Jax drove his boot into Old Four’s chest, sending the man sprawling into the dirt. Before the raider could scramble away, Jax was on him, binding his wrists and ankles with brutal efficiency.

“Stay still,” Jax warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Unless you want a bullet in your skull.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Jax sat back, ripped the sweaty insole out of his shoe, and jammed it into the man’s mouth, stifling his protests into muffled whimpers.

Leaving the bound captive, Jax gripped the Rifle and moved silently toward the main group.

Rounding the corner of the cliff face, he spotted them. Old Two and his crew were clustered around the charred remains of the Sandworms, their hands buried in the gore. They were like vultures, drunk on greed.

“Hah! Look at this!” one shouted, holding up a gleaming crystal. “Another Core!”

“I got one too!” Old Five laughed, wiping slime onto his pants. “Two in under a minute!”

“The drop rate is insane,” Old Two marveled, his eyes reflecting the bloody sheen of the carcasses. “Every single one is loaded. We’re rich!”

They were so consumed by the harvest they had forgotten why they came. They had forgotten the danger.

But instincts are hard to kill. Old Two paused, the hairs on his neck prickling. The laughter died in his throat. He felt eyes on him.

He spun around.

“Who… who are you?”

Five meters away, a figure stood in the shadows. The moonlight glinted off the barrel of a Rifle, leveled directly at Old Two’s chest.

The other two froze.

Old Three, reacting on pure muscle memory, dropped his hand to the dagger at his waist.

BANG.

The gunshot cracked like a whip, echoing violently off the canyon walls.

Old Three didn’t even scream. He folded in half, clutching his stomach, and collapsed face-first into the pile of dead worms.

Jax worked the bolt with a sharp clack-clack, ejecting the spent casing and chambering a new round. He swung the muzzle toward Old Two.

Old Two threw his hands up, his eyes wide with regret and terror.

“Friend! Wait! We’re just trying to survive out here!” he stammered, his voice trembling. “We were hired! Just a job! We didn’t mean any harm!”

Jax’s expression remained cold. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

“What… what do you want?” Old Two pleaded. “How can we make this right?”

Jax gestured with the barrel toward the unharvested carcasses. “Start digging. We talk when the work is done.”

Old Two blinked, confused. “What? Work?”

“You heard me. You like Cores so much? Get them out. All of them.”

Old Two hesitated, glancing at his companion.

Jax narrowed his eyes. “No? Fine. I’ll do it myself, right after I put a hole in you.”

He tightened his finger on the trigger.

“No! No! We’ll do it!” Old Two shouted, waving his hands frantically. “We’re digging!”

He shot a glare at Old Five, and the two men scrambled back to the carcasses, digging with frantic, terrified speed.

Jax watched them like a hawk. Within minutes, they had stripped the remaining Sandworms, piling a small mound of glittering Cores on the sand.

Jax nodded, satisfied. “Good job. Now, get lost.”

Old Two froze, a look of utter disbelief on his face. “Uh… just… just like that?”

“What?” Jax raised an eyebrow. “You want me to cook you breakfast first? Move. Before I change my mind.”

Old Two didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped the knife he was using to pry open the carapace and clasped his hands in a respectful, submissive gesture. “Thank you! Thank you, friend!”

He signaled Old Five to help him lift the bleeding Old Three.

But as they grabbed their fallen comrade, Old Two shot Old Five a meaningful look. It was subtle, a mere flick of the eyes, but Old Five understood instantly.

Hidden by the bulk of Old Three’s body, Old Five’s hand slipped to the wounded man’s belt. He gripped the handle of a dagger.

“Thanks again, really,” Old Two said, bowing slightly as they backed away.

In a split second, the facade broke.

Old Five whipped his hand up, sending the dagger flying straight at Jax’s throat.

But Jax had never lowered his guard. He was already moving.

He sidestepped the blade, the steel whizzing harmlessly past his ear. In the same motion, he brought the Rifle up and fired.

BANG.

Old Five’s head snapped back. He crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit the sand.

Old Two roared. He knew the rifle was a bolt-action; Jax needed a precious second to chamber the next round.

“Die!” Old Two screamed, drawing his long machete and charging.

Jax didn’t bother with the bolt. He reversed his grip, catching the Rifle by the hot barrel.

“You have a death wish,” Jax snarled.

He swung the rifle stock like a baseball bat, putting his entire body weight behind the blow.

CRACK.

The wooden stock connected with Old Two’s temple with the force of a car crash. The raider spun in the air and hit the ground hard, his machete flying into the darkness. He didn’t move again.

A few minutes later, the only sound in the valley was the crackling of the fire.

Jax dragged the three bodies onto the bonfire. The flames licked higher, consuming the evidence.

He walked back to where Old Four was tied up.

The raider was scared out of his wits. Seeing Jax emerge from the darkness, blood spattered on his shirt, Old Four managed to spit out the insole and began slamming his forehead against the ground.

“Big Boss! I was wrong! Please! Spare me! I’ll do anything!”

Jax ignored the begging. He fished through his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, half-empty pack of cigarettes he’d looted from the leader’s corpse.

He paused. Tobacco. In Redrock Bastion, this was a luxury only the elite could afford. Most scavengers bought loose singles if they were lucky. A whole pack? That meant these guys were funded.

Jax lit a cigarette off a burning twig, inhaling deeply. The harsh smoke filled his lungs, calming his adrenaline. He squinted through the haze at the trembling captive.

“Which Outpost?” Jax asked calmly. “Which Syndicate? And don’t lie to me. I’ve had a long night.”

Old Four looked up, tears streaking his dirty face. “We’re from Outpost 14! Iron Spear Syndicate! We don’t do this often, I swear! It’s orders from the top!”

Jax chuckled darkly. “Not often? You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true! We’ve been at it for a year, but we rarely kill! We usually just take the stuff and go!”

Jax flicked ash onto the ground. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a brush he’d found on them. “Then explain this.”

Old Four’s eyes went wide. He slumped, defeated.

“It’s… to scare people,” he whispered. “We leave messages where we kill. To build a reputation.”

“So the ‘Valley of Death’ graffiti was you?”

Old Four nodded weakly. “Yes.”

Jax finished the cigarette, crushed the butt under his heel, and leaned in. “Tell me about the Iron Spear Syndicate.”

“You… you don’t know them?” Old Four asked, surprised.

“I want to hear it from you.”

Old Four swallowed hard and began to talk.

The picture he painted was grim. The Iron Spear Syndicate wasn’t a typical guild of scavengers scraping by on guild missions. They were mercenaries, bandits with a corporate structure. They started small in The Sprawl, but after securing backing from a major power in Redrock Bastion, they exploded in influence.

Unlike other groups that relied on Defense Towers and defensive play, Iron Spear was aggressive. They had numbers, and their elites were armed with firearms supplied by their patrons. They acted as enforcers and guns-for-hire for other guilds.

And then came the kicker.

Butch wasn’t just a random thug. His brother was a mid-level captain in Iron Spear, commanding over a hundred men. That was how Butch had established himself so quickly in The Sprawl.

Jax listened in silence. His plan for revenge just got complicated. Butch wasn’t just a gang leader; he was connected to a paramilitary force.

“Big Boss,” Old Four pleaded, sensing the conversation was ending. “Please, let me go. I swear on my life, I won’t say a word about this place. I won’t tell a soul about your Sentry Tower!”

Jax smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re worried about my secret?”

“Yes! I swear!” Old Four looked up at the moon, desperate. “If I say a single word, may lightning strike me down—”

Jax moved like a leopard launching from ambush.

The dagger in his hand flashed.

He drove the blade straight into Old Four’s heart, cutting the oath short.

Old Four gasped, his eyes wide with shock and betrayal. He slumped forward, life fading instantly.

Jax wiped the blood from his hand on the dead man’s shirt. He stood up, looking down at the corpse.

“Sorry,” Jax whispered. “I don’t trust you.”

He dragged the final body to the fire.

As the flames rose, the eastern horizon began to gray.

Dawn had arrived.