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"After the recent activities you have had, I would be just as cautious." She mounts her bike with practiced ease and revs the engine. As she turns her bike to head out of town, she turns and says "I wont ever apologize for protecting others!" and while she speeds off the wind will carry a simple message "See you soon!"

The moment she’s gone, the others drift back toward the clinic, the air still humming with the tension she left behind. Out on the ley line, the world feels different. The glowing path crackles unpredictably, arcs of faint energy snapping across her field of view. Even seasoned travelers avoid riding this close when the lines act up. She's never truly understood them, and today they feel restless. More than once she’s forced to cut straight through a shimmering veil of magic, the air prickling against her armor as if something unseen brushes past.

An hour later, the horizon changes. Smoke... thin at first, then thickening as it rises in dark columns to the west. Her stomach tightens. The desert floor begins to tell its own story: bodies sparsely scattered like discarded warnings, civilians by the look of them. Executed with nearly no sign of struggle other than a few trying to run away.

She pushes the bike harder. By her estimate, Drive City is less than ten minutes away at her speed. Then she catches movement in her peripheral vision. A family huddles in the shadow of a rocky valley, desperately trying to stay hidden. They’re poorly equipped, sunburned, terrified. Alive, but dangerously exhausted. She slows just enough to assess them, unsure if they’ve noticed her yet, the engine’s whine tends to echo across the barren landscape.

Sara advances in a slow, deliberate glide, every movement measured, every breath tight in her chest. The land around her is too quiet with no wind, no birds, just the low hum of her hovercycle as she coasts toward the scattered silhouettes of homes on the outskirts of what might be the edge of a larger community. She kills the engine and lets the silence swallow her. Then she scoots the hovercycle behind a cluster of jagged red rocks and a towering three‑pronged cactus, its spines catching the daylight like tiny needles of glass. She crouches low, pressing herself against the sandstone.

Through her SNARLS visor, the world shifts as heat signatures bloom into ghostly outlines. Three figures move inside the nearest home, their bodies lit in molten oranges and reds. Their motions are sharp, frantic, the unmistakable rhythm of looting. But two shapes lie still in the center of the house. Pale. Cooling. Their heat signatures fading like dying embers. Family members, she guesses. Executed. Left where they fell.

A chill crawls up her spine. The air feels thinner. The silence heavier. She steadies her breathing, watching the looters’ outlines flicker across her visor like predators circling a carcass.

A chill crawls up her spine. The air feels thinner. The silence heavier. She steadies her breathing, watching the looters’ outlines flicker across her visor like predators circling a carcass.

Sara's blood runs cold as one of the looters begins violating one of the women's bodies as the rest are gathering valuables, food, supplies. She spots the first looter about to exit the adobe and stucco house. The second one looks to be berating the third about his actions on the deceased woman. Number three seems startled as he jumps up, quickly pulling up his trousers and making himself decent as he begins re-donning his armor.

OOC: Adobe/Stucco is not MDC material, but could equal a few MDC in accumulated SDC.

As soon as the looters exit the building, Sara's eyes narrow and her lips pucker in. Her top teeth bite into her lower lip as she forces patience into her limbs. Her aims focuses in. She zooms in a little more for the mid section. She places her reticle right on the groin as she is about to desecrate a living corpse.

There is hope in her as the trigger is lightly caressed once the violator is alone. If her aim is true, he will still be alive, for now, but never able to defile again as the realization of his grave situation is forced upon him. This is not needless suffering, this is sentencing being passed and carried out.

As he falls to floor, the sounds of agnoy, like justice ringing out, should call another indoors. If only one comes in, she will fix the gaze of vengeance on the one outside. A well place shot at exposed weak points should eliminate that threat.

The fear of the third, as they come out, will be as loud as the last gavel strike on sentencing. While her rifle will make no retort, the soundless screech of terror will echo throughout the region. Justice has come, witnesses have testified and justice has been swift. The victims peace in death has cause for rejoicing.

She will start scanning the channels listening for others as she gets on her bike and approaches the home.
After verifying justice has been served, she will check their equipment and look for a channel/communication gear. If need be, she will take one of theirs. She will gather up their weapons and equipment that will be useful for others in need. That family she passed could use something. Afterwards, she will respectfully lay the victims out and cover them. There will time to properly lay them to rest, for now, justice is needed.

She will head back to that family. She can get Intel and give them a parting gift to help.

Sara’s eyes narrow, her lips tightening into a hard line. Her teeth catch her lower lip as she forces stillness into her limbs through discipline forged from years of training. The rifle rises with her breath. She zooms in, reticle settling on the violator’s groin. A place where his future ends. She waits. Patience is the blade she wields before the shot.

When the others drift away from him, she lets her finger glide across the trigger with a soft tender flick. If her aim holds true, he’ll live long enough to understand exactly what’s been taken from him. This isn’t cruelty. This is judgment.

But the third looter’s crimes burn too deep for restraint. Her shot erupts from the muzzle, a streak of energy that tears through the wall in front of him. Stone collapses, dust billows, and the man drops screaming, his body ruined but stubbornly clinging to life. Justice doesn’t always kill quickly.

His cries drag the other two back inside. They rush toward the breach, framed by the jagged hole in the wall. Sara’s second shot snaps out, precise and merciless. The first man’s helmet disintegrates, and he drops instantly with no time for a final thought.

The last looter panics, sprinting for the far side of the building. Sara tracks him with calm, predatory focus. She waits until he nearly slips behind cover, then brushes the trigger as gentle as touching the surface of a pudding without tearing it. The shot hits. His faceplate vanishes, and he collapses shrieking, clutching himself as if he can hold his life together by sheer will. He can’t. But he understands. And that’s enough.

She scans the comm channels, listening for movement, then mounts her bike and glides toward the house. The wounded man outside writhes, his voice breaking into animal noises before fading to a thin moan… then silence. Shock claims him. Justice completes itself.

Inside, she finds their weapons, composed of cheap pistols, rusted blades. Tools of cowards. The second man died quickly. The violator, though… he still breathes. Barely. His consciousness flickers like a dying bulb, his body ruined beyond repair. Yet he clings to life with stubborn, pathetic tenacity.

Sara’s gaze drifts to the old jeep outside, a single‑shot mini-missile launcher mounted in the back. As she steps toward it, she hears the rapist groan; slowly waking, slowly realizing the nightmare he’s awaking into.

OOC: I backed it up a bit. That roll against the rapist was incredibly low, but enough to hit.

Sara gently tenders to the wounded man. She removes his armor, cleans his wounds and secures him properly in the jeep so as he can't fall out. She will bury the bodies of the family out back in a single grave to spend their time in rest together. Loving embarced. She will place any flowers or anything of beauty on the grave. Anything of worth or value the raiders had, she will collect up.

She will secure her bike to the jeep and take it back to the family she passed. As she pulls up, she will show her hands and say she is not here to harm them. She has some gifts and is here to help.

Sara gently tenders to the wounded man, yet finds that he's finally passed. She removes his armor, cleans his wounds and secures him properly in the jeep so as he can't fall out. She buries the bodies of the family in a single grave to spend their time in rest together in a loving embrace. She places a family picture, made of some waterproof plastic, on the grave. Anything of worth or value the raiders had, she gathers.

She secures her bike to the jeep and takes it back to the family she'd passed earlier. As she pulls up, they hide behind the outcropping of boulders, well obscured from view. As she circles, the rock formation, she can hear them scurrying to stay out of view, but eventually, they aren't able to hide anymore. She shows her hands; gesturing that she means no harm.

The man of the family, which includes two young girls and a rather young woman who could be his daughter or wife... Sara isn't sure, stands in front of his family defiantly. "You stay back! You won't take us alive!"

Hands out, she takes a a knee on the dust.
"I am not here to harm you. I was tasked with providing assistance to those in need from theee bandits." As she nodes towards the jeep and equipment.

"A couple of them found the justice they deserve and I figured you all could use the equipment....and give you a way to make sure your promise cannbe kept."

She slowly stands. She is casual, like a lazy stroll on a Sunday morning. She goes over and starts to unsecured her bike.

"You can use it, you can leave it, it doesn't matter to me. I was hoping I could get a little more details on these raiders. These went down quick and easy but I don't expect the rest too. But the cowards are going down."

Her speed will stay lazy and slow. No sudden jerks or quick movements. She will even try and relax her muscles.

"If you know of any resistant fighters, I would be honored to help..." she adds a pause to allow rage and anger to crescendo in him "....or those who wish to resist!"

Hands out, she takes a knee in the gravel, "I am not here to harm you. I was tasked with providing assistance to those in need from these bandits," as she nods towards the jeep and equipment. "A couple of them found the justice they deserve and I figured you all could use the equipment... and give you a way to make sure your promise can be kept."

"For us? Who are you?" The man asks, only easing up slightly, "Where can we go? It's no longer safe in this area."

Sara slowly stands. She is casual, like a lazy stroll on a Sunday morning. She goes over and starts to unsecured her bike.

A woman with a young boy and girl stand up from behind a rocky outcropping, revealing themselves. The man tenses again, trying to wave them back to cover, yet, they refuse to listen as they look at the jeep.

"That's one of the jeeps they were using," the woman begins sobbing.

"You can use it, you can leave it, it doesn't matter to me. I was hoping I could get a little more details on these raiders. These went down quick and easy but I don't expect the rest to do the same. But, the cowards are going down." Sara's speed remains lazy and slow; no sudden jerks or quick movements. She calms herself, trying to relax. "If you know of any resistant fighters, I would be honored to help," she adds a pause to allow rage and anger to crescendo in him "....or those who wish to resist!"

"I need to get my family to safety first," the man replies. His dark hair is matted with dirt and sweat. He looks to be in his late thirties and is quite tall. "There are about two dozen of them and we overheard them interrogating our neighbors. They're looking for a man named Armin Jackson. I think that's the name... Neighbors died not knowing anything."

OOC: Avg 20 to 27 raiders (-4) leaving 16-23 average. That's a lot of men hunting one guy

He hands a single shot rifle to the woman and raises his hands while slowly walking over, "My name's Aaron Zoanni. Do you know of anywhere they can go that's safe? If so, then do you have spare armor and a weapon for me to help?"

Sara sighs . With a heavy heart, and slowed movements, she turns to Aaron.
"Did you think them safe before?"

A long pause to allow him to think.

"What part of feeling safe, makes you safe?"

After a heartbeat that lasts a lifetime, she slothily turns her head towards his family "Who will give their life to keep them safe?"

As the answers strike his heart, "Safety is an illusion we tell ourselves to not have to face the reality of pain. Their realities of safety are already shattered, they will never feel safe again until they know they can go down fighting. Look into their eyes. Really look into their eyes. You may be afraid of losing them, they are already lost in the fear and the only way out is for them to fight. Not to win, to know they can fight."

"The [insert top predator for this area] doesn't hunt itself for sport of food unless there is nothing left. Bandits do not hunt those that hunt back."

Looking at the oldest women who stepped forward. "Do you wish to hunt back?"