Chapter 01 Crash and the Rust King

Dune Vega walked into the bar with a swagger. The air inside was thick with dust, low hum of the neon lights buzzed in the corner, barely illuminating the sullen faces scattered around the dark room. A few whispers, a couple of grunts, and the sharp scrape of chairs against cracked tile were all that filled the silence.

She took a glance at the man behind the counter, his face hidden beneath a shadow of greasy hair. The bartender caught the glance, barely flinching. With a flick, Dune sent a small gear his way. The gear landed with a satisfying clink next to the bar’s grimy register.

“I’ll take an ice-cold beer. And don’t skimp on the ice this time, old man.”

 The gears were currency here. Made of precious metals, they were more valuable than most things in this forsaken world.

The town wasn’t one she visited often. A place forgotten by most, a hole in the sand that the wind hadn't bothered to erase yet. It wasn’t far from some of the bigger towns, but just obscure enough to keep the crowds away. And that’s how Dune liked it.

A few of the bar’s regulars turned to look at her. She was used to it. Not only was she a woman in a wasteland dominated by men, but she was also known by name. Crash, they called her—mostly out of respect, though some whispered it in fear. She had a reputation for getting things done, no matter the cost. 

She made her way to the furthest empty table in the corner and sat down. Her P-90 SMG rested comfortably at her side and black Desert Eagle strapped to her thigh. But it wasn’t the weapon that made the others uneasy; it was the steel beam that she carried on her back, towering over her like a goddamn monument to violence. The beam had a kiss and heart graffitied across its surface, a remnant of some foolish flirtation in the past. She wasn't bothered by it but it sure got people to look.

Dune wasn’t looking for a fight tonight, though. She wasn’t here for any fun either. She was meeting a client. That was it. 

 A few men at the bar eyed Dune as she took her seat, their gazes lingering on the curves of her body. It wasn’t the first time she’d been ogled, but today, she wasn’t in the mood for flirting. No playful smiles or teasing remarks. No risky kisses that led to trouble. Today, she was here to work, and that meant no distractions. She took a sip of the beer when it arrived, letting the cold liquid burn down her throat.

“Hey there, sweetheart. You sure know how to fill out that suit of yours,” one man called out, leaning on the bar with a smug smile.

The regulars exchanged knowing glances and suppressed snickers. This was Reed, the ‘Rust King,’ a rookie mercenary who, more often than not, got a little too excited about women. His reputation for botched pickup lines and embarrassingly bad attempts at charm was legendary in these parts. 

Reed, towering and broad-shouldered, swaggered over to her table, his eyes glued to the tight fit of her skin-tight suit. A massive monkey wrench hung on his back, a weapon of choice, nearly as big as he was. His partner, Mia, also known as 'The Hawk' stood nearby. She had a massive anti-tank sniper rifle strapped to her back, its brused yet deadly frame almost as tall as she was.

Dune ignored him, keeping her gaze fixed on the door, her hand resting lightly on the handle of her SMG. She wasn’t in the mood for this kind of trouble.

Reed took a few steps toward her.

 “You know, it’s rare to see a woman who can fill out a suit like that,” he continued.

The regulars at the bar exchanged looks, and Dune could see them stifling their laughs. She could feel the heat rising in Reed’s cheeks as he threw out some more corny lines.

She could’ve ended it easily, thrown in a playful quip, let him believe she was interested for a moment, then left him to lick his wounds. But today, Dune wasn’t interested. She was here for business. Not for men. Not for games.

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice came out in a low, mockingly sweet tone. 

“Look, handsome. If you be a good boy and leave me alone, I’ll let you fondle my breast. Just a little. But only if you back off.”

Reed’s eyes widened, his hand twitching toward her chest. A stupid grin spread across his face, a sign that he didn’t get it, that he thought he might be winning.

But before his trembling hand could even reach her, Mia gripped Reed’s wrist with a surprisingly strong hold for someone so small.

“Get it together, idiot!” Mia snapped, “We’re on the job today! Go cool off, get a damn beer, and stop embarrassing yourself.”

Mia wasn’t just trying to keep Reed from getting himself into trouble with Dune. No, it was something else. Mia was tiny and flat, she was jealous of her curves and Reed ogling Dune instead of her. 

Just as the situation threatened to escalate further, the door to the bar slammed open with a gust of wind and sand. Everyone in the room turned their heads.

Mia and Dune said in unison, “Oh look, my client’s here. I got no time—”

 “Your client? No, it's my client.”

Mia flicked her eyes toward Dune.

 “What? No, it’s our client.”

The man stormed into the room, a scowl on his face. He was clearly in a hurry, wearing a long dust-caked coat and a pair of well-worn boots. He rushed over to their table and flopped down into the chair next to Dune with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m late!” he huffed. 

“Had trouble getting here. But I’m here now, so let’s talk about the job. Time’s wasting.”