He had been winding for hours on an absurdly large military truck with little knowledge of his whereabouts. All that he could see was the ocean of sickening sand after sand. "Are we there yet, Private?" Sigma moaned over his enthusiasm's death.
"Sorry sir, we took a wrong turn back there, we should be back to Metropolis in no time!" The driver pleaded.
"Great...the Maverick probably is having a tea party with the humans there." Sigma slumped onto a crate with his back and hung there until the vast sand carpet started to shake the tough rubber on the tires. Rolls of sand start to compress with each other as they got closer to the rock formations, very soon, the truck grew tired of its driver who got his license off the back of a cereal box and put its foot down.
"Sorry sir, that's as much as the truck could handle, she's exhausted," the driver yapped as he drags his bulky body out from under the belly of the truck. The truck gave one last sigh before settling down for a tan.
"Private, she... I mean the truck would be able to handle a truck driver with a better sense of directions than you! Hell, you tore it through the desert when the rock formations are just outside the city limits. And guess where the Maverick Hunter Headquarters is, JUST A HIGHWAY AND A FORK ROAD AWAY FROM THE CITY LIMITS!" Sigma jumped like a chimpanzee with its split-ends on fire---he must have done that quite often.
The poor driver suffocated in Sigma's fumes but manage to indicate the entrance with his chubby innocence. That one look defeated Sigma and he just sighed, "I apologize, private, desert heat...gets me every time." He shrugged and trampled his way to the two other rookies who were doing their shift on observing the gates and activities audible through them.
"...It's been awfully quiet for the past few minutes..." the white helmeted reploid whispered to the dusty brown bear-like reploid who was tucked cozily behind a khaki rock. "Yeah, but it is better than hearing the sound of crunching metals and highly lethal plasma shots spitting into whoever's dead in there...Oh, Commander Sigma, Sir!"
"What's the situation?" He walked by them hastily. The two hunters exchanged worried expressions and tried to squeeze some confidence into their veins. "Sir, the maverick is still in there... do you need back up?"
They waited but Sigma was not in the mood to reply. Hands in between the crack in the metallic walls, he pried them open; unlike Gamma who needed to unlock the gates systematically. The strength applied to haul the barriers apart slightly impressed the idling empty shell, extremely vaguely though. The insignificant amazement of the Maverick's attention fell back into its original arrogant intimidation. (Sagging of the eyelids) That insulted the fearsome Commander who single-handedly raised Unit 17 from a fragile vacant eggshell to the most effective Maverick hunters in this part of the galaxy.
Sigma heard the doors slammed back as it was programmed years before some smart guy decided to abandon a good piece of facility. He needed to lecture that Maverick like he did to Gamma's 'circus actors.' Faster than the speed of electricity, he unbolted his vocal organs but the feeling of skin brushing skin paralyzed him. Panic overwhelmed, Sigma was trying to reconnect to his nerves and search for the cause. All of the sudden, white flashes were released and retracted over and over again. Fortunately, he was built for quick reflexes and he found himself dodging these things which he hadn't had a clue of. That bought him some time to access the reason behind his cranial lag. The white stripes soon blended into a 'blizzard,' too thick for air to sneak into the horizontal hurricane swirling around his head. In the eye of the 'storm,' he finally made visual contact with the 'weather man.' "What in the devils? When had this Maverick moved?"
While the howl of the air being shredded dragged on, Sigma could slowly locate the voice the Maverick. He was not speaking in words, but the sounds produced were enough to help Sigma conclude that he has met his match.