On the craggy slopes of Rocky Ridge Mountain, the night wind screamed like a beast. Down below, the campfires of the Night Wraiths flickered against the dark—an outlaw encampment born from the chaos of the Badlands.
Once, they had been wanderers—rogue families cast out from the great nomad clans, stripped of their names, their codes, their kin. The exiled formed the Mad Blade Circles, and when the Mad Blades banded together, they became something worse. Something feral.
The Night Wraiths.
No longer family, no longer bound by blood or creed—only by greed.
Out here, loyalty was measured in eddies and bullets. If there was profit to be made, then any sin could be forgiven.
Among them, rank came from one thing alone: the trail of blood you left behind.
Kill enough, and you rise.
Kill more, and you rule.
Simple. Brutal. Just the way they liked it.
Inside the main tent of the camp, thick with cigar smoke and synth-alcohol fumes, their leader lounged on a cracked leather sofa.
James, the self-crowned king of the Mad Blades, rested his boots on a black-gold table. A half-empty wine glass glimmered in his hand; a cigar hung lazily from his lips.
One of his scouts pushed through the tent flap, panting. "Boss! There's a new crew at Rocky Ridge Town."
James raised an eyebrow, swirling his wine before taking a slow sip. "Another bunch of braindead drifters thinkin' they can stake a claim there, huh? Tell me, are they stupid, or just suicidal?"
The scout grinned, a mouth full of chrome teeth flashing in the dim light. "Who cares? If they wanna move into our turf, they're just bringing us gifts."
James smirked. "You're right. Meat delivered to the doorstep… what kind of fool wouldn't eat?"
He stood, crushed his cigar into the table, and barked, "Let's go eat."
...
Rocky Ridge Town, Nightfall.
Usually, this forgotten outpost on the edge of the Badlands was pitch-black after dusk. Tonight, every window glowed with light. The trap had been set.
Luring the Night Wraiths in hadn't required clever tricks—just the right bait. The kind they couldn't resist.
On the rooftop of a derelict building, Panam adjusted the scope of her sniper rifle, glancing sideways at the short figure beside her.
Rebecca, tiny frame brimming with lethal energy, was fine-tuning her shotgun, with the precision of a veteran killer.
It was still hard for Panam to believe that this manic little doll-faced girl was the Edgerunners' demolitionist and gunslinger.
Rebecca slapped a shell into place and grinned. "So, Panam, how's your aim? You any good with that scope, chica?"
Panam smirked. "Good enough. Ninety-six percent hit rate at mid-range."
"Perfect!" Rebecca cracked her neck. "Once the fun starts, you pick off their heavies from afar. I'll turn the rest into flaming confetti."
Panam blinked. "And front-line suppression? Who's handling that if I'm sniping?"
"That'd be me. I'll handle it.", Rebecca replied.
Her grin widened. "I'll blow these chrome-plated assholes straight back to the scrap heap."
...
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit shop along the main street, Jackie Welles, David Martinez, and Maine waited in silence.
Their mission: head-on engagement.
Against the Night Wraiths' main force, subtlety was pointless. What they needed was raw, violent power—and these three were the embodiment of it.
Jackie and Maine had always been the team's tanks, brawlers who lived for the sound of breaking bones and crunching metal. Their military-grade gorilla arms gleamed faintly in the low light, hydraulics humming. One punch could crush steel. Together, they could punch through a tank.
And David—once just a kid running from the world—was now something more. Under the tutelage of veterans like Maine and Jackie, he'd grown into his own. His Sandevistan reflexes thrummed like live wire, his movements sharp and fluid.
Jackie looked over, grinning like a proud dad. "David, choom, when the party starts, don't rush the front, alright? Me and Maine'll handle the heat. You just hit 'em from the side, yeah?"
David smirked sheepishly. "Got it. I'll play it smart."
Maine clapped his shoulder. "That's what I like to hear."
The two older mercs exchanged a glance—silent agreement between brothers. Watch his back.
...
Outside the town, near the power station, Lucy crouched beside a console, her fingers flying across a holo-interface. The hum of the town's generators filled the night.
Neo stood beside her, calm as ever.
"You sure you don't wanna be up there with Rebecca?" Lucy asked, glancing at him. "Thought she and Panam were your new dream team."
Neo smiled faintly. "Those two are a perfect combo. One charges in, the other picks off the stragglers. They don't need me hovering."
Lucy arched an eyebrow, smirking. "That's not what I meant. I meant—Panam's your new girl, isn't she? Shouldn't you be busy marking your territory or something?"
Neo chuckled under his breath. "Lucy, come on. You know I don't play favorites." He took her hand, his tone softening. "You'll always have my time. I don't forget the people I care about."
Lucy rolled her eyes, but her faint smile betrayed her. "You'd better not."
And then—like static tearing through air—a digital shimmer appeared beside them.
Johnny Silverhand, his data-ghost flickering, leaned against a half-real wall with a smirk. "You've got flags flying all over the damn city, Neo, and somehow you've managed to keep 'em all standing. Impressive."
Neo didn't even look at him. "Not all of us are like you, Johnny. You? You thought with your dick. Got everyone burned for it."
Johnny's grin faltered. "You're a real asshole, you know that?"
"Yeah," Neo said coolly. "Now shut up and go haunt someone else. The Wraiths are coming."
As if on cue, the distant growl of engines rolled across the desert like thunder.
From beyond the ridge, headlights flared—dozens of them—cutting through the darkness like blazing knives. Modified vehicles, engines roaring, guns mounted on their frames.
The Night Wraiths had arrived.
"Woooooo-hooo!" someone screamed from the lead truck, voice amplified through rusted speakers.
"Rocky Ridge, you dumb bastards! Open the gates! Your Night Wraith daddies are home!"
The desert howled with laughter, engines, and the promise of blood.
Neo's eyes narrowed, his hand brushing the hilt of his blade.
"Let's make sure," he murmured, "they don't leave the mountain alive."