our next play Dante?" The man asked, following the pacing with his eyes. Dante paused for a moment, a sadistic smile spreading across his face. "I've been keeping an ear out for signs of our young friend, and just before our last raid I might have found some information on her current whereabouts." He continued his pacing, though it was more thoughtful than territorial. "You don't mean the child Reaper... Do you? She's grown up now, what makes you think we can beat her if your own brother died the first time. He wasn't exactly weak." Dante sighed and stared at his subordinate with agitation. "Michelangelo... I don't plan to kill her, just beat her into submission until she get's the idea that she will always be one of us. Her hands are just as bloody as mine and I will not let her run away. Once a dog, always a dog. Now leave me be before I decide to leave you for the beasts." Mike nodded and turned away, a shade paler than he had started out. The man he followed was known for his inability to feel compassion, no remorse for the lives he had taken. Mike himself had never seen the girl Dante always spoke about, a young girl by the name of Skylar, who had the power to kill in the most brutal ways. Sitting back down he began to tell his friends of Dante's plans to retrieve Skylar from her hiding spot, an exited murmur passing from bandit to bandit.