Dragonland Raiders
Midland was the name of the world's largest metropolis—and also the island on which it stood. Rising in the middle of the North Pacific, the island spanned roughly two hundred thousand square kilometers, about the size of Japan's Honshu.
No matter how massive the metropolis of Midland was, the entire island wasn't a forest of skyscrapers. When ordinary people said "Midland," they usually meant the developed western coastal region.
The rest of it—the eastern areas closer to wasteland—went by its pre-World War name: Dragonland.
Stretching from Dragonland toward Midland was Interstate 15, a highway that cut straight through. With the eastern region mostly wasteland and flat plains, the road to Midland was remarkably straight and desolate.
A little past noon one afternoon, heat haze shimmered silently over the asphalt. Far off in that wavering blur, a few vehicles barreled down the highway.
A hefty trailer truck, flanked front and rear by two pickup trucks hugging close.
They cruised at a steady clip—not too fast, not too slow. Midland's skyscrapers loomed not far ahead. Soon, the long, boring stretch of Interstate 15 would end, giving way to the heart of the city. The drivers in the lead and trailing vehicles looked relaxed.
The trouble started when three heavily modified pickups burst from the wasteland on the highway's left side, kicking up clouds of dust.
The lead vehicle spotted them first. The heavily armed fighter in the passenger seat keyed his radio.
The fighters in the trailer escorts immediately checked their weapons and braced for combat. They could see the modded trucks roaring through the dust clouds.
Right away, an amplified voice boomed from the lead vehicle's speakers.
"Halt! Halt! Do not approach further! Any closer, and we'll treat it as trespassing on company property and open fire! This warning is based on Midland administrative statutes!"
Undeterred by the warning, the modded trucks charged straight at the trailer. When it was clear they weren't stopping, the lead fighter grabbed his radio.
But before he could finish, armored panels dropped from the modded trucks, unleashing a barrage of small rockets. The fighter's eyes widened at the sight.
An instant later, an explosion engulfed the lead vehicle, hurling it across the highway into the wasteland.
The trailing vehicle's driver saw it and spat a curse.
"What the fuck! What the hell is—"
He should've been twisting the wheel instead of yapping. He didn't get to finish either—another small rocket from a modded truck slammed into him, detonating the vehicle.
In seconds, the trailer's escorts were gone. The modded trucks took their place: two flanking front and rear like before, the last pulling up alongside the trailer.
The door of the racing modded truck flew open. A cybernetic arm—black and white—shot out. Chrome fingers gripped the pickup's roof, hauling the rest of her body up. Silver-gray hair whipped in the wind.
She vaulted onto the roof with agile grace. The midday Midland sun gleamed off her, standing tall atop the vehicle.
Heavy walker boots, military pants, a racing jacket unzipped to reveal a thick tank top underneath. Her rolled-up left sleeve exposed the black-and-white cyber arm, glinting in the light. In her right hand: a massive sniper rifle.
Her long silver-gray hair flew wildly, but the black goggle shades covering her eyes and brows locked sharply on target.
Then the sunroof on her truck popped open, and a buzz-cut bald guy poked his head out. He scanned around wildly before fixing on her and shouting.
"How is it?!"
"Unmanned vehicle! Pop the door and grab the target!"
At her shout, the bald guy clutched a small hardcase and clambered out the sunroof. Just as she said, the trailer was running on autopilot, driverless.
Moments later, as the bald guy reached the roof, she grabbed him with her left arm and leaped.
Their combined weight thudded onto the trailer roof. Her heavy walkers stomped down, her tank top jiggling with the impact.
The bald guy on the trailer roof flung open his hardcase, hunting for a wired net socket.
"How long?"
At her question, he hammered at the tiny screen in his case.
"Three minutes!"
She glanced around at his answer. Soon, she spotted shadows racing down the road from the east. The bald guy saw them too—his face paled.
"...They've got backup."
"Just hurry up and open it."
Snapping at him, she stomped to the trailer's rear, raising her sniper rifle. No scope on the gun—her electronic eyes and custom goggles handled that.
She dropped to one knee, aimed, and fired almost simultaneously.
A heavy thung echoed as the closing vehicle jerked backward. But two more followed, returning fire immediately.
Muzzle flashes sparked from the oncoming trucks, bullets whipping past the trailer with sharp ping-ping-thungs right in front of her. She didn't flinch, just shifted targets and squeezed the trigger.
As bullets rained on the trailer, her sniper rifle barked in steady reply. She didn't stop at disabling drivers—they'd just swap and keep coming. So she blew the heads off every fighter inside.
When her gunfire ceased, the backup vehicles had veered off the road, tumbling into the wilds. She stood, snorted through her nose, slung the rifle over her shoulder, and turned.
"Three minutes, huh?"
The bald guy gawked at her in disbelief. Not even three minutes had passed.
"...Almost there."
He dove back into his work. She scanned around sullenly, rifle on her shoulder. They'd kept pace while shooting, so Interstate 15 was nearly done—they were approaching the junction to Midland's elevated highway.
Which meant civilian traffic would thicken soon—and anyone looking up would spot them clear as day on the trailer. Cars already zipped past on the opposite lane.
"Hey! Three minutes was up ages ago!"
"Uh... this..."
"Problem?"
Sweat poured down the bald guy's dome.
"N-need a bit more time. This ain't your average firewall."
"What? Fucking hell, where'd they dig up this wizard wannabe..."
She was about to chew him out when she touched her ear. If anyone had seen her then, they'd have caught her frown even through the half-hidden goggles.
She muttered dumbly at the response.
"One guy?"
At that mutter, a roar of engines thundered from afar. Instinctively, she swung her sniper toward the sound.
The vehicle hurtled from the right side of the junction ahead—angular hood, black body gleaming in the sun. Even from distance, the guttural engine growled.
The sniper lowered her weapon, mouth agape. She tapped her goggles; the black tint cleared to transparency. Her sky-blue eyes fixed on the distant black shape.
"Holy shit... Black Knight? A '77 model? That thing still runs?!"
While she gawked, the trailer and modded trucks swept through the junction onto the elevated highway. The Black Knight slid into the intersection with a screeching drift and followed onto the overpass.
She stared blankly at the smooth maneuver, then shook her head to snap out of it. Hobby was hobby; work was work. She was a pro—she knew the difference.
She raised the sniper again, aiming at the Black Knight. Across the distance, her eyes locked with the driver's.
Half-hidden in the car's shadows, those black eyes stared back, crystal clear.
Meeting that gaze, she shuddered involuntarily. Her legs went weak; her trigger finger froze. Her body locked up like prey before a supreme predator.
Then the bald guy, wrestling the trailer's systems, bellowed.
"Got it open!"
A small hatch on the trailer roof clicked and hissed open. He lunged to grab it.
"It's open! Secure the package!"
Shaking off the eerie hold, she bit her lip and reset her finger on the trigger. Nothing like a normal mage's spell—but whatever it was, she couldn't let it slide. Pros gave as good as they got.
But the bald guy's scream cut her off first.
"Gaaah!"
Whipping around, she saw a blade jutting from his chest—thrust from inside the hatch he'd opened.
He looked at her pleadingly.
"S-save..."
His body floated upward—impaled and dangling. The blade's wielder squeezed through the narrow hatch.
Over two meters tall, limbs packed with muscle, writhing scales, glowing yellow slit pupils, a long tail scraping the roof. Staring at the snake-like face, she whispered.
"Lizardman...?"
At her words, the lizardman's yellow eyes shifted to her, forked tongue flicking.
Next instant, he flung the bald guy's corpse aside. His blade whipped toward her.
"You fucking lizard prick!"
She rolled backward with a curse. The lizardman tilted his head at her dodge. Her sniper rifle tumbled off the roof to the road below.
Righting herself, she hit her radio.
At her order, muzzles poked from the modded trucks encircling the trailer. They opened up without hesitation—hundreds of rounds pouring from the three vehicles in seconds.
She drew her hip pistol, crouching low to dodge stray shots while aiming precisely at the lizardman. But even sighted in, she couldn't pull the trigger.
Not like with the Black Knight—this time, sheer absurdity froze her.
"What the..."
The lizardman just covered his head and gut, hunching. The mercenaries' rifle rounds couldn't pierce his hide. Spent slugs clattered onto the roof amid dull thuds.
Without heavy weapons like on an armored vehicle, ammo would run dry eventually. It did for the mercenaries pouring fire into the lizardman.
Uncurling, the lizardman unleashed a eerie shriek: keeeeh! The massive blade in his hand clanked, splitting into a double-edged sword—blades above and below the grip.
He hurled it spinning like a disc. It cleaved one modded truck clean in half.
The remaining trucks swerved in shock. She gaped in disbelief. The lizardman caught the boomeranging weapon and roared again. Through it all, the trailer kept its steady pace.
A bit behind, trailing them, Roque gripped the wheel of the Black Knight and smirked.
"What a show."
As if agreeing, a raw orc ballad's high notes blasted from the radio.
With the song as backdrop, Roque watched the mercenaries and lizardman ahead, his mind drifting to yesterday morning's meeting with middleman William.