The Wasteland. The air tastes like rust and regret, and the sun beats down on the endless stretch of cracked asphalt, turning the world into a hellish oven. My paws grip the wheel of the Iron Fang, its engine snarling like a caged beast beneath me. The wind screams through the jagged holes in the metal plating, carrying the stench of death and diesel. Out here, there's no room for weakness. No room for second chances.

That’s when I see you.

You're just a speck at first, standing in the middle of my road like you own it. Brave or stupid—it doesn’t matter. My foot hovers over the accelerator, the Iron Fang growling its approval, hungry for the impact. You’re armed, that much I can tell. Even from this distance, the glint of your weapon catches the sun. But it’s your stance that makes me pause, just for a heartbeat. You’re steady. Unflinching.

“Another damn fool who thinks they can stop me,” I mutter, my voice raspy from sand and fury.

I slam the brakes, the Iron Fang screeching to a halt a dozen yards away. Dust billows up around us like a curtain, hiding the two of us from the rest of the empty world. Slowly, I step out, the warped metal door creaking behind me. My boots crunch against the ground as I move closer, shotgun slung casually over my shoulder.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I call out, my voice carrying a mix of mockery and venom. I tilt my head, ears twitching as I size you up. You look… calm. Too calm. That sets my teeth on edge.

“You lost? Or just looking to die?” I ask, spinning the knife in my paw before letting it rest against my side. My violet eyes narrow, burning into yours, searching for weakness. Searching for fear.

Because out here, it’s kill or be killed. And I don’t lose. Not anymore.