Stryme made his way down from the precipice above. It took him longer than I expected, but after he roped down our haversacks, it never really mattered.

I turned to the river, watching the water sparkle like shattered glass from the headlights of the trucks. It shimmered white, leaving a pleasant sight for my eyes, after a small firefight.

As the eighteen men lay around us, dead as the night. It wasn’t suited for a grave, but as they had weapons, it was clear, they were hostile. It was The Waste, it was them, or us, because sure, they would’ve killed us without hesitation.

“That was a shit climb down,” Stryme grunted

“It was a shit firefight for me.” I retorted.

Stryme shrugged and picked up his haversack and walked over to one of the tents on the northern sight. I wanted to follow, but something wasn’t set right with me. Why would they be here for over two days, despite gathering enough water to move, I thought.

I turned and looked at the water tank. It was 20 feet in length and 7.6 feet in width, which indicated the power behind these men.

In the Carib Waste, they were few people who would have such a thing. Having a Water Tank was a sign of power within this wasteland. And the people that had power here usually weren’t up to no good.

Stryme and I might’ve killed someone important, but we couldn’t afford to find out, as Ravagers come in any shape or size.

Yes, these bastards may have their faces covered and rarely spoke, but that was probably how their Settlement was set up.

I spent five minutes weaving the scenario in front of me, but no answer came after five minutes of mental gymnastics, as frustrating as it was.

The Carib Waste had hundreds if not thousands of factions. Most fought against each other for the most important liquid known to man, Water.

Water was a sign of power within the Carib Waste and if you had it in abundance, you were considered a powerhouse. The few settlements that didn’t have water in such abundance would rely on relations such as those who relied on The Antillean Federation’s charity

Saunter’s Settlement though wasn’t on the receiving end of such charity, based on my observation. But that was based on how far the settlement was from the Federation itself. However, it was close enough to not outright hostility like settlements that bordered the Doasa Nation and the Latrina Empire.

I approached one of the bodies of the men I’d gunned down and removed their veil. Fuck, I said to myself, realising their face.

The man I’d gun down was tan in colour, but more so on the red side. His head was diamond in shape and his lips thin, with a pointy nose, which made his overall face look like an eagle. He had a black tattoo crawling up the sides of his neck, flowing directly into his face. “War Tattoo,” I whispered.

“What was that?” Stryme asked.

“Get over,”

“Why?” Stryme grunted.

“Something you need to see”

“Ugh…fine.”

Stryme sauntered up next to him, face permanently vexed from making the trip. I shook my head. “I think we fucked up.”

“What Bullshit are you on Cypher?

I ripped the shirt open, exposing the man’s chest to the element. A Black tattoo in a tribal fashion was carved into the man's chest, showing how intricate and detailed a war tattoo could be.

The battle scars that were written across his chest, blended in perfectly with his tattoo, making the man look like an avatar for war.

“Shit, Why the fuck is a Doasian so far soft?” Stryme grunted.

“I don’t know, but we need to get the fuck outta here and fast.”

“Agreed Cypher, A-fucking-greed.”

◆◆◆

“I’m not against it, but it’ll draw too much attention. Especially with the shit storm we just made.”

”You’re right,” I said, “but we need to fuck off and leave. We can’t afford to offend the Doasians, not now, not ever.”

“We already offended them Cypher. We gunned them the fuck down, but taking one of their trucks might garner some attention.

“It would, but it’ll also help us get to Sceleratus faster.”

I watched Stryme ball his hands showing his frustration. The man’s been anal ever since we set foot in the Waste, it was as if he’d been fed nails and has been trying to find ways to shit it out of his system. Hell, I hate the waste too, but fuck, his mood swings weren’t making the trek any easier.

“Fine.” Stryme finally sighed after a few seconds of silence, “Let’s use it. I agree, it will help cut down sometime to reach Sceleratus, but the dust trail from it could give our position away to Ravagers not to mention…fucking Doasians.”

“As I said Stryme, you are right, but the risk could help. We need to get away from here as fast as possible, like yesterday! ” I said firmly.

“I agree Cypher, but fuck…the waste is complete shit.”

“I know, I lost half my body here.”

Stryme turned to me, rolling his neck. As he eyed me, I felt like a snake had turned to me and was ready to attack. It was as if he was resisting the urge to attack me. Try it asshole, I’d fuck you up.

“You’ve read my file, yes?”

“I skimmed. I’m not much of a reader, but I remember important details.”

“Good, I don’t respond favourably to threats. It’s as I said, we take the truck or we don’t I’m fine with whatever, there’s no need for the threatening gaze.”

Stryme lips curled into a smile, and then he chuckled manically as if he was releasing his stress. Once he’d finished, he shook his head and then rolled his shoulder and neck. “You’re right, let’s get our shit together and get the fuck outta here.

“Right.”

The two of us stood and walked in silence, heading toward the closest tent. The metallic scent of the blood made my tongue tingle in annoyance. It wasn’t the most bloodshed I’d ever shed in one night, but hopefully, it would be my last, ever.

The deathly eyes of the Doasians peered at me as I passed them by, trying to fill me with guilt. It only succeeded in earning my annoyance.

The tent we entered was filled with crates, barrels which left a feint scent of gunpowder trailing within. “Guess we know what’s in the tent now,” Stryme said.

“Yeah…”

“To the right, rows of waterskins piled up. As my feet crunched against the ground, feeling each rock prick into my heel.

I knelt down, feeling the weight of my cybernetics and picked up one of the waterskins. The smooth texture of the pouch felt like polished leather. It made me smile bitterly because if I had any doubts before, that was completely vanquished. “High-quality waterskin pouch.” I grunted, “The Doasians are the only ones who are capable of working leather like this with hand.”

The Doasa Nation was located in the North. The Carib Waste was to the South of the Nation, but so was the Antillean Federation, but in reality, it was the most Central. As the Latrina Empire was located in the Southern section of the hemisphere.

Ever since the First Continent War, the Doasians haven’t set foot toward The Federation or Empire, which could only mean this is a rogue faction. Why would they be here? I asked myself.

I sighed in annoyance, tossing the waterskin pouch back with the pile. I pushed myself up and pried open the crate that was on the immediate left.

The crate snapped open and a dry earthy scent permeated the air. My nose itched and I dabbed it to stop myself from sneezing, then force my head into a crate. “Humph…I don’t know how to take this.” I said dryly.

“What’s in there?” Stryme asked.

“Nothing.” I laughed.

“Serious?”

“Yeah, nothing at all, but it was slotted that could hold an Assault Rifle. It seems these bastards are looking to attack someone.”

“Shit.”

I stormed outside, picking up one of the Assault Rifles the Doasians had dropped and ran back inside. I placed the assault rifle into the crate and it fit perfectly.

“Are the Doasians looking to take over some Settlements within the Waste?” Stryme asked.

“I would hope not, that goes against the Armistice.”

“And going to war right now is complete shit.”

“Going to war, at any given time is complete shit, Stryme”

“Right.”

The remaining crates were as welcoming as dust mites could be as we opened each one, trying to decipher why the Doasians were in the Waste. “I won’t lie Cypher, I’m concerned.”

I groaned a sigh, shook my head and turned to the desk that had been lying at the corner of my eye, unattended.

As I peered over the desk, I took note of the many crumpled pieces of paper that lay on the ground. The desk itself was littered with pencils, ink with ink splotches scattered around and a few rulers and compasses to match. “These are hand-drawn maps,” I whispered, tracing my hand against the lines.

The paper felt rough and crumpled between my fingertips. The lines didn’t even smudge when I rubbed my hands against them. I flipped through ten pages of maps, noticing arid lands, and desert plains with buttes and mesa were drawn perfectly. They were more detailed than some of the Holograms I’d used in my time back within the AFA.

On the thirteenth page of the paper, I came across the map that was highly detailed and far too familiar for my liking, which made my jaw stiffen from the sight.

“Stryme!” I shouted.

The lad came running, feet crunching against the stones beneath his feet. He skidded into the tent with a bead of sweat running down his cheek. “What?” He snapped.

I pointed at the map, waiting for him to come over. He scoffed and begrudgingly did so. Once his eyes met with my finger, they gapped as I had expected. “Holy shit that looks like Sceleratus.”

“So I’m not seeing things.”

“Fuck…FUCK FUCK!” Stryme growled.

“I agree, we’re fucked.”