Jamison Fawkes had never known a life without two suns. No, those giant gaseous balls overhead hadn't let him rest for a moment since he had been shat out onto the surface of Delta #12, a D class planet where terraforming had long been since abandoned. But even 'planet' might be too much of a lie for this moon that orbited a giant mass of stone. Kicking a rock into the leg of what long ago might have been an oil rig, Jamie looked up at the scratchy sky and stretched out his good arm. The moon had been set up as a mining colony for the mass they orbited long ago. Said mass provided them with an hour of night every eight hours when it interrupted the moon's site line from the suns for that brief period of time. Everything about Delta #12, slang named Oz by the residents, was a destitute hell. Right now, he was trying to figure out how many bits it would take to escape this place. The stars were almost within reach, the first sun's light illuminated his hand as the second sun began to glimmer on the horizon.
Jamison Fawkes, son of a son of a son of a miner, had never even known his Earth name handed down to him by the National Registry of off World Births. He had always been known, by himself and others, as Junk Rat. If his ma had been an upstanding citizen with the law of the terraform community on Oz, she would have had him genetically chipped, but alas, she was more worried about extra rations and some water probably. It's not like he knew that much about her, or blamed her for handing him off to a scrap keeper for some bits. Babies were something of a luxury for the junkers of this planet, and he was probably better off being raised by a gang than a woman who couldn't even afford to feed herself.
Scratching at the brandings on his arm, he sniffled as he skittered after a lizard to catch himself some dinner. He couldn't go too far from his base or risk getting caught. He'd been hanging out in the stone outcroppings near the original mining bot factory. When supplies had dried up as far as parts went on Earth, the terraformers of Oz had gotten fucked. They'd already formed too big of a population for Earth to take them back or defer them to another colony, so instead the workers of the small Oz colony devolved into might makes right. Junk Rat didn't have a lot of might, so he was rarely right. Slurping up the twitching tail of the scaly thing in his mouth, he looked out across the desert at the cloud on the edge of his vision. Too small to be a dust storm, or a convoy. Had to be someone travelin', but there was no reason to come out here. Factory had been abandoned for decades. Unless they were after Junk Rat. Unless they were after his treasure.
Junk Rat's treasure had been a twisting little breath of gossip for the last two years. Rumor was, there was a blond boy floatin' around the edge of the ol' omnic factory. Had found something deep inside, a treasure from the original colonists. Gossip indeed. A right legend. He skittered down to brace himself for an attack. His treasure wasn't even that valuable. Just this ring he always wore, a few pieces of paper that he'd wanted a scrap keeper to read to him, a genetic chip. As soon as the scrap keeper had seen them, he'd said they were garbage, but his eyes. Eyes always gave junkers away, glistening with greed. The low rumble of a machine, what might have been a car if Junk Rat hadn't known better, had come into ear shot and then stopped. If he'd been an idiot and let curiosity get the better of him, he'd have peeked his head out, but Junk Rat knew better, he weakly let fingers twitch on his mechanical arm as a reminder of what happened to Rats who got curious.
He could hear heavy footsteps and even heavier breathing, which resulted in a light footed Rat sneaking around to another one of the rock out croppings to have a peek at his visitor. Just a glance- Just a- The only thing he saw was a black mask with the snout of a hog and a man tall enough to be a giant before a hook shot out at him to reel him in, but Rat let it catch on his bad arm, and let that arm go, hand gripping a grenade back to the stranger. That move must have been seen because the hook went slack as the hog man stepped back- into one of Rat's traps- to avoid it. The bear trap snapped shut causing the man to grunt in pain before he dropped the hook and the grenade went off close enough to knock the man back onto his ass, shattering Rat's arm. Drat, that had been his favorite arm, he loved Righty. Climbing fast, he pointed his grenade launcher at the other, standing a few feet back. A projectile weapon was useless where a man of this size could touch him. He wasn't an idiot. He was a genius. A genius who was about to kill a giant who had fallen for one of his traps, "Who are you?" He asked, giggling nervously, wiping his drooling mouth on his shoulder, left hand trying not to quiver.
A voice. A deep voice. Deeper than the thunder that proceeded the sand storms answered, "Road Hog."
Another piece of gossip. Another tall tale that only fools went chasing after. The One Man Apocalypse. "Bullshit, rioght you are." Junk Rat laughed, "Like Road Hog would fall for the old grenade in the prosthetic hand trick." He cackled, "But al'right. Yer Road Hog. Who sent you?"
The black glass eyes of the mask staring at him made Rat anxious. Made him shift nervously foot to foot, finally the voice emerged from the mask again, "Sandman."
Junk Rat swallowed thickly, dust in his throat suddenly making him thirsty (like he wasn't always thirsty), and he bit his lip. The brand over his brand. The man who'd bought him when he was a teenager. "Wants me dead or alive?"
"Alive." Well that was slightly reassuring, but alive only came before they got something out of you, then dead. Road Hog's leg had begun to drip sticky, dark red blood from where the trap had cut through his pants, over his boots, and Junk Rat bit his lip. That had to hurt.
"How much he payin' you?"
Didn't matter. Didn't matter for a man like Road Hog, his loyalty wasn't for sale. "More than you ever could."
"More than your life is worth?" Rat asked, voice caustic. That was a deal Road Hog had to consider, "What about your life for mine n'…I hire you. Half me treasure to get me to Sidney." He stated. That was a long ways off. Three gangslands away. That was a fair deal for sure, not that Junk Rat knew the value of his treasure.
See in any normal situation, when a man tried to bargain with Road Hog, the man would just laugh. Not because it was funny, but because it was pathetic. It was hilarious to watch brave humans shrivel up before him, scared for their lives. It made him feel immense, untouchable; and that meant a lot for a man who would give anything to wipe away memories of what had been taken from him. No, Road Hog had never been out smarted before. Even if it was by chance. This wasn't some bullet rain or something else, this was a kid who was dead ready to sacrifice his arm to win, and then if he didn't get what he wanted, was prepared to just leave Road Hog to die. That was respectable. Then half of his treasure? Even if the kid seemed a bit loose in the skull, it'd be a change from the usual. For that, Road Hog laughed. A deep belly chuckle. This kid had some balls and some brains. Who knew? Maybe it'd help him in the long run for the reason that he was roaming Oz.
Heavy breathing, a sigh, "Deal." Junk Rat couldn't see the man's face, but the blonde had no choice. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to trust Road Hog.
"Put'er 'ere." The thin man stuck out a boney hand and Road Hog reluctantly shook. Well, test one of being ripped limb from limb had worked, so Junk Rat was satisfied and worked to free the taller man. They were both inherently distrustful, and they both could respect that. You didn't survive this life by being quick to follow.
After some quick first aid, the blond began to prattle on about his arm and how he'd need a replacement. That was obvious to the now proclaimed body guard. The kid would be useless in combat without two working hands. Rat was fast to clear out his hidey hole and tritter trotter over to the dune bike with a backpack worth of stuff. The large tires looked like paddles to help the machine swim through the pyramids of sand. It was a smart design, must have been a hell of an expensive commission unless Road Hog had built it himself. Getting a closer look at the man, Rat realized there was no room on the seat. As he opened his mouth, Hog unpacked a cube from one of his satchels and clicked a button. Throwing it down, the little machine whirled and began to unpack itself brick by shiny brick into a side car that magnetically clicked onto the bike, "What the-"
Road Hog smirked behind the mask looking at Junk Rat's jaw dropped face. The kid became very skeptical very fast, "That's off world technology. That's not from Oz," Amber eyes narrowed at the other, "Explain. Now."
The large man rested a hand on his gut as he climbed into the seat of the bike with a grunt and settled in. "It's from off world."
Well duh, obviously, he had just said that; Junk Rat rolled his eyes. "How did you get it!? Look, I'm your boss. You gotta tell me!" He'd been trying to get a hold of things from off world for years and had maybe once or twice seen something from another planet. To that, there was no answer, and Junk Rat eventually conceded and climbed into the side car. Conceded before apparently trying to annoy Road Hog into answering with his incessant questions. Eventually, he just gave the kid one long look through the mask, and the brat shut up. Rat didn't need his bodyguard regretting his decision.
It was going to be a very long ride back to civilization.
It had probably been hours, but sometimes Junk Rat remembered things that he'd thought he'd forgotten when he drifted off, and it isn't for a couple hours after he'd tired out of pestering Road Hog that he spoke again, "Hey…Stop here." He requested, and the tone makes Road Hog comply: it isn't the Rat's normal voice fitted with giggling. Rat's boots hit the dirt and he looked around as if he's looking for something in the dunes. Something. Something. His eyes are seeing something past the dunes, Oz, Delta #12, the suns. Hog doesn't know whether or not he finds it, but Rat… Giggling, he started to giggle. Laughing. Cackling. He was losing it. Absolutely losing it, and it wasn't long before he was on the ground in the hot sun sucking in lungs full of air. Hog lifts him up with one mighty hand to put him back in the side car and gave him some water. Probably over heated. Heat stroke.
After the laughter stopped, Hog looked at the kid as if to ask him, "What the fuck was that?"
This time Rat's the one without words for a few minutes. "I got a plan." A plan, he said, "Came to me from the dunes, Sandman, rioght? Sandman wants me dead. Should pay Sandman a visit. Me explosives and your might? We can take all of Sandman's gang's rations, petrol. Everything. Everything we want. Split it, just like the treasure, 50/50. I need some more bits to get me off world. Don't know how much it's going to cost, but there's no commercial transport here, so I'm gonna have to sling it with a shipping line. Probably expensive. I heard they hate extras on board. Sometimes they just gut yeah as soon as you're on and paid." He was mostly musing to himself at this point, giggling again before taking a sip of water, "But Hoggie-"
"Hog." The man corrected immediately in a gruff voice.
"Hog," Rat begins again, "That's why I need to get to Sydney."
"Other ways off world."
"Can't trust them. All the locals round here aren't going where I need to go anyways." Rat puffed curtly.
Hog chuckled softly at the attitude. Had to hand it to the blond, he was theatrical. "Sure you don't want to just stick it to Sandman for personal reasons?"
"Aw, alright," The blond straightened up, "Yeah, you caught me, but the other reasons good too, mate. Can't blame me for wanting to get him back for-"His gapping fish mouth closed suddenly as if he'd said too much, "Anyways, we'll get him back." He giggled, "And explode that shit hole of a bar that drongo loves so much. Boom!" He animated with his one arm. Suddenly realizing again, he'd lost his prosthetic, "Shite, need to get me another arm too. Need to pick that up when we get to Sandland." The gangland would be the only place he'd be able to find a technician or medic. "He wanted me alive, so…" God, he'd have to have faith in Road Hog. An enforcer. A glorified bounty hunter. "We have a little bit of time before we have to go there. You'll just have to pretend you've captured me. Plus, your leg might want to see a medic too. Just in case." Shite, though! Where were they going to get the bits for that?"
Oh wait. Pawing around in his duffle bag, he pulled out something he'd looted recently off one of the bounty hunters not as fortunate as Road Hog. "We'll have to hit a scrap shop, too." He sighed, "God, Hoggie-"
"Hog." The man grunted again.
"Rioght, Hog, it's been so long since I've been back around other Junkers." He shrugged his shoulders, "They uh- Never really liked me." The blond laughed nervously, "Big surprise there, right? The local nutter, never really had any mates of me own. Well, I had a couple there towards the end, but…would have sold me out in a minute. They did, actually. They were the first ones after me treasure." The closer they were to Sandland, the more his brand started to itch, "So um…just a heads up, Hoggie-" God, Hog groaned, this was going to stick wasn't it? "I'm technically a slave in Sandland? Uh, he owns me, or, I guess, I'm part of the gang, but…not a tattooed member. I'm a branded member. Low on the totem pole. Real low." His teeth chattered a bit, "Now I remember why I don't go around other Junkers. You know, being a slave n' all." He laughed, slapping his knee. His sensitive Junk Rat disposition couldn't handle it. That and he was a deserter which in Sandland and most ganglands was punishable by death.
Hog looked at the kid briefly. Seemed like the kid had had a rough life, but almost everyone on this planet had, so no surprise there. He put a large hand on the head of his charge and ignored Junk Rats squeak of terror that his head was about to be ripped off for talking too much as the large man patted him twice. The motion was reassuring for the blond. Caused even his pounding tiny Rat heart to steady for moment. Like this plan wasn't utter shite. Like maybe Road Hog actually had his back. He didn't even giggle anxiously when they passed the large sign into town with bodies of thieves, murderers, and others on display when they drove by. (Yikes, that made his throat tight, haha!) The bones had long been picked clean by bugs and vultures; they'd been bleached by the sun as well. Normal enough in Oz, Hog supposed. Didn't expect anything more. Didn't expect anything less. Justice out on planets past B class was always hazy. As so, the large man gazed tiredly at the little row of shanty shack houses and piss poor excuses for buildings that the wind had mercifully spared, but the time hadn't. It seemed to hit them both at the same time:
Welcome to Sandland.