Niko, Amali, and Kaffron, temporarily hitched up in Pinarro, a small rural town in western Matherland. Comprised of seedy, run-down shops and barren, dusty fields, the sparsely-populated go-between town rested at the basin of a large mountain valley. Niko emerged through the door of a shoddy, three-story motel and stood against the crisp October air. His arms raised high, his torso stretching as he took a breath. He traipsed around the room scratching his belly while his bare feet scuffed along the stained carpet. Bits of food, cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, and random magazines lie strewn along the chipped, black coffee table.

“Damn, thought I was messy.”

Niko walked past the tiny kitchen and tiptoed through the hall to one of the bedroom doors. He peeked through the cracked door into the dark room, where Amali and Kaffron lie asleep, their half-nude bodies clumped together. Her bare thigh peeked through the sheets as she shifted, revealing hints of the soft crease between her breasts. Niko spasmed abruptly, then quietly shut the door and left the inn. He ventured across the dry terrain, shielding his eyes from the warm sun spots reflecting on the grainy, white sand. Through the white-hot light, hazy forms moved in the distance. They appeared to be strange, shrouded people walking in a line, one after the other across the plain.

I been through more shit in two months out here than seventeen years back home. But I made it. You see that, Pop? I’m gonna make it! Niko’s hands gripped inside his pants pockets while the wind rustled his thick hair. He kicked a stray rock as he walked, his stride picking up as he booted the rock along the ground. Something feels different, bein’ out here—like I’m tougher, or something. Niko scooped up the rock, his fingers curling tightly over its gritty surface. He tossed it up and caught it, his hand squeezing over it. He kept on, flicking it into the air and catching it.

Damn, gettin’ another headache. He stopped and massaged his forehead, the cold air pressing into him. Shit just comes and goes, and it always screws me up! Niko turned around and started walking the other way, his hand clutching the rock. Dust swirled around him in the breeze, brushing over his shirt as it blew by. Niko pushed through it and flailed his arm to disperse the dust. He stopped walking and looked down to his fist, where within he felt little granules rolling around between his fingers. His eyes widened as he opened his hand, littered with tiny pebbles. The heck did I do that? I didn’t even feel anything!

Several yards behind Niko, a pair of hooded wanderers unknowingly observed him, covered with thin, green fabric garments and satin bindings around their heads to protect them from the wind. “Strange, why’s this kid out here by himself?” one man said to the other.

“He could just be a nomad.”

The first man removed his hood, revealing white cloth wraps underneath that showed only his eyes. The short one’s complexion appeared darker and tanned, the taller man’s lighter and paler. “He certainly dresses like one. Still, better just to make sure,” the tall man said.

He put the shroud back on and they inched closer, crouching behind the rising dunes and rocky outcroppings. From the corner of his eye, Niko noticed the strangers nearing him.

“Who’s out there?”

The first man flinched, and held up his arms upon standing. “Hi there. Sorry to startle you.”

“Who are ya?” Niko asked.

The man took off his hood and facial wraps. “Didn’t mean to intrude—just surprised to see someone else all the way out here.”

In his late twenties, with green eyes and clean-shaven, the ashen man had unusual markings on his face, including five tiny dots underneath his right eye.

“Then what’re you doing way out here?” Niko asked.

“My friend and I are looking for new locations to practice.”

“Your friend?” The man turned around and motioned to his friend, still watching behind the dune. “Practice for what?” Niko asked.

“Marko, you think it’s wise to yield our information? He could be one of them,” the short, dark man cautioned.

“He’s got no markings that indicate he’s a Hexor. Besides, he’s got color in his eyes,” replied the first man.

Niko rolled his eyes. “I’m just passin’ through here on my way to Marburg. My name’s Niko.”

“I’m Marko. This is Omri. We’re followers of the ancient Rurian civilization.”

Niko shook Marko’s hand. “Good meetin’ ya. Where you guys headed?”

“Pleasure, Niko. Omri and I are searching for a safe place to plant these seeds for the earth gods,” he said while holding up a tiny sack of seedlings.

“Earth gods, huh? You guys believe in that stuff?” Niko said with crossed arms.

“The Rurians believed the earth gods give to us so we can give back to them. By sustaining one another, we can all prosper.”

“Wow, never heard that before. I guess you like readin’ stories too, huh?”

Marko chuckled. “It seems odd to say in this day and age, I suppose. We’re looking to spread knowledge across the country—maybe even the world. The Rurians didn’t believe in separating based on religious beliefs; there is good in everything.”

“Almost everything,” Omri said, giving Niko a suspicious look. “Supposing there’s nothing to hide.”

Niko shrugged his arms. “I ain’t tryin’ to stop you. I don’t really believe in religion or…whatever the heck it is you guys do!”

Omri turned away, his brown eyes glaring at Niko. “I see. Perhaps that why you’re out here; you’re lost.”

“Dude, I walked here,” Niko retorted.

Marko pulled a handful of seeds from the bag. “I think my friend means ‘lost’ on a different level, but he means well. Anyhow, Niko, why don’t you help our cause? It always feels good to be part of something.”

“Sure, I guess.” Niko examined the hodgepodge of black, brown, and green seeds. “Kinda seeds are they?”

Marko held up his finger. “I won’t ruin the surprise for you.” He winked at Niko as he tied his face wraps back on. “Take care, my young friend. See where the road takes you.”

Niko looked in their eyes for a moment, then carefully put the seeds in his pocket while the two men walked off. Phh, I’m lost alright…

Farther west lie a larger, more affluent part of Pinarro, less rustic, but still sprinkled with a hint of western ruggedness. Townspeople socialized in a large plaza in the heart of town, and among its locales stood a rowdy saloon where many bandits and other lower-class locals loitered. A large bar swept across the ground floor, overlooking a large dining area with crowds of people laughing, drinking, and dancing. Amali and Kaffron stood at the entrance, attired in fancy clothing to disguise themselves. She wore a tight leather dress that stopped just above her knees and a pair of black heels. She stepped forward, lightly tripping on her obnoxious footwear.

“Damn it, Kaffron, you know I hate dressin’ like a girl!”

He ran his hand over her backside. “Hey, for what it’s worth, babe, they look damn good on you.”

She shook him off, poking his bulging arm. “Yeah, well least my stuff fits, meathead. Even a car cover’s too small for you.”

“Hey, pubs like this are a gold mine. People come from all over. It’s like havin’ our own box of assorted chocolates. You could say this is a chocolate bar.”

Amali sneered. “How is it they let you carry a gun?”

Kaffron chuckled. “‘Cause I aim high. Where you wanna meet up?”

“Back there.” Amali pointed to an open patio area near a window overlooking the plaza outside.

“Perfect.” Kaffron felt around his backside and rested a hand on his concealed gun. “Let’s do it.”

They parted ways and snuck into the crowds. Amali ambled casually over to the bar and ordered a cherry vodka martini. While acclimating to the lively tavern ambience, she glanced around the bar for her first victim. From the people she saw, she could tell they were city locals and didn’t possess anything really valuable. A well-dressed woman much like herself approached from her right. Amali’s eyebrow flicked abruptly, as if some radar inside her had been activated. The woman, slightly older, sat on a stool next to her. The bartender handed Amali her cocktail. She held the glass while fixing her gaze on the woman beside her. The ravishing-looking lady adjusted her hair, exposing the purse perched in her lap.

Amali took a sip. “Wow, your hair is gorgeous. What do you use?”

The woman looked at Amali, her eyes looking down her long, slender nose. “Oh, thank you. My stylist does it. Perhaps I can recommend someone for you.”

Amali smiled superficially and took another drink, firmly squeezing the glass stem. Let’s see her brush that hair without a scalp. She twiddled the olive from the cocktail in her fingers and flicked it at the woman’s head. The woman frantically looked around and rubbed the back of her head. She stared at Amali, who casually imbibed with her other arm tucked beneath her chest. She slugged the last of the drink and slapped the glass onto the counter. “Hey, ‘nother martini down here,” she said to the bartender.

The bartender set down another glass. Amali plucked the olive from the toothpick and fondled it between her fingers. She ran her fingers through her hair and feigned a simple grooming motion, then flicked the olive above her head. It plopped down into the woman’s drink, lightly splashing her. The woman flinched, and her purse fell onto the floor. Amali casually slid an empty beer bottle off the counter, shattering it and startling everyone at the bar. While the onlookers got caught up in the ruckus, Amali snuck beneath the benches and crawled underneath the table with the purse tucked under her arm. She came out at the opposite end and sauntered over to a small blackjack table where a group of men were engaged in a poker match.

“Mind if I join in?” she said, swaying a bit.

One man eyed her from head to toe, and snickered. “Get lost, lady.” He turned back to the game and tossed a couple money bills on the table. “Fine, Mr. Vernon, I raise ya. Lay ‘em down,” the man said.

“Two jacks, two tens.”

“Today ain’t your day. Full house.”

The portly, short-black haired Mr. Vernon threw his cigar down and stomped off in a huff. The smug roughneck sat with his hefty pile of money, simpering. Amali took a swig from a discarded, half-full beer bottle. “Wow, not bad,” she said.

“Who are you, broad?”

“I’m your reward for winnin’, hon.”

The man spat his toothpick out. “What, you a hooker or somethin’?”

“I’m whatever you want,” Amali replied.

“Man, the smell of booze on a woman…” He rubbed his gloved hand over her firm thighs. “Whatcha chargin’?”

Amali lowered her bodice, caressing a hand over her upper chest. “Eighty per hour, baby—and I’m wide open.” She parted her thighs and exposed her underwear, then slapped her arm onto the poker table. “Let’s ditch this place.” She took another chug of the used beer bottle and knocked it to the floor.

“Damn, you sure are ready to go, ain’t ya?” he said.

He got up and packed the Dinara in his knapsack. Amali took his hand and escorted him across the room. They hurried past another table, where Kaffron stood away from them, knee-deep in a poker match. A smirk filled his cheek while they shuffled by. Amali and the stranger rushed out of the bar into the quieter lounge area, lit by the dark lighting above them while provocative dance music played softly in the background. They brushed through a pink curtain hanging against the wall at the end of the lounge, leading to the secluded back room.

“Come on,” Amali said.

They stepped through a screen of lingering cigarette smoke toward a small sofa. Wasting no time, their bodies intertwined, kissing one another intensely. She gnawed his lower lip and sprawled herself over the soft cushions.

“Alright, babe, let’s not waste any time, eh?” the guy said.

Amali untied the straps on her bodice and pulled her top off, unveiling her breasts. She tugged down his jeans and enticed his swelling genitals, playfully digging in her nails with every stroke. He slipped her underwear past her ankles and their warm bodies smushed against each other. Amali wrapped her legs around his hips while her damp, curvaceous body clung to the vinyl cushion. Short spurts of lustful breath heaved through her pert lips. He leaned over her during climax, sweat trickling over her arched body. Her warm breath poured through her lips as she kissed him, their lips dangling with saliva as she pulled away. He shook himself off while Amali still lie on the cushion, her lips parting as she breathed. He rummaged in his pockets and dropped a few bills beside her.

“There ya go sweetheart, eighty.”

She tucked it into her bodice and redressed herself. “Thank you, babe.” She kissed him again, softly blowing in his ear. “How ‘bout slippin’ me a little something extra?”

He put a hand on his hip. “How much extra?”

“Whatever you want. Maybe another twenty or thirty?”

He huffed. “Get serious.”

“Oh come on, wasn’t I good?” Amali ran her fingers over his chest.

“Forget it, toots,” he said, slapping her butt. “I already paid ya. Now get outta here.”

“Oh, just do me a favor, hon. You know how tough it is in the streets.”

He snatched up his shirt and slung it around his neck. “That’s just where you belong, ya greedy whore.”

Amali backed away and retrieved her purse. With her back to him, she pulled a small buck knife from her belt. She turned around with arms folded behind her, then casually put her arms around him.

“What else do you want?” he said with a smug grin.

Amali leaned closer and tightened her embrace, her lips snarling. “I want to taste your blood.”

She stabbed him in the back, savagely twisting the blade into his flesh while blood splattered over the floor. He fell against her chest, his hands clasping her dress. Blood spewed from his mouth. “You rotten whore…!”

After seizing his knapsack, Amali yanked him by the hair and kissed his bloody mouth. “I’m not the one on my knees, sweetheart.” She shoved him onto the floor and walked out of the room, wiping the blood from her lips.