Chapter 1

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Rain fell in sheets across the deserts of Arizona, or what was Arizona. Boundaries had been a myth since the Collapse. A soldier trudged through the red dirt and clumped sagebrush, rifle held tight across his chest. He patrolled the desert, watching, waiting for some sign of a crashed ship of some sort. He hadn't really gotten much intel on the thing, just that some ship had crashed near their outpost and he was tasked with investigating it. His commander's soothing feminine voice came over the comm, "Khrelan, report,"

"Nothing to see here, Soshe. Just rain and dirt," he replied apathetically. She chuckled a little and then clicked the comm off, again leaving Khrelan with his thoughts. He loosened up a bit, and then stopped to examine his aptly named rifle, Participation Grade. His rifle rarely saw action, and when it did he usually called it back in favor of his shotgun, Houndmaster. The rifle was a decent weight, comfortable, but not too light. The white paint that had come with the gun was slightly flaked. It was due for another coat of paint, preferably something less bland. The only decoration on it was a pair of red stripes, one on either side of the rifle, and the logo of Khrelan's faction, The Commune.

Khrelan took a deep breath and started forward again. His boots were now a sandy red, caked in mud from his hours on patrol. His armor repelled liquid efficiently, but his visor did not. He had to wipe a tired hand across his face every couple of minutes. He slowed to a saunter, peering through the thick veil of rain penetrating the bleak landscape. He saw nothing but a heavy grey haze sitting a few feet in front of him, and the muddy dirt encircling him. It was a quaint little silence save for the rain pattering against his armor.

It had been some time yet Khrelan still had not come across their downed vehicle. He wished his commander had given him so much as a pair of coordinates to go off of but apparently she had nothing of the sort. Just go out and find the ship and any survivors. Khrelan didn't mind the task, but the blandness of the environment was driving him a little mad. Finally, Khrelan had come across something. A few yards in front of him, through the fleeting fog, a plume of thick black smoke rose from a gash in the dirt. This was their grounded ship.

The craft wasn't very large, a fighter at most. Or at least what Khrelan could make out from the smoldering wreckage. It appeared to only be a single seater, and considering there wasn't a body in the cockpit, Khrelan had to go on a search and rescue mission. He reported in to his commander, notifying her of the wreckage. She gave him the confirmation to pursue their surviving pilot. Luckily for Khrelan the rain was letting up, and tailing it was a relentless onslaught of wind. He turned from the craft, following what looked like human footprints leading further from the direction of the outpost. He didn't fancy wandering so far away from familiar territory but if it meant saving someone's life then he was up for the challenge. He pressed on through the torrent of wind and drying red mud.

Khrelan looked up to see a figure in the distance, shrouded by a light haze. He sank to his knees, rifle aimed at the figure. Please don't be a Remnant soldier, Khrelan thought to himself. The Remnant and The Commune hadn't been on good terms since... well, ever. The two's ideals differed massively, causing a large scuffle between them. If Khrelan had to report a Remnant soldier this deep into Commune territory a war would erupt.

The humanoid hadn't noticed Khrelan yet, which was good for him. It allowed him more time to peg it as a friendly or not. He scanned the figure's uniform as best he could, searching for the Remnant's infamous brand. Nothing. Khrelan couldn't make out anything that confirmed the figure as a tango, but Khrelan wasn't about to reveal himself to this unknown. The figure was closing the gap between them quickly now, clearing about ten yards in a few seconds. Finally, Khrelan could determine the origins of this person. A Forgotten Orient member, most likely the surviving pilot judging from their uniform. Forgotten Orient? What are they doing all the way out here?

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