A lone figure wrapped in a wind-battered cloak, that blended with the rocks and sparse vegetation, stood at the edge of a cliff as desert gusts swept through the valley below. His eyes peeked through the opening between his hood and face band. The sun had set and the soaring heat of the day was giving way to a freezing night.
In the distance, he saw a range of jagged mountains with thin, wispy snow on their peaks. Finally, his goal was in sight. Just one more night of walking. Well, probably two. He was still losing strength. He allowed himself a single sip from a hidden water bladder and lurched forward, limping as he followed the precarious path down, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
As the moon began to illuminate the sand and rock formations, he was moving at a relatively slow but steady pace. He looked up at a constellation of white, blue, and violet lights drifting overhead. Yes. That was it. As long as those lights remained in the night sky and kept on moving among themselves like this, there was still hope.
*They need a Fixer*, he thought. *Everyone needs a Fixer today. Too many things, and people, keep breaking.*
With another sip and a small dose of the only painkiller he could find, he continued to trudge toward the mountain range ahead. It was going to be his last destination, one way or another. There was nowhere else he could go. For the last few thousand years the citadels under the past of the lights in the sky had been the last remaining vestiges of human civilization on Earth.
[... ]
The massive metal cage slammed down on the smooth stone floor of a bright and airy loading area. The trio of sweaty, grimy slavers of The Wastes, caked in sand and machine grease, proudly joked about the fate of their trophy.
"What do you think they're going to do with this one?" one of them asked.
"Who knows?" shrugged the second. "But... this place is full of weirdos, so I bet it's gonna be something bizarre."
"Maybe she'll get to have some fun..." grinned the third with a sinister laugh.
"Knock it off!" growled their Leader. "We're here to get the supplies and get out."
A steady clink of a walking stick hitting the floor interrupted their conversation. Nursing a very slight limp, Martin casually strolled toward the cage. His piercing eyes were black, their irises every bit as dark as the pupils. A mop of unruly brown hair with gray streaks framed an otherwise lean face.
He crouched down and looked inside at the waif covered in grime and rags. She was chained to the cage with equipment more fit to secure a bear than a rail thin woman who had barely enough strength to sit.
"Where did you find her?" he asked.
"Just roaming around the desert like all of them," replied the Leader. "Don't worry, I didn't let them touch her."
Martin examined the head slaver. While his helpers were young, he was an older, grizzled bear of a man covered in tattoos and with several prominent implants. Dark cables looped around his shoulders, and one of his eyes was replaced with a large, bulky camera.
"Really? All on her own? Almost naked?" Martin's brow shot up quizzically. "Seems like a lucky break for her that you fine and upstanding gentlemen came across her."
"It is, which is why this one is worth top tier equipment," said one the of slavers. "Young, strong, fit, healthy..."
"She can't even sit up on her own," scoffed Martin.
"Just let her have a nap and you'll be surprised how feisty she gets," chuckled another.
"I don't have all day to negotiate with you," Martin sighed. "Go and get your usual fee from the guards, and ask for a few extra boxes of ammo and med kits."
He looked back into the cage, signaling that he was done with the conversation and the slavers were dismissed.
"What if we..." angrily started one of them, trying to reach for something in his tattered uniform, no doubt stolen from a corpse.
"We understand," thundered the Leader, grabbing his subordinate by the shoulder, twisting his fingers into the pressure points.
Turning around, he pulled the overzealous minion now wincing in pain with him.
"Idiot," he quietly hissed to the subordinate. "Take one good look at his right arm."
The slaver glanced back at Martin. As the sleeve of the man's battered, faded tunic momentarily slipped up, he spotted an odd sliver of dark swirls framed by geometric lines.
"Survivor?" he whispered incredulously to his boss. "And he was that far along?"
"See what I mean?" the Leader nodded, whispering back. "Don't make a scene. This place is good for a steady resupply, and a few extras. Don't take it personally. It's just business. Flesh is everywhere if you know how to look. Come on, let's get our stuff."
Martin smirked a little to himself. Once in a while, he dealt with young slavers' tantrums. It was nice to have experienced elders who knew how to keep them at bay. Now, on to his new charge.
"Hungry?" he asked.
There was no answer. He unlocked the cage and opened the door wide. Slowly, carefully, showing his hands at every step, he took out a small, elongated wooden bowl and unwrapped a piece of fresh bread from the pouch around his belt. He slid the bowl into the cage, unsnapped the carabiner holding a small canteen of water, and gently rolled it after the food.
After a little bit of hesitation, a filthy, chained hand took the bread. It vanished in the blink of an eye. The canteen was quickly drained as well.
"Don't worry, there's more food coming," nodded Martin. "You just need to expand your stomach a little bit first. You've probably been out there with nothing to eat for a few days, maybe even a week?"
She nodded in reply.
He walked around the side of the cage and slid in a key. She watched his every step, noting that he very purposefully took his time. With a strained, groaning clanking, the massive cuffs unlocked as the chains fell onto the floor. She was now free.
She rubbed her wrists and tried to stand up, leaning on the metal to stabilize herself. Regaining some sense of balance, she made her way out of the cage, her bare feet firmly planting themselves into the cool stone of the floor. Wincing, she began to adjust to the light as she looked up at Martin.
Her frame seemed downright fragile, lean with the obvious onset of malnutrition. Ribs were ever so slightly starting to show through the tears in the filthy rags wrapped around her body. Her jet black hair hung in clumps, dust and dirt clung to her face. Looking down, she watched Martin's feet for any forward motion but the man seemed content where he was.
