(Heya, had the urge to write, so I came up with this. Not sure if there will be more, *Scooter voice* or not... )
It all started in the Dust, that godforsaken home to bandits, inbreds, and the occasional spiderant colony. I was on overwatch, seated in the turret of our idling Outrunner, while Sheila was after the prize. Her progress could be measured by a series of blunt, metallic bangs that echoed from the shadow of a nearby stone outcrop. I listened, and continued to scan the horizon for threats, as the bangs played counterpoint to the flames engulfing an overturned Bandit Technical that had come to rest a dozen paces farther along.
A minute passed, and with a growing sense of unease, I spun the turret for another look at the smoke that was spiraling lazily into the midday sky. This was pretty much an invitation for any loitering Buzzards to come see what was cooking, and I'd already had my fill of flying bandits for one day. I was so engrossed in this thought that I failed to notice the banging had stopped.
“Why you looking so seriuos, Soulja?” Sheila shouted, startling me.
Accompanied by a slight, metallic whine, I rotated the turret until she came into view. She was brandishing an “Ellie” ornament in one dusky-skinned hand while the barrel of her AR peeked over one shoulder. I couldn't help myself as my eyes slid over her petite figure, taking in the sweat-stained tank top—which at one point had been white—loose-fitting desert camo pants, dusty boots, then up past the red bandanna around her neck, where it lingered on her smiling face for a moment before coming to rest on the goggles that temporarily corralled her dark mane. “I just wanna get paid, Doll,” I said, before letting my eyes slip back to the heavens with more than a little reluctance.
“Well then, four more and let's get you paid, Soulja. Because if you're going to look at a girl like that, you better at least take her to dinner first.”
“Dinner at Moxxi's it is,” I agreed. Then I noticed two specks detach themselves from a distant mesa and added, “But I think we'd better be going.”
Sheila followed my gaze, her empty hand shading those piercing emerald eyes of hers. “Well, I'm gonna have to agree with you twice on that one, Soulja,” she said, before sprinting toward the Outrunner and tossing me the ornament when she was close enough.
Spinning end over end, its chrome surface gleamed in the sunlight, like some majestic creature rising into the sky. The bandits thought they were mocking Ellie with these. But in truth, they were paying homage to the biggest eagle, with the biggest rack on the planet. And as it thudded into my outstretched hand, I wondered if another cult might be born. Could happen, I thought, stashing the ornament with the other already waiting in the empty ammo box on the floor of the turret. After all, Lilith had hers.
By now, Sheila was strapped into the driver's seat as errant rounds from the Buzzards began to plow into the desiccated landscape around us, kicking up geysers of loose soil. She floored it, and the engine roared as I spun the turret for better aim. Rooster tails of dirt were kicked up by the spinning tires before they finally bit, and we were hurtling away. The accerleration had my body straining against the harness that held me in place as I locked onto my first target. And just before I opened fire, I heard Sheila give a howl as heavy metal exploded from the Outrunner's radio. Then everything was lost in the whirlwind of battle as, machine gun shuddering, tracers began to tear up the sky.
It all started in the Dust, that godforsaken home to bandits, inbreds, and the occasional spiderant colony. I was on overwatch, seated in the turret of our idling Outrunner, while Sheila was after the prize. Her progress could be measured by a series of blunt, metallic bangs that echoed from the shadow of a nearby stone outcrop. I listened, and continued to scan the horizon for threats, as the bangs played counterpoint to the flames engulfing an overturned Bandit Technical that had come to rest a dozen paces farther along.
A minute passed, and with a growing sense of unease, I spun the turret for another look at the smoke that was spiraling lazily into the midday sky. This was pretty much an invitation for any loitering Buzzards to come see what was cooking, and I'd already had my fill of flying bandits for one day. I was so engrossed in this thought that I failed to notice the banging had stopped.
“Why you looking so seriuos, Soulja?” Sheila shouted, startling me.
Accompanied by a slight, metallic whine, I rotated the turret until she came into view. She was brandishing an “Ellie” ornament in one dusky-skinned hand while the barrel of her AR peeked over one shoulder. I couldn't help myself as my eyes slid over her petite figure, taking in the sweat-stained tank top—which at one point had been white—loose-fitting desert camo pants, dusty boots, then up past the red bandanna around her neck, where it lingered on her smiling face for a moment before coming to rest on the goggles that temporarily corralled her dark mane. “I just wanna get paid, Doll,” I said, before letting my eyes slip back to the heavens with more than a little reluctance.
“Well then, four more and let's get you paid, Soulja. Because if you're going to look at a girl like that, you better at least take her to dinner first.”
“Dinner at Moxxi's it is,” I agreed. Then I noticed two specks detach themselves from a distant mesa and added, “But I think we'd better be going.”
Sheila followed my gaze, her empty hand shading those piercing emerald eyes of hers. “Well, I'm gonna have to agree with you twice on that one, Soulja,” she said, before sprinting toward the Outrunner and tossing me the ornament when she was close enough.
Spinning end over end, its chrome surface gleamed in the sunlight, like some majestic creature rising into the sky. The bandits thought they were mocking Ellie with these. But in truth, they were paying homage to the biggest eagle, with the biggest rack on the planet. And as it thudded into my outstretched hand, I wondered if another cult might be born. Could happen, I thought, stashing the ornament with the other already waiting in the empty ammo box on the floor of the turret. After all, Lilith had hers.
By now, Sheila was strapped into the driver's seat as errant rounds from the Buzzards began to plow into the desiccated landscape around us, kicking up geysers of loose soil. She floored it, and the engine roared as I spun the turret for better aim. Rooster tails of dirt were kicked up by the spinning tires before they finally bit, and we were hurtling away. The accerleration had my body straining against the harness that held me in place as I locked onto my first target. And just before I opened fire, I heard Sheila give a howl as heavy metal exploded from the Outrunner's radio. Then everything was lost in the whirlwind of battle as, machine gun shuddering, tracers began to tear up the sky.