The roar of a motorcycle engine tore through the dense orange haze, its thickness swallowing even the faintest hint of what lay ahead. Yet Roxanne showed no sign of slowing down no hesitation, no fear. Her face lit up with pure exhilaration, the thrill of controlling a real machine for the first time far outweighing the danger around her.
"Can you still track her?"
23's voice cut through the armored vehicle's comm system, flat and precise, though a trace of impatience had begun to creep in.
"We still have her movement on the sensors… but her speed keeps increasing. She's almost pushing past the limits of our baseline tracking systems."
The driver tightened his grip on the controls, pushing the vehicle harder as he tried to keep up.
But before the report could even finish, the red dot representing Roxanne on the monitor flickered, and vanished.
"W… wait! Her signal just disappeared from the screen!"
The navigator blurted it out, panic breaking through as his fingers flew across the console, frantically resetting the system.
"What?"
23's voice snapped out. The cold in his eyes sharpened, tension creeping beneath the surface.
"That damn brat… nothing but trouble. What the hell was Nicolas thinking, letting her into this unit?"
His voice cut through the suffocating silence inside the armored vehicle, now barreling forward into nothing but empty haze.
"I told you. Sooner or later, she'd screw us over."
Lewis exhaled sharply, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest. His massive frame shifted slightly, armor plates grinding against each other with a harsh metallic scrape that echoed through the tightening space.
"Switch to full-spectrum sensors. The moment you pick up anything, report to me immediately."
23's command came out firm and precise, his gaze locked onto the empty space on the monitor, where Roxanne's signal had been blinking just moments ago.
"Y-Yes, sir!"
The officer's voice trembled as he rapidly recalibrated the system, pushing high-frequency scans in an attempt to pierce through the polluted orange fog surrounding them.
The P-Type armored vehicle pressed on, forcing its way through the dense wall of dust, chasing after the reckless girl who had vanished without a trace, leaving behind nothing but disturbed earth, already being swallowed by the storm.
Roxanne twisted the throttle, sending her newly claimed motorcycle surging forward with reckless delight. She didn't realize her signal had already vanished from her team's sensors, but even if she had, she probably wouldn't have cared. The thrill of tearing across a road choked with toxic dust was far too intoxicating to give up.
The atmosphere around her began to shift. The harsh midday sunlight that once burned through the orange haze started to dim, slipping into the muted tones of evening. Visibility, already poor, dropped even further.
And then, Through the blur of the dust storm, she caught it. A piercing light, cutting clean through the haze, coming straight toward her. It grew clearer. Brighter. Closer.
As the beam carved through the fog of dusk, it revealed a massive caravan vehicles modified for brutality. Lifted pickup trucks, reinforced sedans, and a swarm of off-road motorcycles moved together like a small army advancing through the storm.
Instead of passing by, the convoy suddenly closed in on Roxanne.
Four motorcycles surged ahead, engines roaring as they boxed her in from all sides tight, deliberate, inescapable. Forced into the trap, she had no choice but to slow down, eventually bringing her bike to a halt in the middle of the dust-choked road.
"Yo! What's up, pretty girl? Riding out here alone without a mask? Your lungs are gonna burn out like that."
The taunting voice rang out from one of the riders, muffled slightly beneath his dust mask, while the engines around her continued to growl like predators circling their prey. The rest of the convoy came to a synchronized stop. Thick orange dust billowed into the air, swallowing the scene in a choking haze. One by one, a dozen or more men stepped down from their heavily modified vehicles.
Every single one of them wore a dust mask, each with its own distinct style. Some were marked with aggressive, almost savage graphics. Others were plain, stripped down to bare function. Together, they formed a loose perimeter around the small girl at the center.
"Who are you guys?"
Roxanne tilted her head slightly, her voice light and almost innocent, as if she were simply asking out of curiosity.
"What, you've never heard of us? Damn… guess we're not famous enough yet."
The same biker laughed, his voice laced with mock amusement as a few others joined in.
"That's enough."
A deeper voice cut through the chatter.
Another man stepped out from one of the vehicles, shutting the door behind him. He walked forward at an unhurried pace, pushing through the circle with a calm, commanding presence that set him apart from the rest.
He stopped right in front of her motorcycle. His gaze locked onto her through the mask.
"You… you're one of the P-Type units, aren't you?"
His voice carried quiet certainty.
"Why do you ask?"
Roxanne tilted her head slightly, her tone teasing, almost playful.
"No mask. Standing in the middle of toxic dust. And that uniform… You're one of those enhanced test subjects, aren't you?"
The man pressed, stepping closer until he reached the edge of her bike.
"Honestly? I've been above human since the day I was born. I'm insanely strong, and ridiculously smart too. But seriously… who are you old guys supposed to be?"
Her voice carried a deliberate innocence, the kind that grated on the nerves.
"Alright… grab her. I'm sure Zenos will love this little gift."
The command rang out.
At once, the four motorcycles revved and began circling, kicking up a storm of dust that quickly turned into a blinding veil. Two men didn't hesitate, they lunged forward, seizing the small girl by the arms, trying to rip her off the bike.
"Hey, don't touch me. You'll end up dead."
Roxanne snapped, her voice sharp and ringing.
"Heh, feisty too. Not just some experiment, huh? And pretty on top of that. Once the boss is done with you, you'll fetch a nice price."
The man restraining her laughed, tightening his grip without a hint of caution.
"I said… don't touch me."
Her voice dropped low, almost a whisper. Her body went completely still. No resistance. And then, The ground beneath them began to tremble.
Violently.
Dust erupted from the earth in thick bursts, the orange haze surging upward as if something underneath was forcing its way out.
At the same time, inside the P-Type armored vehicle cutting through the evening air, the monitor suddenly flared to life, an alarm piercing the silence.
"Sir! Unknown signal detected at two o'clock! Multiple individuals confirmed, no movement, but there's some kind of seismic disturbance at that location!"
The navigator's voice came through the comms, tight with urgency.
"No doubt about it. Turn us there, now!"
23 issued the order instantly, his sharp gaze locking onto the indicated direction.
"That's her."
The armored vehicle swerved hard, tearing through the haze as it accelerated toward the source of the disturbance in an instant.
Through the dimming orange fog of dusk, the Outlaw caravan's lights still burned bright, cutting through the gloom. The P-Type vehicle pulled in fast and stopped dead. All six members stepped out at once, every movement precise, every sense sharpened to maximum alert.
But what greeted them made everyone freeze in place.
Only Roxanne stood there alone at the center of a silent ring of parked pickups and motorcycles. She casually brushed dust off her uniform, her expression calm, as if nothing had happened. Not a single one of the men remained.
What was left behind…
…were scattered masses of unrecognizable flesh and vast smears of blood.
Fragments of clothing and shattered helmets had been driven deep into the ground, as if an overwhelming force had crushed everything from above in a single instant, pulverizing bodies beyond recognition. There were no signs of a prolonged fight. No tracks of escape.
Only silence. And the lingering horror of something that had ended in a single strike.
"Lloyd, Gareth. Check those vehicles."
23's voice came out flat as he swept his gaze across the motionless convoy. The two moved out immediately, splitting off without a word.
"Hey, kid. You wiped them all out yourself? What am I supposed to do now? Next time, leave some for me."
Lewis grumbled, his deep voice edged with irritation as he stared at the mangled remains with clear dissatisfaction.
"I didn't do anything. They just grabbed my arm… I didn't like that."
Roxanne replied casually, completely unfazed. She ignored the carnage around her and walked straight back to her bike. Flipping open the seat, she rummaged inside. There wasn't much, just a few tools and a dirty cloth.
But then, Her eyes lit up. A sleek pair of riding goggles, tucked away beneath everything else. Without hesitation, she grabbed them and slipped them on, adjusting the fit with a satisfied grin. Then she turned toward Alicia and flashed a cheerful two-finger sign, completely at odds with the blood-soaked scene behind her.
"Hey! Over here!"
Gareth's voice called out from the direction of a heavily modified pickup.
23 and Sophie moved toward him immediately. The armored vehicle's headlights cut through the dim haze, illuminating the truck bed and interior both packed tight with wooden crates and plastic containers.
They cracked one open. Inside were rows of small bottles liquid narcotics, designed to be dropped directly into the eyes. Alongside them were piles of contraband. Smuggled goods. Black-market stock, stacked high.
"So… drug runners and smugglers."
23 muttered, picking up one of the bottles and examining it with a cold, analytical gaze.
"Huh… people still use drugs these days? I thought this stuff disappeared a hundred years ago."
Sophie said, genuine surprise in her voice as she looked over the massive haul.
"What's the call?"
Lloyd turned, waiting for the team leader's decision.
23 went silent for a moment. Then he raised his comms device and issued orders to the navigator, contact Dome Security, request a recovery unit, and transmit the exact coordinates for pickup.
"Nicolas wants results…"
His voice was calm. Measured.
"Then we'll give him this."
He swept his gaze across the devastation Roxanne had left behind, taking it all in without a flicker of emotion.
.....
Inside a quiet underground hideout the next morning, Connor and Kelly sat fixed in front of a monitor broadcasting the day's top news. The screen showed massive piles of seized contraband liquid narcotics and untaxed goods being transported back into the Dome.
The news anchor spoke with barely contained excitement, reporting damages to the illegal network exceeding 200 million credits. The entire operation had taken place just the night before, hailed as a decisive victory. A victory now being used to showcase the overwhelming efficiency of the P-Type unit granted authorization to operate outside the Dome only hours earlier.
Then, Dr. Nicolas appeared on screen.
Standing beneath a storm of flashing cameras, he wore the smile of a man who had already won. Satisfaction radiated from him as he presented the operation's success, an achievement pulled from the Outlands, a place where ordinary forces rarely managed to produce results of this scale.
"Heh… played that nicely."
Connor muttered, arms crossed as he stared at Nicolas's smiling face.
"A haul like that… it's only going to make people inside the Dome trust the P-Type even more."
Kelly added, concern threading her voice as her fingers moved rapidly, scanning the flood of social reactions praising the unit like heroes.
Not long after, Drago and Darius wandered into the central hall, still shaking off sleep. Their eyes drifted to the monitor, where footage of the P-Type unit's success continued to loop.
"I spent years operating out there… ended up crippled for it. Never got this kind of praise."
Drago let out a dry chuckle, watching his former teammates being turned into overnight heroes.
"You were on the news the other day, remember? Fifty million credits on your head. Still not enough for you?"
Connor shot back, glancing away from the screen to look at his old friend.
"Fifty million… damn. That's enough to rent a luxury place for years."
Darius muttered, eyes gleaming at the sheer scale of the number.
"You want it?"
Drago fired back immediately, flicking his gaze toward the man in the suit beside him.
"...Still, why would those seven choose to stay?"
Darius frowned slightly, his eyes fixed on the P-Type unit displayed on the monitor.
"I don't know either… but they've got a reason."
Drago replied, concern threading through his voice as he continued staring at his former comrades.
"What, you think Alicia stuffed something into their heads?"
Connor cut in, recalling the parasite's abilities they'd encountered before.
"No… from what I've seen, they're staying by choice."
Darius shook his head slowly, certain of what he'd witnessed firsthand.
"It's been like that since back at the research facility. I just don't know why."
"Wait… not everyone wanted to escape?"
Kelly asked, surprise clear in her voice. She had always believed they were all victims trying to break free.
"Nope. Some wanted out. Some didn't."
Darius shrugged lightly.
"And some didn't care either way."
"That's why they were always at odds with each other."
He glanced back at the screen, eyes narrowing slightly.
"If they'd all wanted the same thing… that place would've been torn apart long before now."