The vehicle didn't glide gracefully like an airship.
It plowed through the sand.
The Rhino—a six-wheeled Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) freshly printed from the City's Foundry—roared across the dunes. Painted in pristine Old King white, it looked sterile and futuristic. Amidst the dirty grey wasteland, it looked like a mobile laboratory charging into a war zone.
Ciro drove with one hand, holding a synthetic protein bar in the other.
"The AC is running, the seats are memory foam, and the suspension absorbs every bump," Ciro mumbled between bites. "I'm starting to like your new style of 'Diplomacy', Elara."
Elara sat in the passenger seat, monitoring a holographic map. She wasn't wearing her royal velvet cloak today. She wore a tactical field uniform, white and grey, with the Hand of A.R.E.S. glowing softly on her right arm.
"Don't get too comfortable," Elara said without looking up. "We are entering The Black Zone."
Ahead of them, the horizon changed.
The sky was no longer pale grey. It was pitch black.
Thick, oily pillars of smoke rose into the air, blocking out the sun. The smell of sulfur and raw gasoline began to seep in, cutting through even the APC's advanced filtration system.
They had arrived in the territory of The Oil Barons.
"Look at that," Ciro pointed ahead.
In the center of a black valley filled with sludge, stood a nightmare fortress.
It was built from the skeletons of old oil refineries, rusted pipes twisted like intestines, and smokestacks belching waste fire. Massive trucks with spiked wheels patrolled the perimeter, their diesel engines roaring like dying beasts.
This wasn't civilization. It was a pollution factory.
[FACTION: THE OIL BARONS][TECHNOLOGY: DIESEL / CRUDE KINETIC.][PRIMARY RESOURCE: CRUDE OIL, REFINED FUEL.]
BANG.
A warning shot exploded in the sand just meters in front of The Rhino. Black dust sprayed the windshield.
Two massive War-Rigs intercepted them from behind a dune. The drivers—shirtless men with skin smeared in black grease—stood on the roof of their cabs, aiming heavy machine guns.
"HALT!" a rough voice boomed from a crackling megaphone. "SURRENDER THE VEHICLE OR WE TURN YOU INTO SCRAP!"
Ciro glanced at Elara, his hand hovering over the weapons panel. "Can I ram them? The Rhino has a reinforced plow. I'm pretty sure I can cut that rust-bucket in half."
"No," Elara said calmly. "We are here to talk. Open the top hatch."
Ciro sighed, pressing a button on the dashboard. "You're boring."
The roof hatch of the APC hissed open.
Elara stood up. Her clean, white figure emerged amidst the black smoke. The desert wind, heavy with the stench of oil, whipped her hair, but she didn't blink.
She raised her right hand. The Gauntlet didn't glow blue. It glowed red—the sign of Combat Mode.
"I AM ELARA OF THE CITY OF GLASS BONES!" her voice was amplified by the APC's external speakers, clear and commanding. "I WISH TO SPEAK WITH BARON RICTUS."
One of the War-Rig drivers laughed. He spat on the ground; his saliva was black with soot.
"The Ash Queen? You look like a porcelain doll in a trash can. The Baron doesn't talk to little girls. He eats them."
The driver cocked his heavy machine gun, a yellow grin spreading across his face.
"Give us that pretty truck, sweetheart. And maybe we'll let you live as a new toy for the—"
ZZZT.
Elara didn't scream. She didn't get angry. She simply snapped her fingers at the War-Rig.
It wasn't magic. It was an Overload Signal.
Her Gauntlet fired a directed electromagnetic pulse, targeting the crude electronic ignition system of the old truck.
BOOM.
The War-Rig's engine block exploded from the inside out.
The hood blew off, spewing tongues of fire and thick black smoke. The laughing driver was thrown off the roof by the force of the blast, landing face-first in the oily mud.
The second truck slammed on its brakes, tires screeching. The driver stared at his burning friend, then at Elara with pure terror.
"Take me to the Baron," Elara said coldly, smoothing her sleeve as if she had just brushed off dust, not destroyed a ten-ton vehicle. "Now."
The Refinery: Throne Room
Baron Rictus's headquarters wasn't a palace. It was a factory floor modified into a throne room.
The floor was made of rusted iron grating. Beneath the grate, pools of toxic waste boiled, sending steam rising upward. Everywhere, pipes hissed, steam leaked, and the sound of pistons was deafening.
And in the center of the room, sitting on a throne welded together from V8 engine blocks and truck exhaust pipes, was Baron Rictus.
He was massive.
His obese, muscular body was covered in a greasy leather vest. But the most striking feature was the industrial breathing mask covering the lower half of his face, connected to a tank on his back pumping green gas.
"The Ash Queen," Rictus's voice sounded heavy and wet through the mask, like sludge being stirred. "You made a mess in my front yard. You owe me a truck."
Elara stood before him. She looked incredibly small, incredibly clean, and incredibly alien in this filthy place. Ciro and Ghost stood behind her, Ciro's hand resting casually near his energy daggers.
"I come with an offer, Rictus," Elara said, ignoring the threat completely. "I need crude oil. 500 barrels a week. And heavy industrial lubricants."
Rictus laughed. The fat on his body shook. His men, lining the walls of the room, laughed with him, the sound echoing in the iron hall.
"You need my oil?" Rictus sneered behind his mask. "And what do you offer? Gold? Gems? I can't eat gold, little girl. Out here, gold is worthless."
"Water," Elara said. One word.
The laughter stopped instantly. The room went silent.
"Pure water," Elara continued. "No radiation. No metallic taste. Water you can drink straight from the tap. Filtered by Old King technology."
Rictus's eyes narrowed. In the Black Zone, clean water was more valuable than blood, perhaps even more valuable than the oil itself.
"One gallon of water for every barrel of oil," Elara offered.
Rictus stood up. He was nearly seven feet tall. He walked down from his engine-throne, his heavy iron boots clanking on the metal floor.
He stopped in front of Elara, looming over her. The smell of oil, gasoline, and stale sweat radiated from him. He intimidated everyone who stood before him.
Everyone except Elara.
"An interesting offer," Rictus said. He extended a giant, grimy hand, as if to shake hers.
But then, he grinned slyly.
"But why should I trade..." Rictus suddenly pulled a massive pipe wrench from his belt. "...when I can kill you, take the key to your city, and keep all the water for myself?"
CLICK-CLACK.
It was the synchronized sound of twenty shotguns being cocked. His men aimed their weapons at Elara and Ciro's heads.
Ciro let out a long sigh, shaking his head.
"I knew it," Ciro muttered. "Diplomacy in this desert always ends with someone getting hit with a wrench. Elara, permission to cut his throat?"
He moved to draw his blade, but Elara raised a hand, stopping him.
Elara looked Rictus in the eye. There was no fear. Only cold pity.
"You think you have power, Rictus?" Elara asked softly. "You think your big machines make you strong?"
She pointed around the room—at the hundreds of pipes hissing on the walls. The arterial pipes carrying high-pressure hot oil throughout the entire refinery.
"AURA," Elara whispered. "Override pressure control systems. Sector 1 Refinery."
[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.][VALVE CONTROL: OVERRIDDEN.]
Elara slowly closed her hand into a fist.
Around the room, the pressure gauges on the pipes began to climb. The analog needles spun frantically into the red zone.
HISS... SCREECH.
The pipes began to vibrate violently. The hissing sound turned into a terrifying mechanical scream. Bolts started to pop loose, pinging off the floor like bullets.
"What... what are you doing?" Rictus looked around in panic. His refinery, his kingdom, was shaking as if it were about to explode.
"Oil is flammable, Baron," Elara said coldly. "And you are standing inside a giant bomb."
She stared Rictus dead in the eye.
"I am holding the detonator. If you or your men move one inch, I will blow the main pressure valve. You, your men, and your precious oil will burn to ash in seconds."
BANG.
A pipe near Rictus's head burst, spraying hot steam that nearly scorched his face. Rictus jumped back, terrified.
He looked at the Gauntlet on Elara's hand, glowing ominous red. He realized his mistake. This small woman wasn't a diplomat. She was a technological monster.
Rictus dropped the wrench. The clang echoed in the silent room.
"Stop it!" Rictus screamed, raising both hands. "Stop it! Don't blow it! This factory is everything to me!"
Elara opened her fist.
The pressure dropped instantly. The vibration stopped. Silence returned, broken only by the heavy breathing of the Baron through his mask.
"So," Elara said, smoothing her clean white sleeve, her face completely flat.
"Let's renegotiate the ratio. Two gallons of water for every five barrels of oil."
Rictus's eyes went wide. "You said one to one earlier!"
"That was the price before you tried to kill me," Elara said sharply. "Now, there is a Stupidity Tax."
Rictus swallowed hard. He looked around at his terrified men, then back at the Ash Queen. He knew he had lost.
"Deal," Rictus whispered.
Elara turned, signaling to Ciro.
"Load the oil, Commander. We have a city to feed."