The sun is a dying furnace. Engines snarl across the dunes as a gang of leather-clad beasts tear through the Bone Route, chains rattling, laughter echoing. Villagers scatter like sand. The Chrome Vultures raise their banners of rusted steel, hunting fuel, women, food, and fear. Amid the chaos, a lone figure steps from the heat-haze, muscles coiled, eyes cold. Someone’s about to explode in more ways than one.