Hot hues of yellow flew by, as if a thousand suns were born then exploded in a miliseconds. Crouching on the jagged concrete with a paper fan in my hand, I watched the mechanic work diligently on the piece in front of him. Sweat trickled down my face, I wish the sun was at least hot enough to evaporate it.

"Are you done yet?" I asked, a gasp between each word.

The noise of metal against metal grinds to a halt. The mechanic flips up his mask and turns his head over to me. His olive skin reminded me of the clay I held in my hand back home as a kid. His eyes like the stones I grabbed from the stream. His face wasn't unkind, but time has been catching up to him.

"Have some patience, Arbor." He says, flashing a smile.

"Just do it like you did last time, Kane."

"If I try to make your beam cannon weigh any less, you're not gonna have the firepower you need in the field." He grabs the piece off of the workbench covered in metal shavings.

He holds up the massive cylindrical weapon. The gray gunmetal clashing against the bright stickers on the firearm. My pride and joy. My best friend. The solution to any equation. Kane drops it back down onto the workbench with a thud.

"Watch it." I hiss, flapping the fan in my face.

"Can't even believe you manage to lug this thing around on this planet. She weighs almost as much as you do." Kane laughs. He presses a few buttons at his workbench, the machines begin to whirr.

"I'll be off of this shithole soon." I chuckle.

I turn my head over my shoulder, pushing back strands of black hair. A vast stretch of desert with the only lifeline being asphalt roads. I stare into the vista as the sun ripples across the dunes, grains of sand ocassionally drifting in the sweltering air. A sigh escapes my parted lips.

My vision shifts to the asphalt road. The faded in the middle bouncing in my vision. Then continues to bounce up and down, increasing in intensity. My hands meet my knees as I shoot up, walking out of the brief shade of the garage.

A hand comes over to cover the top of my face, squinting down the road. Massive clouds of dust trail behind a pristine white limosuine. The silver grill of the car dances underneath the light of the sun. The limo slows to a crawl as it parks in the lot next to the garage. The door shuts as quickly as it opens.

Out steps is a man dressed as sharp as the point on a dagger. His blazer was scaley and pearly white while his pants were pressed and black. His slickbacked blonde hair was held in place by a pair of brown tinted sunglasses that hung on top of his head like a hairband.

"Kaneee." He chimes, stepping closer to the garage. He shoots me a look with his grey eyes, a brief acknowledgement. In that moment I felt, maybe even knew, that I was simply dirt for him to walk all over. A large belt hung around his waist, with a hand resting softly on a revolver that dangled on it.

A beaded string swayed at the bottom handle of the firearm. A simple charm attached with a smiley face with a tongue out. His thumb gently pulled back the hammer on the revolver. What felt like seconds turned into days and my gun is miles away.