By the evening of the sixth day, the grinding came to a halt. The mission was over.

Jax stood at the edge of the platform, looking down at the slaughter. The ground below was carpeted in the twisted, chitinous husks of Sandworms. A faint smile touched his lips—it wasn’t just a pile of corpses; it was a mountain of wealth.

He had harvested over three hundred Cores. In the economy of The Sprawl, that converted to roughly three hundred thousand Credits.

It was enough to buy a permanent house in the city, to finally escape the squalor of the slums.

But as the adrenaline faded, a new worry took root. He looked at his Sentry Towers, standing silent and imposing against the twilight sky. If he left for The Sprawl, his territory would be unguarded for a week.

“I need a permanent presence here,” Jax muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Someone to guard the perimeter. I need to claim this land officially before someone else gets ideas.”

Silas, standing nearby, followed Jax’s gaze to the automated turrets. He read the concern on his boss’s face immediately.

“Boss, are you worried someone might strip the towers while we’re gone?”

“Yeah,” Jax admitted. “We can’t come back for a week. A lot can happen in seven days.”

Silas chuckled, shaking his head. “Boss, relax. Nobody comes here. The extraction zone only opens twice a month. Once the convoy leaves, this place is a death trap. Unless someone has a broken brain and a death wish, they aren’t sticking around to hunt Sandworms.”

He gestured to the empty horizon. “Even the regulars from Outpost 15 retreat to The Sprawl. The wasteland at night… it eats people, Boss. No one survives out here alone.”

Jax felt the tension in his shoulders loosen slightly. “I hope you’re right. Is everything packed?”

“All set,” Silas confirmed, then hesitated, looking down at the massacre below. “But… what about the bodies? There are hundreds of them.”

Jax frowned in thought. “Leave them. Next time we come back, we can hire a hauler to cart them off.”

“But a week?” Silas looked pained. “The scavengers will pick them clean, or the heat will rot them. That meat and shell is worth good money!”

Jax waved a dismissive hand. “Pocket change. We took the Cores; that’s the meat of the profit. Let the desert have the rest.”

Silas sighed, casting a longing look at the wasted credits rotting in the sand, but he nodded. “You’re the Boss.”

The trio hiked out to the main road, merging with the stream of survivors heading for the extraction point.

The roadside was a tableau of the apocalypse. Some teams were high-fiving, their packs bulging with Cores, faces flushed with the thrill of returning fully loaded. They were the winners.

Then there were the losers. Men and women with hollow eyes, some weeping openly, others staring thousand-yard stares. Jax didn’t need to ask to know they were leaving friends and family buried in the dunes.

He felt nothing. Compassion was a luxury that had burned away with the old world. In the wasteland, everyone was struggling to keep their own heads above water; reaching out a hand usually just meant getting pulled down yourself.

Unless, of course, you were one of the highborn from Redrock Bastion.

They boarded a transport in the massive convoy. Thousands of people were packed into trucks and rusted buses, a mechanical snake winding its way back toward The Sprawl.

The crowd was noticeably thinner than the journey out. Ten thousand had marched into the desert; maybe six thousand were limping back.

The convoy moved in fits and starts, stopping frequently to pick up stragglers from other forward camps. It was a slow, grueling process. By the time they reached the staging ground at Outpost 15, the sun was beating down mercilessly.

The area was a chaotic sea of noise—merchants shouting, engines idling, and guild logistics officers barking orders.

Jax scanned the crowd, his eyes snagging on a familiar banner fluttering in the hot wind.

“Iron Spear Syndicate,” he murmured. “Looks like they didn’t take many losses.”

Silas craned his neck to look. “They never do. Even if they lose a few grunts, the brass doesn’t care. They have deep pockets and a long line of recruits waiting to die for them.”

Silas suddenly glanced at Jax’s waist, then his back. “Uh, Boss…”

“What?”

“The gun,” Silas whispered, looking around nervously. “I know you hid it, but…”

“It’s stowed away,” Jax cut him off, his voice flat. “Don’t worry about where. I’ll pull it out when we cross the city gates.”

“Right, right,” Silas scratched his head, looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean to pry. Just… wanted to remind you.”

Jax saw the anxiety in the man’s posture and softened his expression. A loyal dog needed a bone now and then.

“Relax. I count you as one of my own now, Silas. Stick with me, and you won’t starve.”

Jax reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of Cores. He pressed ten of them into Silas’s palm.

“Your cut.”

Silas stared at the glowing crystals, his eyes bulging. Ten Cores? That was more than he usually made in six months of scraping by.

“Boss… this… isn’t this too much? I just dug a few holes…”

Jax gripped Silas’s shoulder. His fingers dug in, just enough to be felt.

“It’s not just payment for the digging,” Jax said, his voice dropping to a low, meaningful register. “It’s hush money. You understand?”

Silas felt the hairs on his back stand on end. He looked into Jax’s eyes and saw the cold, predatory calculation there. This wasn’t a suggestion.

“Boss, don’t worry,” Silas stammered, his palms sweating against the Cores. “I’m loyal. One hundred percent. No selfish thoughts, I swear.”

“Good. Keep it that way, and there will be more where that came from.”

A horn blasted, signaling the departure. The Iron Spear Syndicate members were boarding their armored transports.

Jax scanned the sea of faces, looking for a specific enemy. He didn’t have to look long.

Across the crowd, a pair of eyes locked onto his.

Butch.

The thug looked genuinely surprised to see Jax standing there, breathing. He had clearly expected the rookie to be worm food by now.

Butch started to rise, his face twisting into a scowl, but a shout from an Iron Spear officer forced him back into his seat.

He didn’t break eye contact. A cruel, jagged smile spread across his face. Slowly, deliberately, Butch drew a thumb across his throat.

Jax didn’t flinch. He held the stare for a second, then looked away with bored indifference. Inside, however, his mind was racing, calculating angles and opportunities.

Butch had tried to kill him repeatedly back in the squad. That debt hadn’t been paid. Now that they were both back in the city, it was just a matter of who struck first.

The convoy lurched forward. The engine noise drowned out the silence between the two enemies.

“Man, I can’t wait,” a survivor next to Jax laughed, leaning back. “First thing I’m doing? Bathhouse, then the club. The girls have been waiting for me.”

“Save your stamina,” another scoffed. “I’d rather drown in booze. Forget this hellhole for a night.”

“Lucky bastards,” a man with a bandaged leg muttered, staring at the floor. “My whole squad got wiped. I’m the only one left, and with this leg… I’ll be begging on the streets by next week.”

“I finally got enough,” a woman whispered to herself, clutching a dirty bag. “I can open that shop. No more hunting. No more fear.”

Jax listened to the chorus of hopes and despairs, his face a mask of stone.

The return trip was a blur of dust and exhaust. When they finally rolled into The Sprawl, Jax led Barnaby and Silas straight back to The Dire Wolves’ territory.

Gareth, the guild leader, was waiting in the courtyard. When he saw the trio walk in, his eyes lit up.

“Hey! You made it!” Gareth rushed over, grinning. “I honestly didn’t think I’d see you boys again. All in one piece, too!”

Jax nodded a greeting. Silas, taking the cue, stepped forward and fished two Cores out of his pocket, pressing them into Gareth’s hand.

“Found a couple on the road, Leader,” Silas said smoothly. “For the rent.”

Gareth weighed the crystals in his hand, pleasantly surprised. “Not bad, Silas. Not bad at all.” He turned to the man behind him. “Viper, go hit the market. Get us some real food tonight.”

Viper didn’t move immediately. He was leaning against a pillar, his eyes tracking the fresh leather armor Jax was wearing. The envy on his face was naked and ugly.

He spat on the ground, a thick gob of phlegm landing near Jax’s boot.

“What’s there to show off?” Viper sneered, his voice dripping with acid. “It’s just some scrap leather. Probably stripped it off a corpse in a ditch. Who knows what kind of disease is on it.”