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Winter pressed his face against the rusty, blood-encrusted bars of the cage. The horrid stench of burning flesh with the stinging smell of smoldering wood assaulted the young boy's nostrils, and the lamenting cries of the womenfolk of the village filled his ears as his home was put to the torch. The bodies of the few who stood against the Badlander raiders lay scattered across the muddy streets, some adorned the trunks of nearby trees, nailed into place to mark the raiders' visit. The dying were doused in gasoline and set aflame, the living were put in chains and put to cart.
The men and women were separated, young and old, into two cages that were loaded into two different trucks. The old machines growled as they waited for their cargo to be stuffed into their backs, before roaring their approval at the start of the long journey to the slavers' camp. Winter saw his mother among the women, and he cried out for her as the truck rumbled away. He overheard the slavers talk, said that the women were headed for the Lexxers and the men were for the pits of the Jagged Maw. The truck disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, and the boy despaired at the thought he would never see her again.
He'd heard stories about the Badlanders, how cruel they were to their slaves. The boy knew the moment he was set on that journey to the Jagged Maw, he would never come out. And so, the young tribal searched desperately for a way out.
"Hey! I see what yer doin ya lil shit!" A raider yelled from atop the cage. His shotgun stuck through the bars above, aiming for the boy's head when Winter reached to jangle the lock. "Try dat again and Imma blast yer lil arms off!"
Winter backed away from the door and sat down some distance away.
"Come here, Winter." Woodland, the boy's uncle, rasped from the opposite end of the cage. Across the mass of legs and bodies was an old man in his late fifties, scarred and weathered from his time as a hunter. He was wounded in a recent hunt, and was too weak to put up a fight when the Badlanders came for them.
Winter pushed past the other captured tribals and hugged his uncle, "What's going to happen to us?"
"I don't know, boy." Woodland said, "But whatever happens, you and I will face it together. I will protect you."
"What are they going to do to Mama?" Winter sniffed after an hour of bouncing around in the cage had passed. They were well beyond the desert settlement they called home, past the hills where they hunted game, and deep in the heart of the canyons of the Corpse.
"She'll be alright." Woodland lied, sparing the boy the knowledge of what fate awaited women in the Corpse, especially women like Autumn. She'd been one of the defenders of the village, a fine scout and hunter like him. They spared her because of her beauty, and that could only mean one thing.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure." Woodland replied.
"He's lying to you, idiot." One of the older boys spat. "What'll happen to her there among the Lexxers is a fate worse than death."
"Be quiet, you." Woodland pulled Winter close to his chest and covered his ears, "He needn't hear any more of that."
"Why keep the truth from him? He'll see just what they'll do to people like us." The boy laughed humorlessly, "And the women too. Indeed, a fate worse than death."
"Stop talking!" The same raider yelled down at the captured tribals, "Last warnin, cuz next word dat be comin outta yer mouths gets a spray from me gun!"
A little over half an hour later, the group of slavers entered a narrow pass with the bleached skeletons hanging by the rock face, which indicated the border of Badlander territory. A couple of miles more, and they would be well within the vicinity of the Jagged Maw.
But there was something noticeably wrong with the border outpost. Instead of sentries greeting them, there were only Badlander corpses on their sentry towers. Crude machine-gun emplacements were left empty, and fires were burning atop the rubble that functioned as the hand-dug outpost house.
The truck grounded to a halt, and the raiders that hung along for the ride disembarked.
As they moved to investigate, the captured tribals pressed against the bars of the cage to see what was going on. They couldn't see much from the front of the truck, as the cage wasn't high or wide enough to give enough space to peek over the body of the truck.
The slavers, however, saw plenty.
A man donning black combat armor suddenly emerged from behind a rock, carrying what looked like a rocket-launcher in his hands.
The Badlanders immediately scrambled to go for cover, having encountered similar situations when fighting the Cult of the Reshapened. The rocket whistled as it was launched against them, sending dirt and body parts flying when it struck the raiders too slow to get clear. Almost immediately, gunfire erupted from all sides of the pass. A storm of bullets and bright red beams of light cut down the slavers in seconds.
The ambush was fast, and the shots were too accurate. Way too clean for a rival raiding party, these people were something else.
Woodland covered his nephew with his body, protecting him in case a stray bullet found its way into the cage. The slavers that survived the first volley immediately sprang out to return fire. Their first and last mistake, for an unseen sniper took them out with a weapon that sounded as shrill and earsplitting as an eagle's scream.
The captured tribals were stunned at the abrupt conclusion, they watched the last Badlander limp away from the carnage, heading for the safety of the hills past the narrow pass. He didn't get far as he collapsed from a wound in his leg.
More men in black rose up from their hiding places from nearby hills, and above the canyon pass. Several of them crossed the battlefield cautiously, and approached the wounded slaver. Their leader had a length of rope hanging by his pack, and he took it out as he ordered his men to lift the Badlander to his feet.
"What's the verdict, sarge?" One of the men said to him.
"You know what happens to slavers." He said without a moment of hesitation, "They hang. String him up."
The raider kicked and struggled as the soldiers of the Dominion put the noose over his neck and flung the length of rope over an exposed rafter on one of the crude sentry towers. It took some effort to hoist the poor bastard up some feet, but they managed. His body swung about and twirled as he squirmed, still kicking as his life was slowly squeezed out of him.
Sgt. Sterling took one look at the cage, grimaced in disgust, then ordered for the lock to be torn off to let the prisoners go. He noticed that some of the rookies were still gawking at the spectacle he'd just put up, executing a raider the way they did. Sterling had seen worse things done to people, back in the earlier days of the Dominion. They've seen nothing yet. He addressed their reaction the only way he knew how, "Shake it off! Ya'll look like you've seen a man get strung up!"
"Lemme tell you something!" He yelled, "That is no man, that's a bloodthirsty, motherfucking rabid dog walking on its hind legs calling itself human! Someone here tell me what the fuck do we do to rabid dogs in the Rooks?!"
"We put 'em down." One of the veterans muttered as he shot the lock off with a blast from his laser pistol.
"Damn straight!" Sterling roared, closing up on one of his men until he was just two inches from his face. His every word was a stinging slap, a biting reprimand. "You rookies have been making me proud since day one on this expedition, so I'll let this one slide. The next time we hang one of these dogs, you will not look on in pity! You will look upon that twitching corpse with a cold, blue-eyed stare! You will look upon that dog's face while its swinging from a fucking tree, you will smile and you will tell yourself that this is good- do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sergeant." The rookies said halfheartedly.
"Hoo-ah!" Sterling growled.
"Hooah! Yes sergeant!"
Satisfied, the officer turned his attention to the freed prisoners. They were mostly old men and young boys, only a few looked like the warrior type. The sergeant's condescension was obvious with the way he looked at their clothes. The tribals wore a patchwork assortment of fabrics, ranging from the remains of old vault-dweller jumpsuits to bird feathers, animal skins and whatnot.
"Can anyone of you understand me?" Sterling said gruffly, hoping that someone at least spoke some decent English in this part of the Wasteland.
One of the older men, who was guarding a young boy with a funny mohawk dyed with silver paint, limped forward to speak to him. He was nursing a dirty bandage wrapped around his midsection, that was also smeared with a dark crimson color. His words were in broken English, but it was comprehensible enough for the sergeant's ears. "We...can all understand you."
"Good!" Sterling slung his rifle over his shoulder, "My name is Sgt. Nolan Sterling of the Dominion Rook Infantry 10th Regiment, we've come to bring the light of civilization back to your land." At this, the tribals exchanged looks of confusion and bewilderment, obviously not knowing what the sergeant meant.
"These men, they came to take us as slaves..." The old man said slowly, "You saved us...we are forever grateful." He winced as he put a hand over his chest, "I am known as Woodland."
"Well then, Woodland..." Sterling tried his best to put on a good face. "Would it trouble you so much if I asked you and your people to come with us? We can provide food, shelter and security to your people."
It was rather clear to his own men that he detested having to deal with the more primitive folk of these lands, but commended him on his efforts to hide his displeasure. Many people of the Dominion shared this kind of attitude towards non-citizens, and by extension the tribals too. And though even the High Marshal himself openly discouraged this brand of prejudice, it was still quite prevalent amongst many of the Dominion's citizens, especially its higher echelons.
Woodland wasn't quick to jump aboard, "In exchange...for what?"
This one was a smart tribal, he knew how the game was played. The sergeant smirked, "Knowledge, Woodland. We are strangers to this land, and we wish to know its secrets."
"Will you try to...enslave us?" The old man asked cautiously.
Sterling pointed to the slaver hanging from the tower, in case Woodland hadn't paid enough attention to the spectacle earlier. "Do you see that? That is what we do to slavers. You have nothing to fear from us."
"Uncle, can they help us save Mama?" The sergeant overheard the boy say to the old man.
"We will see." Woodland replied. With that, the tribals followed the Dominion soldiers out of the battlefield and back to their base.
Winter gazed at everything he saw at the soldier compound with wide-eyed curiosity and childlike wonder. Growing up within the wooden palisades of his village, he'd never known walls of brick or stone and much less steel or concrete. Machines on wheels, like the trucks the Badlanders imprisoned them in earlier, were parked close to the walls. Guns, big and shiny guns, fixed on top of them were operated by big and burly soldiers dressed in black armor.
They looked so healthy, so strong.
The village had to scrape by with their meager food supply, reserving the best only for their hunters. Winter thought that the soldiers must be rich in food to look that way, and even richer with the kind of weapons they had.
They weren't caked in rust like the weapons of the raiders, they looked new. Their armor was even more impressive, they covered their bodies completely like the shell of a mirelurker.
Winter had been staring for too long that he'd forgotten to mind his surroundings. He bumped into one of the soldiers when his fingers slipped from his uncle's hand. A monstrously huge man in a metal suit glared down at him.
"Hey, watch it, runt!" The man said gruffly, "Lucky for you, I wasn't moving or else you'd be a meat cake under my boot." Winter wasn't scared of the soldier, only startled. His curiosity got the better of him, and he reached out to touch the surface of his midsection. The metal man, clearly not liking the attention, gently swatted his hand away and called out to Sgt. Sterling. "Sarge! Got a lost puppy here running around the base!"
Uncle Woodland got to him first, scolding the boy for his carelessness and apologizing to the soldier. "Sorry...he's a curious boy. We'll go see your leader now."
"Don't wander around." The metal man replied, "And keep your distance from me, tribal."
Woodland kept his nephew close as they entered the building, recognizing the Pre-War radio station from the few magazines he'd come across in his life as a hunter, scavenging ruins for supplies. He, along with two other hunters were taken to a large room where a woman stood with some of the soldiers, talking about the Corpse Coast and its local regions. A man and a woman dressed in white coats beckoned for Woodland to sit down so they'd see to his wound, the tribals guessed that they were doctors and found their presence to their liking.
"Ah, so these are the tribals." The woman, obviously the leader of the Dominion soldiers, said after the others left with only two of her men to stand guard near the door. "I'm Lt. Hope Weiss, leader of this expedition. On behalf of the Dominion, I welcome you to Outpost Seven."
Winter couldn't help but stare again. She had red hair, bright like arterial blood flowing from an open wound. He'd never seen anyone with red hair before, he couldn't believe that was just dye like the silver that adorned his own hair. It was too natural, right down to the roots.
"So...you will let us stay...here?" Uncle Woodland struggled to find the right words to convey his thoughts. He winced in pain as the old bandages tugged at the infected parts of his wound due to the dried pus that was leaking from the edges of his injury. The doctors did their work and cleaned his wound, spraying some form of medicine out of a can over the infected area.
"That depends entirely on your willingness to help us with our mission, Mr. Woodland."
"Your man...the one named Nolan Sterling...he said you need help knowing more about the Corpse Coast." Woodland said, "I know much...I can help."
"Fantastic." Hope replied, taking a seat while the doctors finished up with the tribals. "Why don't we start now? There's no time like the present."
She took one look at Winter and turned her head to call out for someone to take him away, "Rose, get in here and make yourself useful!"
A moment later, a pretty woman with brown hair and dressed in leather armor entered the room. "Yes, lieutenant? What can I do for you?"
Hope said to Woodland, "Sir, I'm sorry, but the things we're gonna be talking about shouldn't involve the kid. If it's no problem for you, I'd like to have him sent to the lobby with the rest of your people. Rose here's gonna take him there."
Woodland nodded slowly, giving Winter a reassuring pat on the back. "Go with her, boy. I won't be long."
The brown-haired woman smiled at the boy and extended her hand, "Come on sweetie, let's get you out of here while the adults talk, kay?"
"Okay." Winter followed her out as he took her hand, leaving Woodland and the hunters to speak with the lieutenant.
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