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Description
Lethal Habits

“WooOOOWIE!”

Sand churned in a spray transforming into a miniature desert storm behind the wheels of the iron bandit technical. Hollow eyes peered out through the white soulless mask at the passing landscape known as The Dust. Another scream, louder, more grating than the last.

“WooooOOW!”

“Shut UP!”

There was a snap and bang as not only the short man’s head exploded, but so did the shotgun shells from the raider’s gun. The bleeding body slumped as the other members of the speeding technical heaved the now lifeless sack of meat overboard. The white mask of the once alive psycho was torn asunder and decorated in blood and sand, left to rot far behind. The raider who had delivered the kill nursed the Jacobs shotgun in his hands and scoffed behind his own scarlet headgear.

“Psychos…”

“Everything alright?” called the driver. The raider watched his fellow companions. One other psycho and two more raiders. The squad of criminal nobodies lounged about in the truck bed of the jeep - or as some of the psychos liked to call it, a terrain crawler - as if nothing had happened. This was what it meant to live on the wastoid planet of Pandora. Kill or be killed. Or just kill for fun. Whatever came first.

“Just drive,” the raider ordered as he settled back in to inspecting his weapon. The driver shrugged, undeterred. Yeah, this was what it meant to live period.

ffffFFPP!

“What the -?”

FFP! FFP!

The raider hit the floor of the technical’s bed, watching as the three of his comrades dropped. There was no thunderous crack, no bang to suggest a close range artillery discharge. Just the silent ffFP as the bullet struck its target and each of the bandit’s heads exploded. They didn’t even have time to cry out. Bits of brain had splattered the raider’s clothing, but he couldn’t dwell on his comrades’ mess just yet. As he lay on his stomach, his gun raised, he became aware of several things. The first was that whoever was sniping them was notched in one of the cliffside crevices they now drove beneath. The second was that the driver was still unharmed, and attempting a very tumultuous evasive maneuvering technique that did little except make the raider sick. The third was that that the evasive maneuvering had merely distracted the raider from the fact that his enemy was actually standing in the bed right behind him.

He rolled onto his back, raising his shotgun and aiming down the barrel into the silhouette of the devil against the backdrop of the desert sun. He tried to shoot, but the stranger - dressed in a midnight black bodysuit and oblong glass helmet - was faster. Blue streaked across the raider’s peripheral vision as the glass sword cleaved the raider’s arm from his side. He screamed as blood arced in spurts from the wound. The demon kicked the gun away and crouched over him. It was only then that the Jacobs raider could better witness who it was that took such delight in this game. The man - was it a man? - was covered completely in a lithe, skin-tight jet and onyx armor. The faceplate was tinted, ovalular, and glass. With the man - creature - thing, this close, the raider could even detect the small grooves of scars along the helm’s surface from past combat.

“Wh-Wh-Who?” the raider rattled, eyeing the long, lethal blue (now decorated red) katana in the killer’s grip.

“I am a shadow,” came the eerie robotica response. “Always lurking from your sight / They call me Zer0.” And with that the sword sank into the supple flesh of the raider’s stomach. Pain, blinding, overwhelming, torturous. Then, another crack, and blackness. Zer0 pulled his sword free, tucked and rolled off of the back of the vehicle as after another moment the driver too was shot sending the car in a barrel flip over a nearby dune. As the assassin straightened up, shaking the sand from the lining of his clothing, he glanced up at his hidden companion situated on the nearby cliffside.

“Not to be a downer, Amigo,” Mordecai’s voice came over his ECHO, “but I thought we we were sniping them, not being sadists.”

Zer0 radioed back, “I enjoyed that.”

Mordecai snorted and took a swig of his raak ale.

Description
Lethal Habits

“WooOOOWIE!”

Sand churned in a spray transforming into a miniature desert storm behind the wheels of the iron bandit technical. Hollow eyes peered out through the white soulless mask at the passing landscape known as The Dust. Another scream, louder, more grating than the last.

“WooooOOW!”

“Shut UP!”

There was a snap and bang as not only the short man’s head exploded, but so did the shotgun shells from the raider’s gun. The bleeding body slumped as the other members of the speeding technical heaved the now lifeless sack of meat overboard. The white mask of the once alive psycho was torn asunder and decorated in blood and sand, left to rot far behind. The raider who had delivered the kill nursed the Jacobs shotgun in his hands and scoffed behind his own scarlet headgear.

“Psychos…”

“Everything alright?” called the driver. The raider watched his fellow companions. One other psycho and two more raiders. The squad of criminal nobodies lounged about in the truck bed of the jeep - or as some of the psychos liked to call it, a terrain crawler - as if nothing had happened. This was what it meant to live on the wastoid planet of Pandora. Kill or be killed. Or just kill for fun. Whatever came first.

“Just drive,” the raider ordered as he settled back in to inspecting his weapon. The driver shrugged, undeterred. Yeah, this was what it meant to live period.

ffffFFPP!

“What the -?”

FFP! FFP!

The raider hit the floor of the technical’s bed, watching as the three of his comrades dropped. There was no thunderous crack, no bang to suggest a close range artillery discharge. Just the silent ffFP as the bullet struck its target and each of the bandit’s heads exploded. They didn’t even have time to cry out. Bits of brain had splattered the raider’s clothing, but he couldn’t dwell on his comrades’ mess just yet. As he lay on his stomach, his gun raised, he became aware of several things. The first was that whoever was sniping them was notched in one of the cliffside crevices they now drove beneath. The second was that the driver was still unharmed, and attempting a very tumultuous evasive maneuvering technique that did little except make the raider sick. The third was that that the evasive maneuvering had merely distracted the raider from the fact that his enemy was actually standing in the bed right behind him.

He rolled onto his back, raising his shotgun and aiming down the barrel into the silhouette of the devil against the backdrop of the desert sun. He tried to shoot, but the stranger - dressed in a midnight black bodysuit and oblong glass helmet - was faster. Blue streaked across the raider’s peripheral vision as the glass sword cleaved the raider’s arm from his side. He screamed as blood arced in spurts from the wound. The demon kicked the gun away and crouched over him. It was only then that the Jacobs raider could better witness who it was that took such delight in this game. The man - was it a man? - was covered completely in a lithe, skin-tight jet and onyx armor. The faceplate was tinted, ovalular, and glass. With the man - creature - thing, this close, the raider could even detect the small grooves of scars along the helm’s surface from past combat.

“Wh-Wh-Who?” the raider rattled, eyeing the long, lethal blue (now decorated red) katana in the killer’s grip.

“I am a shadow,” came the eerie robotica response. “Always lurking from your sight / They call me Zer0.” And with that the sword sank into the supple flesh of the raider’s stomach. Pain, blinding, overwhelming, torturous. Then, another crack, and blackness. Zer0 pulled his sword free, tucked and rolled off of the back of the vehicle as after another moment the driver too was shot sending the car in a barrel flip over a nearby dune. As the assassin straightened up, shaking the sand from the lining of his clothing, he glanced up at his hidden companion situated on the nearby cliffside.

“Not to be a downer, Amigo,” Mordecai’s voice came over his ECHO, “but I thought we we were sniping them, not being sadists.”

Zer0 radioed back, “I enjoyed that.”

Mordecai snorted and took a swig of his raak ale.