The hunting team was in high spirits this morning. As they set out at dawn, they encountered a small pack of desert wolves. Perhaps because the full moon was approaching, the wolves' activity had noticeably increased, making hunting easier than usual.
The main reason, of course, was the nearly inexhaustible arsenal at the large supply station—it was their reliable backup. Years ago, the hunting team had stumbled upon this desert station, still operational and maintained by a few elderly caretakers.
Initially, they followed the rules: avoiding the harsh sunlight by resting in the underground rooms during the day and venturing out at night when the wind died down. But one day, a massive black shadow appeared on the station's open ground—a cargo airship passing overhead.
Several brightly colored parachutes descended, dropping supplies every few years as scheduled. The elderly caretakers could no longer carry the materials, so the task naturally fell to the hunting team. And thus, the first crack between the two sides appeared.
The hunting team, impoverished and desperate, coveted the weapons in the iron crates. The three elderly men refused to give up any portion. That winter, shortly after the supplies were moved, the first group of travelers arrived—six men and five women, wealthy and striking. They came partly to tour, partly to hunt desert wolves, naturally relying on the hunting team as guides.
For the first few days, coexistence went smoothly, benefiting both sides. But on the fourth day, after camping in the desert, the hunting team leader, fueled by alcohol and months of pent-up heat, succumbed to his darker impulses. By the fifth day, the travelers had been buried somewhere in the sands.
The hunting team then sought full control over the supply station. Of the three elderly caretakers, only Doen survived by compromise; the other two were buried in the desert. Doen continued to maintain the illusion of an active station, attracting wanderers and siphoning military supplies. The operation grew, turning the station into a merciless trap, with female corpses preserved for future "use."
Some team members with residual conscience tried to escape, but the leaders anticipated this, reducing their number until only those fully resigned to desert degradation remained.
Now, the sky had turned lake blue, but the desert sun had yet to rise. The team carefully descended the dunes in their steam-powered vehicles, parking dozens of off-road cars and offloading freshly killed desert wolves and lizards. Thirty-plus hunters removed their stifling masks, enjoying the cool, slightly moist dawn air. Half handled weapons and gear; the rest dealt with the animal bodies.
The sun would rise in minutes. The seasoned hunters, familiar with the desert, had synchronized their actions perfectly.
"Looks like there's no way," Kara muttered, lowering her sniper's scope to the pale blue sky. Not a cloud, just a startling, overwhelming blue—as if it could swallow all in sight. Sunrise would no longer be possible.
She crouched atop one of the five buildings, draped in gray fabric matching the walls, behind a knee-high steel barricade. Though her setup was far from perfect camouflage—the extra structures and black barrel would be noticeable on close inspection—everyone else was distracted, their morning tension eased. No one looked carefully at rooftops; most simply wanted to return home, drink, and sleep.
Then, a figure—likely one of the leaders—stepped forward with a short-barreled shotgun. In an instant, his head exploded. Blood surged like a spring from the ground, and the deliberate crack of the sniper rifle thundered across the desert like ripples on a still lake.
Another shot rang out, bullets slicing the air with sharp, resonant vibrations.
The second man stood rigid, bleeding, before collapsing seconds after the first body hit the ground.
By the sixth shot, the rest finally realized the assault. Adrenaline surged; they scrambled for cover, assessing the sniper's position. Four more fell, heads blown apart.
"Rooftop! Get behind the vehicles!"
"It's a sniper! Keep your heads down!"
"Reload! Use automatic fire and handguns—the shotguns can't reach the roofs!"
Panic spread among the hunters. Gunfire erupted from dozens of vehicles—flames and smoke spewed from barrels. Glass shattered, bullets ricocheted off concrete, and sturdy materials splintered under the impacts. High-pressure mercury lamps exploded overhead, their ethereal bursts echoing like fireworks.
All eyes were drawn to Kara and the rooftop lights, unaware of what had shifted behind them: a black, crow-beaked mask rising from a crack in the sand-filled concrete ground.