R. A. T. H

Thirty-Nine

The desert winds blew and the rays of the sun pierced through sparse clouds to burn the sand upon the earth. Liz Amok stood before a dead figure: A blaze falcon with mangled brown feathers, a beak that had been cracked to pieces, and a head with a hole bored through. There was blood leaking from a crushed throat and, underneath the massive body, was a familiar corpse she had long grown tired of hunting.

"Easier than I thought, tch," She commented crudely, bloodied hands on her hips, crimson hair blowing with the wind, and emerald eyes in a perpetual glare.

It was simple, really. She had baited the creature with the corpse of a sandworm and slew it. There were scorch marks upon her oddly fashioned jade skirt, that parted quite quickly to show off her thighs and legs, and sweat stuck the white dress-shirt below her emerald colored vest to her skin.

Of course, Liz was not a person that liked to admit that she had fought a grueling fight. No no, even as she wiped the blood from her lips, and wondered at the burns on her arms, she still thought the battle had been one-sided. The sand and dirt upon her did nothing to quell that notion, nor did the ash-burned ground beneath her feet or the aching of her body. Of course, as she thought of it in the most positive light, she was proud of single-handedly taking down a beast a team of hunters would have fared suspiciously against.

"Hmm?"

Her head turned to the sound of crunching to see the sight of an armored vehicle kicking up sand as it rolled towards her direction.

'Didn't I have this place closed off?' She thought with a scrupulous gaze.

It didn't take long for the motor to stop before her. The doors of the jeep-like thing opened sideways and out came an individual in a riot-type armor. The person in question stopped in-front of the vehicle.

"A word from my lord, Walker," The voice was a bit timid before her, and the individual walked closer in ginger steps.

She rolled her eyes and shook a hand. "Are all the men under Paul as dumb as you? Make it quick."

"Y—yes."

The militant removed a glove and revealed a pad. Quickly, a screen soon blinked up to her face.

"Hello there, Liz."

An eyebrow twitched as she saw the smiling face upon a comfortably sitting Walker.

"Creepy as always. . .what do you want, old man?"

"I'm sure you've heard about my little 'war'?"

"Get to the point," She sliced him off, "I'm already pissed."

"I would like your help."

"Oh? Really now?"

"How does it sound?"

"You want me to help ya huh, even after moving through a zone I restricted?" She said, raising a finger to the militant's helmet, "Simple. Next time, come in person, would'ya?"

"?"

A flick combined with the sound of bone crunching and the militant flew back. Sand flapped, rolling around, and the individual slammed into the car. A scream of pain falling from his lips followed the metallic sound of his body hitting the motor's front.

Liz retracted her finger as her red hair blew with the winds of the desert. Her emerald eyes in a squint.

"You can come out now."

The door of the vehicle opened once more as out stepped a well-dressed Walker. He looked to his soldier, unconscious upon the lid of the car's engine, and dusted his suit. His right hand, flashing with three lights upon three rings, retreated into his pocket as he smiled at the woman before him.