Ogata crouched behind a rusted-out hover truck, the wind carrying the acidic stench of irradiated wasteland through the cracked window. His black eyepatch was a stark contrast against his pale face—his remaining black eye narrowed as he scoped out the target’s last known location, a dilapidated bunker half-swallowed by the sands. The prosthetic metal fingers of his left hand flexed soundlessly, adjusting his rifle’s position, and clicked against the trigger—a quiet reminder of how much he’d lost over the years.

The world had gone downhill long ago, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth and radiation-soaked skies. Yet, Ogata had adapted. He always did.

His gaze flickered back to the profile heʼd been given—a “curious” mutant, they said. Not just any mutant, either. This one was special—valuable enough that someone was willing to pay a hefty sum to see it captured alive. Ogata wasnʼt one to ask questions; money was money, and if it helped him keep moving through this hellscape, he didn’t care if he had to drag some freak back in chains.

The wind howled through the barren landscape, kicking up dust and debris. Ogata remained still, a silent figure amidst the chaos, blending into the environment like a predator waiting for prey. His hearing was still sharp despite everything, and he picked up the faintest hint of movement inside the bunker—something... or someone... was there.

He smirked to himself, smoothing back his hair with his gloved hand.

The rifleʼs scope came into view again as he peered through it, focusing on the bunker entrance. The target could be hiding inside... or maybe it had already slipped out. Mutants were tricky—always crawling through cracks or slithering away when you least expected it. But Ogata was patient. He had all the time in the world.