13th Bullet: Red Indians Want Me DEAD despite my DIZZI HeaD.

Balt was like any other desert bandit in the vast Badlands. He was just another no-lifer, robbing travellers but never pulled the trigger. Always the butt of the jokes, he simply joined the Chain Dogs in the hopes of getting some quick cash. But now he was safe in the comforts in the dune buggy trunk, hiding in the hidden compartment. His commander, Black Hand Monroe, was the most terrifying man he had ever seen. The second most terrifying was his boss, Yanka Hudelson. 

And now this boy had taken the second spot.

Vadars bashed the bandits, left, right, centre, up, down and everywhere. Each of them fell. The Killright ducked under a loaded barrel and launched a close uppercut to the jaw. The bandit flew back and he fell to the ground, head dazed just like Vadars.

Vadars swayed side to side, his brain spinning. His vision was swimming like a storm. It took every cell in his body in order to stand up right. He heard another scream, he was getting really sick of all the screaming, and saw Yanka hold the young traveller in hulking muscles of his arms. The girl kicked and flailed but to no avail. A large pistol jammed against her head. Vadars glared at the bandit boss and held his Death Arm tightly.

"Let go... of the girl," Vadars demanded. He was in no position to be making demands. His head was throbbing and the hostage was a squeeze away from dying.

"I'll let the girl go," Yanka replied. "As long as you let me go and give me your valuables, I'll let you and the travellers live."

"And your men?"

"Nothing but soldiers that are prepared to fall for my sake." He smiled, showing his bad teeth. "That's what they signed up for. Their defeat is nothing more than wind in the air. Now, let me go and give me your gold, boy."

Vadars grunted and dropped his Death Arm. Yanka smiled and tossed the girl to Vadars. The girl stumbled into his arms and she pushed him off, cursing him in some foreign language. The man laughed as Vadars reached into his coat and grabbed a small sack of gold. Vadars walked over to the man, gold in hand, and he exploded with a rocketing punch to the bandit's face, all his strength and energy unloading into the single blow that twisted the boss' jaw.

Yanka flew in the air and crashed into the ground as Vadars smiled as the victor with a sore head. He then fell over and passed out cold.

                                                                                   ♱♱♱

After what seemed to be about ten to fifteen minutes of sleeping, Vadars had risen like nothing had happened. He lugged his Death Arm onto his shoulder and walked over to the slightly shaking travelling women. One of the three, the girl a bit younger than him, held a pistol and pointed it at him.

A brow raised from him. "Seriously? I just saved you guys, passed out and you're pointing a gun at me?"

One of the woman, the eldest one, held the young girl back. The chattered something in a language Vadars couldn't understand. It sounded like some kind of Red Indian language.

"Hello?" Vadars said, head tilted. 

After their rapid argument, the eldest woman walked forward, holding the gun but not raised. "I'm sorry, Killright," she said. Her English wasn't too good. It sounded like she was trying to force every word to sound coherent but it only made things worse. "She didn't mean to threaten you. You see, we're merchants that are trying to sell our herbs from our native village to San Francisco's market."

Vadars nodded. "Don't mention it. A gun pointed in my face is probably one of the more kinder greetings."

The young girl spat something very rude in their language and the eldest woman shouted back, instantly silencing her. The third woman, perhaps entering her ripe adult years, was very quiet. She only hid behind the elderly woman and the young girl, not wanting to get in the crossfire.

"Mr. Killright," the eldest woman said, "we ask of your assistance. You see, since we're going to San Francisco, may you help us with your security?"

Vadars thought. Well, he had no idea where Uvo and the others were. Usually when they got separated, they all made a silent agreement to go to the location they promised to go to. The Desert Mover was quite banged up so there was no point in going in there. Besides, he couldn't just leave these poor Natives on their own.

"Fine," he concluded. "We'll just use their buggy and get going. Besides, I'm also heading to San Fran."

The elder woman smiled with delight, tears almost welling in her eyes and bowed a million times.

"Thank you!" she said. "Thank you so much! We're forever in your debt."

"Don't mention it," Vadars said with a smirk.

The Killright ushered the women into the buggy and he first drove to his Desert Mover, packing it onto the vehicle and driving it. He wasn't a good driver. They hit multiple bumps and stopped quite a lot to check if any damages were done. As they travelled, Vadars realised he had to take apart the heavy armour and the gang symbols scribbled onto their transport. Any unwanted eyes would instantly target them. Sure, many bandits would steer clear but any rivals gangs would tear them to bits. This was the much safer option. 

Once the sun settled, they set up camp and they travellers created a stew, accompanied by bread, for all of them to eat with dried meats and diced vegetables. Vadars wolfed down the food with delight and drank hungrily. After all that fighting and trash talk, his insides felt as if they were about to eat him. The other two ate already and went to sleep in the buggy. All that remained was the elderly woman and Vadars.

"I'm glad you enjoy it," the elderly woman said with joyful smile.

"This is really tasty, miss," Vadars complimented. "I haven't had a cooked meal like this since forever."

"Well, my village always regarded me as its best chef. And please, call me Awenasa."

"I don't think they're lying." He beat his chest and let out a little burp before tuning himself down. "So, San Francisco, you got relatives there as well?"

"Oh, no, no. None at all. Our village is quite small, our tribe being only of twenty-two. We used to have more people until..." She turned solemn for a moment. Vadars leaned in a bit, offering his ears to listen to her tale. "You see, our village once thrived with over fifty back when I was a small child. We sang, the men hunted and farmed, the women took care of the children and the children played and listen to tales before their nightly rest. Until, one day, our village was attacked."

Vadars felt an ominous feeling grow in his stomach. 

"Desperados..." he breathed.

"Correct," Awenasa answered grimly. "When I was around a young adult, a group of four attacked our village with their scythes. They killed the fighting men and..." she swallowed heavily, her face sweating. "Murdered our children. Our village elders used all sorts of magic, spells and chants but they only hindered them. Luckily, some of us managed to escape and hide. But, I knew they let us live. They could've killed us without effort but the let us live. I don't know why..." her eyes began to shed small tears but she wiped them away quickly. "Ever since then, many of our villagers began to reignite their Killright hate. I, however, was taught by my mother not to hate the Killrights. Although they did not aid us, we couldn't expect them to. We were remote but the villages hated them regardless. They blamed the Killrights and Death for the creation of Desperados."

Vadars nodded slowly and looked at the buggy. "So the girl, she hates Killrights?"

"Correct. Her name is Sasa, the other is Yona, who is my daughter. Sasa's parents were killed in the attack." Awenasa looked at the buggy. "Sasa had never been the same since she was old enough to learn the truth of her parents. She wanted to spend less and less time in the village and wanted to travel away, even for a day or two. When she was of age, they let her come to these long market travels with us."

"With only a gun and not even a horse?"

She looked down at her fidgeting hands. "We're not fortunate enough for such things..."

He stood up and dusted himself. "I'm sorry for your loss and I don't blame her of her hate for Killrights." He looked away. "We're kinda pathetic at times... I really wish that..." His voice began to sound strangled. "That we could protect everyone."

Awenasa continued to look down before noticing his clenched fist. His hands was tightly packed to the point where she assumed his palm was drenched in blood. Whoever this boy was, he surely had a pain so deep and close to theirs. And all she could do was watch like she did to her own people.

                                                                                           ♱♱♱

When the morning had shown its face, the dune buggy had long been moving. It took the until the evening to arrive at that old wooden sign on the large hill that read:

San Francisco, population of approx. 230000

The setting sun had created an illuminating light of the city. The neon lights and wood structures blended wonderfully together. Dazzling vehicles of all kind, from Desert Movers to dune buggies to horses and carriages, dressed the whole city. The honks and exhaust of factories piled on the other side and the rippling waters rocked gently by the coast with soft shakes. The bricks, wood and steel harnessed together as one, overall shifting everything into the grand views and ultimately forming San Francisco. It was odd yet comforting as if it was meant to belong. 

They rolled down and eventually ditched the buggy near the entrance of the city. Vadars slung his wrapped Death Arm onto his shoulder and pulled his Desert Mover out. The women, bags held and tightly standing together, all bowed and parted Vadars. The girl, however, didn't bow and only muttered a mixed thanks.

Vadars didn't care but bowed regardless. It was odd bowing but he felt like he should out of respect. They didn't really say much at all. Vadars pulled his Desert Mover, hood up, and rolled down the sidewalk. He remembered a distinct conversation between Enda and the other Delta Killrights about the Natives. They were one of the first people to roam the Badlands after the Virtuevice War, he inferred. They also, like the people of Brinehook, hated Killrights, just as Awenasa had said. 

Only this time, a lot of them did with a burning passion. 

Over the time, that hate died down. He was lucky to meet such nice Natives except that one girl. 

He didn't blame her at all. Killrights were only so many people. Primus and Beta primarily did A-class missions in the Living Realm whilst Tertius rarely joined in as well. And it wasn't like there was a huge amount of Killrights as well. They were understaffed not because of the lack of skill but rather the necessary qualifications for someone to become a Killright to be reached. The drafts had slowly become less and less of quality, leading to many demises.

What he had hoped not for a demise was his Desert Mover, Shirley. Shirley was beautiful. Her body was strong, firm and armoured but not for intense riding such as this. It was originally just for fancy driving and to look rich. But ever since Vadars had ridden her twice, she started looking more used and more warm and 'friendly'.

If he didn't get Shirly to a mechanic, she'd most likely never be ridden again. The mere thought sent Vadars into an eternal shock. No more battling the winds, crashing the rocks, having true freedom from Akio's lectures. 

All gone because of some joy ride.

He dashed into the flashing and glittering lights of San Francisco. Holograms of models and advertisements. Liquor, guns, gambling, all the sorts were popping around him. Horses neighed the vehicles honked in the crowded streets. He had to be careful around here. One slip up and he could be road kill. 

Vadars tried to pass through the streets but horses galloped in the sidewalk. A man carried a woman on the back of his stead. They were pompous, young romantics and it made Vadars sick to the deepest pits of his stomach.

"Dear," the woman said in her big pink designer dress and her melodramatic voice, "your stead is so majestic. The way it trails above these filthy streets, its simply such a shame that the world is like this. But your beauty makes up for this all."

"My dear," the man began, "I appreciate your kind words. I simply adore you and your divine face. If only—"

"Out the way!" Vadars shouted and shoved passed them. The horse cried out and the man fell off into a puddle of something foul.

The man laid in the puddle and leapt up.

"Street urchin!" the man called out. "How dare you! Do you not know who you just shoved?"

"The hell do you think you are?!" Vadars yelled back. "Out of the way, this is a public area! Go say your poems somewhere else, ya moron!"

"You'll rue the day, street urchin! You'll rue the name of Wade Alfonso!"

Vadars didn't bother responding as he already ran deep into the streets and arrived at a shanty store. It was a mix of a shack and somewhat of a shop. The area in general was quite rundown, the clothes getting less and less fancier and the streets starting to crack even more. The store itself was just as rundown. It was a garage and on top of the garage entrance was a sign that read:

Kincaid Motors.

It was a mechanic for sure. All he had to do was walk on over and get his bike repaired and Shirley would be purring like a lazy cat once more.

He banged onto the garage door and yelled like a mad man.

"Hey! I need a mechanic! My baby's dying and she needs help!" He started to bang even louder. "Oi! Grease monkeys! Come out!"

The garage door shifted. The entrance began to arise. Finally, something decent and worthwhile. He'd get his Shirley fixed and he'd be set for the mission—

A young Native man held a large rifle barrel that stared Vadars in the eyes.

"Go to hell, Killright."

Just wonderful.