“Tutoria…” Isaiah gently canvassed the Paladin. Having set himself a decent amount of space for a man of his stature on the group’s brand-new traveling wagon.

The Aasimar maiden sat crossed-legged across the boxes of commandeered loots that now became David’s riffraff of companions, or for lack of any better term, ‘reformed’ Team X-Ray. She had spent much of the day after they had defeated the Sandstorm and his Bandit Crew gently repairing the torn remnants of the holy book, the Birth of Light and Truth with a scavenged sewing kit. Or as gentle as a young neophyte lass like her could carefully repair the religious text with her calloused hands: Several pricks from clumsily held needles had allowed a few droplets of blood to fall upon the book. The skittish Tutoria frantically wiped off her blood from the text just as much of her vibrant emerald, gold, and coral colored hair was being pulled off.

“Y-Yes…” Tutoria sighed as she placed the half-repaired book aside atop of its bookstand whilst the still loose pages of the Sandstorm’s doing lay about neatly by her side.

“Me… never gotch’e chance. But, whose dis ‘Seren-Ray’ you’n yer brothu’r talk ‘bou?” Isaiah asked.

The Paladin gave out a gentle smile as she strafed carefully closer to him.

“Sarenrae the Dawnflower, the Healing Flame, the Everlight.” She corrected the Hillbilly’s lisps. “She’s a Goddess worshipped by many people who share her compassionate light to all those who have been lost, the abandoned, and the sick. Us Disciples of her… w-w-e… we were tasked to defend the weak and the dying from those who seek to harm them or bring evils to the world.” Tutoria’s head grimaced with every word she spoke, her mind still echoing the destruction of her Monastery.

“Sister… it’s okay…” Tomos who he and David were stationed at the Wagon’s Jockey seat reached out to her whilst the Old Ranger handled the reins of the wagon.

“I know… but… I… we… must keep their memory alive. To keep the Faith… our light that shone in the darkness. Her word must be shared, otherwise, all is lost.” Tutoria answered.

“Protect the Weak and the Dying. Sure does look like it… before the Sandstorm showed up.” David added.

Tutoria reddened in disgust by the Ranger’s casual disregard, but before she could lash out, Isaiah arose there aside, not reading the room in the wagon had begun to suddenly turn sour.

“Jus’ like us Rangers too!” Isaiah glowed brightly. “We also help ‘defend der weak’ an’other such helpless folks too Dave.” He turned to his superior.

“Yeah…” David gave a choking cough as he kept his eyes on the road.

“Rangers you say? Like from Nirmathas?” Tutoria asked. Her temper lowered for now, if only for her brother’s sake.

“Sister, you do remember they are Otherworlders right?” Tomos corrected her.

“Oh…” Tutoria stood, corrected. “But where do you come from?” she breathed deeply.

A fight now is just going to cause more anguishes for her, her brother, and Sarenrae. So, she will indulge in those Heathen’s inquiries.

“Me? I lived in a place called Arizona. Scorching and sandy land such as yours… but… with more monsters at least what I am seeing here in Qadira now.” David replied.

“Colorado.” Isaiah asked. “Steeltown born’an raised. Muh mama taught me howda’ build shit, destroy shit, repair shit… all the works. Cold and Mountains everywhere… nothin’ like Dave’s place. Oh and a bunch ugly piece’o shits all over I sometimes need to shoot at.”

“You are very far from home indeed then.” Tomos pushed the conversation along. “Do you Rangers have tree where you come from?”

“Not much.” David pouted. “But I have been to Colorado. Way much more trees there. Some staying ever-green. Others withered… but it's all fine there. Then there was Elysium, where Desna took me and Isaiah over, the Tree’s can tal… ACHOO!” David sneezed as the Butterfly the Song of Spheres had gifted to him hovered around him playfully.

He just can’t seem to stand this critter's presence if he could. Would it kill this Goddess to make her creatures… not make the Old Ranger sneeze?

“Fascinating.” Tomos gleefully nods.

“How about you? Where did you and your sister live before you made your way up to the Monastery?” David asked.

Tomos smile immediately faded as he looked towards his sister with a burgeoning disquiet forming between the brother and sister twins.

“We… we have been… living inside the Sunhill Monastery for… our entire lives for all we can remember. Before and then after the Cataclysm.” Tomos reluctantly answered.

“Oh, so you and your parents lived there all your lives?” David pressed.

Once more an unerring disquietude struck the twin siblings, trying as hard as they might to answer the Ranger’s inquiry.

“We don’t have parents… the Laymen of Sunhill Monastery was our family.” Tutoria explained. “Anchorite Ibrahim had found us in our cradles one day and adopted me and my brother. Raised us to be devout to Sarenrae. The whole monastery were our whole lives.”

“Oh… Ah… Ah shit…” David’s eyes flatly gaze forward as his body froze. He now realized why these young pair of siblings had shared such great lamentations of the lost of their Monastery. It was much more than just a stone fortress that stood then fell upon the tides of malignancies that now roam this ruined world. “I… I … I am sorry… about all of that… back at the Dungeon.” He apologized.

“That… that time back… in the Dungeon… uh… I am sorry.” David scratched the back of his head. “This Sarenrae REALLY… REALLY means a lot to you than I thought.”

“Yet you Rangers too I presume? Sworn to defend the weak and helpless?” Tomos questioned back.

“We volunteered. You were born into it. There’s a difference!” David answered.

“I was called to it… by her grace!” Tutoria proclaimed. “I became her sword and her shield so that I may be able to protect all those who seeketh her sheltering wings and for those evil-doers who must be smitten by her blazing blade.”

“I am more of healing those folks whoever asks for my help. In a way, just like how she fights those villains of all clad in armor and carrying those big scary weapons, I fight maladies of injury and disease.” Tomos professed.

“And you should y’all be like that. Good folks like you ain’t much where I come from.” Isaiah eagerly chuckled, his cordial, if somewhat naïve self bolstering the twins' spirits.

“This Book here, the Birth of Light and Truth, and the Staff of Saint Habir on your possession. Then me and my brother? We are, to my knowledge the last slivers of light in this desolate world. Of Sarenrae and her once Great Choir. The Cataclysm had been very harsh for those who still cling to what is left of upright and just in Golarion. Sunhill Monastery may be gone but… I … even if I was yet to be knighted, we must keep the Faith.” The Paladin spoke.

Her temperament had cooled down, now that the heathen had renounced his blasphemous remarks. If just for a fleeting moment.

“Knighted? You are not yet a Paladin?” David asked.

“Sun and Fury” she sighed. “I am still… at least formally, a Neophyte.” Tutoria explained.

“Well that explains why you fight like a drunk kid.” David snidely chuckled.

“I am VERY MUCH capable of learning from my mistakes!” Tutoria coldly upheld her honor, her admission she had much more to learn notwithstanding.

“At least you can heal yer’sel. Folks like you be buildin’ different. Me likey.” Isaiah bit down a ration bar messily and continue to speak as he chewed the dried nuts, grains and fruit into his mouth. “But… don’ya worry gir…lie. We Rang—s and you Saren’s —- we can do all sortsa’.... good together! We can make this shit work.” salivated bits of oats came out of his ecstatic cheeks as he spoke.

“Starting… now!” David scowled his eyes as he spotted across the horizon, smoke-belching forth.

They were still about a day’s travel from their destination of Katheer so it couldn’t be the first forward shreds of another Civilization in these Wastelands. Such a black smoke that sprouted forth could only mean a fire has happened and someone is in trouble. Wanting to just have to savor of being able to save someone in this desolated world, David readied his Short Sword for combat, setting aside his now emptied Marksman Rifle at the back of the Wagon, at least until he can find a way to get some 12.7mm ammo or another gun for that matter.

He whipped the reins of the horses on their wagons to full fury as they galloped towards the source of the fire.

Zooming past over a hilly dune, they found his answer. A familiar sight for David and Isaiah to be exact.

A half-dozen strong gang of tall and heavily built nomads of tough emerald hide had surrounded what the Rangers have seen was a Motorized RV Trailer. Fashioned atop with the sapphire scales of Solar Panels on its roof and two leather heads of Brahmin Cattle, the beast of burden choice in the Wastelands. These humanoid figures' skin, upon more thorough prudence for David petrified him. It was as if these six Golarionites were of literally born of this earth, their bodies luster precious stones with iron-grey veins that stretched across their skin. Instead of hair, these folks sported sculpture-like crystalline crowns. The Trailer was heavily built to navigate the harshest of climates with armoring and treads of adaptable footing. Yet these alien wolves hovered around the poor Motor-Home hungrily eager to crack open its soft content. The Rangers and the Sarenites were all too familiar of such a racket: a Caravan Extortion. And the defenseless RV was all but the juiciest of quarries, compared to the sun-hat cattle drivers of lesser Merchants. Whoever this owner of the RV must be either very resourceful to convert his motorized home into a self-sufficient traveler or rich enough to afford someone who can.

“Should I go’l reddie wid’it Dave?” Isaiah readied his Crossbow.

“Halt!” Tomos interjected. “Sister, I know of these folks. Oreads from the Zho Mountains.”

“They are awfully far away if they dare to ride around this pass the Landon River.” Tutoria added.

“What’n who are these Oreads.” David asked the twins.

“Simple folks, sometimes comes to the Monastery to buy some supplies from us, back when I was just helping out the Chiurgeon as a wee-ol’e apprentice of theirs. Good folks, if sometimes uncouth… given their… size. Just think of Rock People. Walking and Talking all.” Tomos answered. “Still, it is unwise to use violence against them. Not until we know what is the matter here.” He advised cautiously.

“Are you saying we should try and just talk it out with them?” David asked.

Tomos nodded. “I let me do the talking… Sister, come with me. Can you just stay in the wagon and try not to make this worse right now?” he asked.

“Hope you know what you’re doing.” David breathed in and out as he reluctantly let his companion take charge of the situation. His social skills here at least within Golarionites are still rather left much to be desired and he couldn’t afford a fight not whilst he and Isaiah are practically shooting on fumes right now.

“Hail be! By the Sun’s Grace!” Tomos jumped down from the Wagon, his sister following him.

“Monks from the Monastery! Help us here!” one of the Oreads leaped happily upon seeing the Sacred Ankh’s of Sarenrae adorned by Tomos and Tutoria. The way his eyes beamed of warmed familiar memories of the former.

“Hey, I remember you. You sometimes come to Sun Hill to buy some potions right?” Tomos flattered the Oread.

“Please do help us! This one Otherworlder is belittling us!” the Oread explained.

“Why so?” Tutoria readied her sword.

“We have heard that this man in the Horseless Carriage was some kind of great travelling merchant that sells many knick-knacks. So being all curious as you know us we thought we would go check out his wares.” The Oread answered.

“The way you are acting looks more like you’re trying to shake him down like common bandits,” Tutoria commented.

“Tell me, what happened that got you all into this mess?” Tomos Inquired.

“The merchant didn’t really speak much of Kelesh, but he was quite happy when we eyed some of his wares… until we tried to pay him.” the Oread clattered awkwardly. He sunk his heavy stoned feet ankle-deep below the sandy floor.

“¿¡Qué clase de idiotas le pagan a la gente en malditos caracoles!?” an enraged voice, muffled by the thick walls from his Trailer.

David paused, he could have sworn he had heard of this language, from a very specific group of people back from his world. Those from the land once known as Mexico who had travelled along the western coast of America during his many travels as a Desert Ranger. The Spanish Language it was, of which he had shared a simple understanding of a few conversational phrases.

“Stay calm Outlander!” Tutoria unsheathed her sword, readying for a fight.

“Voy a matarlos a todos ustedes, gorrones... una vez que esto funcione.” The voice continued to shout forth from the Trailer.

“We tried to pay him with some of our usual barters but the Merchant got angry with us! Took those stuff we wanted to buy from him and locked himself on his Carriage. We have been pleading him to pls accept our offer but he refuses.”

“What are you even trying to buy from him anyways?” Tomos asked. He was beginning place down his premise for this sordid affair thinking thoroughly with his impassive head of his.

“He was selling Pesh and other Calming Herbs. Very rare you know! No… no offense to you.” The Oread apologized. He twiddled his rocky-texture fingers that clattered like two rocks being rubbed onto each other, all in lieu of their earthenware heritage.

“Oh, none taken… if it weren’t for it being Pesh though!” Tomos shrugged. “You better be not taking it too much though. Too much of such a good thing can be bad for you folks. Burn’s your head hotter than Sarenrae going out for a stroll…” He maintained his smile.

“Hijo de puta!” the lone voice in the Trailer cried. One of his windows cracked open as the voice, in all of its anger roared forth that chills the heart of those who hear it “¡Te voy a dar a la cuenta de diez para que salgas!”

“Hal’on… I know dis lang-guwage. We know dis lang-guwage.” Isaiah whispered to David, recognizing the voice’s tongue.

And the Veteran Ranger couldn’t agree more.

“Gods above! Help us, Paladin!” the Oread and his companions panicked as they retreated behind Tutoria for her protection. The Neophyte Paladin holding her sword at the ready to fight this cretin.

“Tutoria!” David jumped down from the Jockey’s seat towards her.

“Oi! ¿Habla Inglés?” David raised his voice, asking if this feisty fellow knew at least a much more convenient tongue by speaking what few words he knew of the belligerent merchant’s own. The language known in his world as Spanish.

A suspenseful silence brushed through the field as the Qadiran Winds flowed across everyone.

“Little.” The voice spoke in a rudimentary and heavily Mexican accented English word. But nonetheless, a word David knows of. He was no stranger to these folks especially back in Nevada from Earth. Some could speak English just fine, others to a half-wards degree whilst there’s some who are utterly hopeless. But given today, it damn better looks like it’s finally going somewhere.

“Vamos, Ingles.” David beckoned the voice.

“Me Sell… they buy… me hate su oro. Dorado Cacaleros!” the voice replied.

“We tried to buy from him with snail shells from our village.” The Oread explained to David. “But when we showed the shells to him, he became angry and started to yell at us.”

“What are you trying to even buy from him?” David inquired.

“Pesh. It’s a Calming Herb… used like medicine.” Tomos explained.

“Bad… Bad… no sell!” the voice echoed. “Vamos! Vamos!” he threatened them further, banging the walls of his RV to assert his vexation.

“You mean… ‘worthless’? No vender?” David pressed.

“Si! Si! Me Oro… better… no… no deal!” the Mexican accented voice nodded.

“Good Oro? Good Oro?” David repeated himself, he is starting to understand what’s going on here. It was not a Caravan Extortion after all… but a really soured business exchange.

“Plata o Plomo!” the voice replied.

“What is he saying?” Tomos asked David.

“It’s either ‘Silver’ or ‘Lead’.” David explained.

“But we don’t have any of those.” Tutoria added, her nerves starting to pulsate from her. “What’s the plan now brother? I should be able to be swift enough to cut him down.”

“There’s no need. I can speak some of this man’s language.” David allayed the Paladin. “Uh… Tomos can you get some of those weapons we scavenged off from the Sandstorm in the back? Quick now!” he ordered her brother.

Tomos nodded, and after a moment he came back with a crate of assorted weapons and loose articles of armor that X-Ray had managed to scrounge off of the Sandstorm’s former Bandit Tribe.

“Here! Good ‘Oro’!” David presented the crate in front of the Motor Home’s door. “Good Deal si?”

Noise sparked from the Motorized home as the clicking and clanging of locks and bolts from behind the RV’s door as it slides slowly open. Its rust creaking from its aged body. Behold before him in all of his mercantile bravadoes was large as life man of exceptional girth. Dressed in weathered strappings and black ink that bedeck his bronze skin in exotic patterns of animalistic designs of a crowned-furred feline on his breast. Upon his face was blackened eyes aligning on his head giving him a deathly pale visage in contrast to the illustrated King of the Jungle.

“Gods! A Skeleton!” one of the Oreads cowered.

“Can skeletons be… uh… Fat?” Tutoria nervously gripped her sword ready at the Merchant’s rotund physique.

She had heard of horror stories of decrepit Masters of Necromancy summoning powerful, hateful and worse of all, intelligent undead Skeletal Champions. Many Paladins have fallen if not be converted into such vile monstrosities. Worse still some of the most feared Undead Champions were Paladins just like her. Tutoria could only pray she could survive such an ordeal with such a foe.

The tattooed ‘skeleton’ held out his slap-dashed gun at hand, an Automatic Pistol, David knows is called an ‘Uzi’. Pointing towards X-Ray and the Oreads as he examined the weapons.

“Plomo… Good Plomo… Like! Like! Cuchillas si, no Pistolas. It’s okay.” The Merchant smiled approvingly as he looked at the weapons.

“Deal?” David asked the Merchant.

The bulky Latino sighed as he quietly returned to his Trailer. A little more noise brought forth from his bovine weight as he scrounged his inventory before ultimately holding at his hand a ragged parchment as large as his potbellied gut came forth.

“No more! Take it o’ Vamos!” the Merchant let out his final offer.

“I will pay you for your Medicines. But this is all he is willing to give.” David explained to the Oreads. “You can either take what he has now and leave with something to show for it or just leave now empty-handed.”

“You can trust him.” Tomos vouched for David’s word. His sister begrudgingly shrugged. She was at a loss of any other solutions that didn’t involve violence.

“We shall remember you for your kindness! Thank you.” The Oread smiled.

His companions grabbed the package of Pesh from the Merchant carefully and retreated a few paces away as they counted their blessings.

“An interesting Solution, Ranger.” Tutoria unsheathed her blade, relieved that pandemonic violence had been averted. “You are not as thuggish as you look.”

“You are an awfully long way from home you know.” David placed his hips on his side.

“Si… me… small Ingles. ¿Por favor?” the skull-faced merchant spoke in broken Spanglish.

“Hey Tomos,” he turned to the Aasimar Brother. “You got any of that… scroll thing you used on me earlier? To make me able to understand you?” he asked.

“Why yes of course.” Tomos reached into his pockets and grabbed forth the Scroll of ‘Comprehend Language’. “Sister.” He passed the scroll to his sister.

With a softly spoken vocal triggering, the written magicks embedded onto the paper before her were shot forth as it targeted the dumb-tongued merchant, enchanting him.

“What in the hell did you do?” the Merchant began to speak in a more coherent, albeit in a heavily Latinized accent of a tongue that Team X-Ray can finally understand to the fullest.

“Can you understand me?” Tutoria probed for the success of her casting by asking him.

“Ooh… Mami! You can… I can… we can talk.” he flirtatiously whistled to Tutoria, taken quite aback by the Aasimar’s exotic countenance. Much to the Paladins reddened chagrin.

“I shall take that as the spell being cast successfully.” Tutoria pushed the conversation along.

“I will just talk with those Oreads for a little bit sister. Do be kind entertaining our Skull-faced guest here?” Tomos walked away respectfully at another job well done.

“Who are you and where did you come from?” David asked the Merchant.

“You can call me Leon. Leon De Leon.” The Merchant introduced himself. “I am as you see here a Merchant in the more… finer things of life… and some necessities here and there.” He played his finger with one of the swords brought forth to him only to accidentally cut himself. He slobbishly licked his minuscule wound with his mouth as he continued to smile through his skull-like visage.

“Lion… the Lion? That’s an interesting name.” David humored him. His tattoo’s now making much more comical gist.

“God-Given I am afraid… but still! It’s good to see a friendly face here… in Mexico. New Mutants not withstanding…” Leon nodded. “For the past few years been bartering my Weed with these Tribals for over the past… uh I lost track years or what so not. They pay me in food, precious rocks and weapons right here!” he rubbed his hands at the profits his eyes feasted upon.

“Mexico?” Tutoria cleared her throat. Unfamiliar with the land the Merchant hails from.

“Yeah… uhm… about that Leon… you’re not in uh…” David fumbled his words to explain the bitter truth of his and their collective predicament. He is after all the first of the Earthlings he had found in Golarion.

“Well, I am glad SOME folks can speak anything that isn’t damn dirty Tribal now. Spanish, English… Spanglish! Been relying on sign language just so I can keep afloat. I am currently trying to find some new places to set up shop for my wares but my maps must be outdated. Say… do you know how I can get myself to the nearest settlement?” Leon excitedly stood upright, satisfied of his outlay. Ignorant to David’s inept cautions.

“I guess you can come along.” David shrugged. “We’re going to place called Katheer. From what Tutoria here told me, there’s little town there that you can set up shop.”

“Tutoria? A beautiful name for such a beautiful girl.” Leon eyed the Aasimar Paladin lasciviously. “Yes, even if its just for a day.” His eyes lay star struck but ultimately he agreed to David’s proposition.

“I uh… with gratitude.” She pushed herself around the bush with this Merchant. “David, so are we really going to have this… this ‘Skeleton’ just follows us to Katheer?”

“There’s strength in numbers Tutoria, even if its just for one trip. You can’t go at everything alone, we’re stronger together. Take advantage of anything given to you, Kid. And maybe you won’t get a dozen stab wounds punched through ya.” David snarkily lectured the young lass. It was harsh, yet sound advice. “Folks like him don’t come around all alone without packing some serious iron on his hip.”

“Or know a thing or two on killing.” Leon turned his gaze to the Ranger. “You with the NCR I presume?”

“Rangers actually.” David answered.

“Oh it’s a pleasure to be of service.” He bowed. “I do hope you may help me once more by taking me to the nearest safe settlement for me?”

“But he is only armed with a Wand!” Tutoria pointed towards Leon’s weapon.

“My lady, this is not any ordinary wand! But perhaps one of last vestiges of tastes in all of Latin America!” Leon corrected the Paladin. “Overgassed Systems, improved rifling and an extra strengthened bolt to boot, I call this little fella… El Rugido del Leon! The Lion’s Roar!” he upheld his Uzi. It held a tangerine and neon yellow finish, its colors erupting the attention of those who behold its prideful splendor.

“Well, it is indeed quite a beautiful finish. Just like my blade.” Tutoria showed the hilt of her equally elaborate Scimitar. Dressed with a pommel that depicted the Goddess Sarenrae’s blazing visage. She has to admit, Leon’s wand-sized firearm was quite richly decorated.

“A fellow connoisseur of all things Lethal! You are a Rose with thorns.” Leon blushed.

“What is a Rose?” Tutoria questioned not understanding the Merchant’s flowery seductions.

Meanwhile, Tomos had been explaining the sad fate of the Sunhill Monastery to the Oreads a few paces away whilst his sister consoled the merchant now that both parties have resigned their hostilities. A rare yet superb ending in the otherwise phylogenic Wastelands. It was heartwarming to say the least for the grizzled David.

“Sunhill has… fallen?” the Oread’s face dulled into unaccepting agape. “But how? Has the Gods truly abandoned us? Is nowhere safe?”

“I am sorry… but we have decided we shall see if we can join several of those who are still faithful in Katheer. Tell me, do you still keep the faith in the Gods?” Tutoria proselytized to the Oreads.

“We… We… the Elders… we need some time… please… we must leave now before the Sunsets.” The Oread begged his leave.

“May Sarenrae shine upon you.” Tomos bid his farewell to the Oreads as they packed their rightfully purchased goods on their steeds and scattered off North back to the Zho Mountains.

[-]

Inertia… the disinclination of life, of progress, and of action. Name any more inevitable yet cruel fate that can befall anyone? Having a mouth but cannot scream? Having no limbs and must swim? Having a mind but cannot think? It was a destined fate that no being ever created could escape from without grace.

Systems Online…

Diagnostics… ERROR! 50% Software Integrity reached.

Running Systems reboot…

Diagnostics… ERROR! Unlicensed Hardware detected.

Cannot integrate unidentified Hardware without Administrator’s approval.

Safe-Mode: Activated

The optics of Helpful Entity for Numerically Relevant Industries, or just fondly called ‘H.E.N.R.I’ opened to a great searing light. The Mechanical Servant found himself leaning by the side of a great evergreen tree whilst it observed his typical body parts were replaced with scraps and mismatched limbs.

“Bypass! Bypass!” the Robot’s master, Izo Winters greeted him by his side. Bearing with him was a toolbox and several scraps of what the Robot Servant could recognize were his original limbs and assorted hardware. “Wait no… I mean…. Administrator’s Permission granted!”

“Young Master Winters. You are well. Did Project Battlemaster succeed?” H.E.N.R.I inquired.

“Negative…” Izo lowered his head. His haughty bravado had faded away, stolen from him by the denial of his triumph when the Rangers had sabotaged his Hadron Collider.

“M-Master, I am detecting Non-Robco licensed hardware are requesting permission to ac---"

“Do it!” Izo gave his explicit permission. “You’re gonna have to work with those squiggly legs for now!”

It wasn’t a perfect fit for the Robotic Servant. Being of excessive in length yet were still of the same weight as the old and damaged ones Izo had to scrap off him. The harder part was forcibly contriving the mismatched parts together with nothing but the Pioneer’s sweat, spit, and tears. To mention tears, Izo being too proud to admit had prayed that he didn’t lose his only remaining friend after losing virtually everything else. If there was one thing left of his dignity, his honor as the last Pioneer, it was H.E.N.R.I.

“A-A-Ack-acknowledged.” The Robot obeyed. “Master. My navigational functions are at suboptimal performance. We are… ERROR! Cannot locate-locate nearest Pioneer Stronghold… Kilometers.” The Robot jittered, still trying to fully boot himself back to the best possible operationality he could be. “Attempting to repair basic navigational functions.”

“We’re not in Texas no more… not… not any more…” Izo shook his head. “This is… what’s left of us.” For in a rare moment, he was dreadfully uncertain about what is next for the Last Pioneer moving forward.

Plans didn’t calculate him and his Robotic Army to be suddenly waking themselves off it a whole different place.

Turning around their head, H.E.N.R.I. noticed that they are in what looks like a grand forest verdant forest. Its serenity however, is tainted by the graveyard of Robots, the Pioneer’s own and then some all displaced around them. All Izo and H.E.N.R.I could remember was at the moment of their imminent victory was ruined by the Arizona Desert Rangers who sabotaged the Hadron Collider that powered his one key total dominion, the Mech ‘Project: Battlemaster’. As soon as he triggered the Collider to ignite its power and breathe life into the giant robotic monstrosity, they were engulfed in a bright white light and now found themselves together in an unknown location with only the scattered half-corpses of the Doctor-Commander’s Robotic Minions to show for it.

“Just where the hell are we?” Izo placed several tools back into his Toolbox and stood up.

“That i-i-s the question.” H.E.N.R.I imparted.

“Well… at least it ain’t toxic.” Izo shrugged.

“These are Trees, Master. Of ideal health… ERROR Unknown Species.” H.E.N.R.I. confided. “M-M-May I-aye suggest taking in some ‘Fw-wes air---Rror’?” his voice modulator reverberated awkwardly. Still trying to regain its bearings after such a catastrophic disconjunction.

“Start another Self-Diagnostics Test H.E.N.R.I. and I will put it on the list.” Izo’s cogs in his brain sparked into action. Or how he would call it, his ‘Thinking Mode’.

Cold Iron removed his hooded mask, beneath its silvern visage there now laid bare to breathe the first of fresh and pure air. A mere luxury back home at Houston. His skin of baked salmon caressed the lively green moss that rested upon the barks of the tree H.E.N.R.I. laid upon. Such textures were only ever forbidden fruits amongst the moisture-fed Hydroponics yet Cold Iron had always revelled in its silken feel. His almond eyes darted above him, seeing the first real sunlight pierce him. It took a while to get used to its smile yet the leaves above him shaded the forest floor serenely.

It was all perhaps what best Cold Iron could wish for waking up from… if he could just figure out where on Earth or whatever he was…

The forest ahead was thick with wild vegetations, yet not without a few discernable features. Blanketed amongst the super-blooming shrooms and shrubberies were stone cobbles meshed together that lead forward. A man-made pathway. Izo’s mother would have warned him whenever he and his family held scavenging excursions from the safety of the Pioneer Citadel’s that he should beware of Forests for it harbors dangers. Yet there was something, oddly seductive of that lonesome, green-meadowed road that urged him to delve deeper into its hearth.

“I require more attendants H.E.N.R.I. then we must seek shelter.” Izo passed along his toolbox to his Mechanical Loyalist. “Get your Navigational’s fixed at the double H.E.N.R.I., I will Salvage what I can. We ought to re-activate what we can back into optimum order. I want to move out of here in the next three-hundred minutes. I got a feeling there’s more to this place than meets the eye.”

There’s gonna be a lot of work he has to do to salvage what is left of the Pioneer’s strength before he journeys onwards.

Little did Izo know, a shadow above the Tree Branches observed him with capricious black eyes. A singular scout seeing firsthand a Human in their hundred-acred woods for a long time. Grabbing its grappling hook, the forest phantom swung away, intending to report his findings to his leaders of this trespasser.