SEB had never seen anything like it in his life. Fleshy, slimy, writhing around as its dulled scales faintly shimmered in the low sunlight of dusk. This … thing, whatever it was, sent a chill down his spine.

  “You can’t possibly be thinking of eating that. It looks disgusting!”

  Bez ogled the fish skin floating aimlessly on the surface of their broth. The cracked stone bowl sucked the warmth from Seb’s hands. Specks of desert sand kicked up in the wind and landed on the surface. This was not going to be a pleasant meal.

  “Well, I don’t see anything better around here to eat. Do you?” Bez asked.

  “I guess not … but I still wouldn’t take any chances. Did you see the state of the guy’s goods? The stink of that man! Give me a warning before you chomp down. I need to look away first.”

  “You just focus on watching the road ahead. Can’t a man eat a soddin’ bowl of soup anymore?”

  The two brothers laughed, slumping back into their hiding spot behind some low, broken rocks. They had been in this position for a good chunk of the afternoon, only relinquishing their cover to stop a wayward merchant for any scraps of food he could muster. Whilst the soup did seem appealing at the time, both Seb and Bez had to admit it soon lost its charm. Whatever illusion that salesman had conjured to make it seem like a worthy investment, it worked.

  Seb could never figure out how to get comfortable during stealth jobs. His tattered trousers and battered boots had been through enough jobs for him to know they weren’t the right fit, and sand was constantly creeping through unpatched holes and irritating his skin.

  How come Bez never complains about it? he wondered. His brother had always been a trooper, far more suited to their mercenary lifestyle than him, but still … A man needed to complain from time to time, no?

  Bez noticed Seb squirming around in the sand, and let out a subdued sigh as he set down his murky meal. “Seb, you’re gonna dig up the whole desert if you keep writhing around like that. Honestly! Those damn Sandskins move like statues compared to you!”

  Seb shot him a frustrated glance, but chose not to bite back. “You’d think the soddin’ Sandskin would’ve reared its ugly head by now. Where the hell is that thing? We’ve already tracked it this far. There’s no way it doesn’t turn up before nightfall.”

  “Yeah, that would be bad news. We’ve only got until dawn tomorrow to eliminate the target and report, otherwise Felix said the deal was off. Hey, have you seen my spoon anywhere? I’m pretty sure I … What’s that look for?”

  “Report by dawn?” Seb cried, pulling at his hair in a frenzy. “Tell me that next time! I wouldn’t have stopped for lunch if I knew we were pressed for time … Why don’t you ever mention these things? We’re supposed to be partners for crying out loud!”

  Silence. Bez scratched his head, struggling to muster up an excuse.

  I’ll follow you anywhere, brother, but it would be nice to know what we’re aiming for every now and again!

  “Come on now, Seb,” Bez finally replied, “I don’t have to tell you everything … It’s more exciting that way, I think. And your stomach grumbles would’ve alerted every Sandskin in this soddin’ desert.”

  Before he could stifle a laugh, a sharp scraping sound pierced the silent desert breeze. The brothers looked at each other – their argument could wait. Now was the time for action.

  “We’ll talk about this later. Let’s kill this soddin’ thing.”

  Seb nodded. “Agreed. Lead the way.”

  On cue, Bez adopted his fa?ade of leadership. He was so good at leading the charge, at taking the opportunity by the scruff of the neck – so good, in fact, that Seb had never dared to take the reins of a job away from him. With Bez at the helm, and with his younger brother as second-in-command, they were an unstoppable duo. The Teneki brothers had become the most well-renowned mercenaries in Amia. Other crews thought twice about crossing them.

  Having him up front saves me the hassle. I can focus on the job, and let Bez handle the big ideas.

  Creeping towards the faint noise, it was clear Bez had a spring in his step this time around – an excitement for the thrill of the hunt. This enthusiasm wasn’t unusual, but it was becoming more noticeable over the past few jobs. He was growing in confidence every day, and his fighting ability was unparalleled – he had almost single-handedly earned both of their coin on the last three creature hunts. What did Seb contribute to this team? Was he just dead weight? Did Bez see it that way too?

  No. I can’t think like that. Bez is my older brother, my protector – if he cares as much for me as I do for him, he’ll know I’m trying my best. I’m only eighteen, so I have another four years until I reach his age. If I possess even half of his combat skill by then, I’ll have done him proud.

  Once I get good enough, nothing would be able to stop the both of us. We could take on the Continent.

  Seb’s jagged blade and trusty pistol swayed on his toolbelt, jangling and clanking together despite his best efforts to mask the noise. They seemed redundant, like useless trinkets, while deactivated, but he would rather have those harmless metal tools than some active weapons dangling from his hip. His blade, an old edition plasma sword, had certainly seen better days, and the plasma pistol from the same set could use a good dusting, but they were family as much as Bez was. When activated, their purple sheen and radiant glow were as imposing as any other weapon, but in their current idle state their age and flaws were on full display.

  His whole mercenary attire, from clothing to weapons, were hand-me-downs from Bez. It was their parents’ wish for the combat gear to be passed to Seb on his sixteenth birthday. Bez seemed agitated to let a good set of equipment go at the time, but he was never going to disobey his father’s orders.

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  If only our parents could see us now, fighting alongside each other as brothers in arms. They would surely be proud …

  “Hey, Seb!” Bez hissed, “Quit your daydreaming. We’re almost there!”

  Seb’s eyes darted around, readjusting his bearings. They had arrived at the Sandskin den, far quicker than he expected. Did he really just daydream on such a crucial job? He would never be as disciplined as his brother if he let his mind wander like that …

  The Sandskin had made its home in a hollowed out sand dune, with an entrance concealed by tall stones and smaller piles of sand. Though the den itself wasn’t deep within the dune, it was wide enough to fit ten houses end to end. The brothers kept their distance, lingering near craggy rocks just in case the Sandskin they were tracking was nearby.

  The crystal mining rigs boomed every so often in the far distance. When they did, the desert dunes shook and parted, sometimes dissipating and other times conjoining into larger dunes. The sudden shifts gave every step a risk of imbalance.

  “Alright, this is where we’ll find the bastard,” Bez whispered, readjusting his short hair while scanning the area. The left side of his face was completely sunburnt, red from the hours spent waiting. “Where did it go? I swear it was just–”

  A horrible scraping sound broke the desert silence once more, except this time it was far louder and more tangible.

  That noise was close by. Seb’s nerves spiked. We must be breathing down the creature’s neck.

  Concealing themselves near a tall, well-rounded stone, the brothers stayed motionless as their target limped into view. It was a Sandskin, that much was obvious – Seb could recognise those brown, earthy scales and narrow, piercing eye slits anywhere. The pitiful creature had been injured in some capacity. As it dragged its wounded hind leg across the sand, its sharp claw dug a deep gash into the rockface of the wall. This small, empty cavity in the shifting desert sands was its home. As the Sandskin nestled back into the shadow of its den, Seb could see its long, thin tongue flutter with every pained hiss.

  “Poor thing … Bez, how do you want to do this?”

  “Poor thing my arse, a job’s a job! You’d better get that sissy side of yours checked out, Seb – it’s clouding your judgement. Here’s the plan: you provide the distraction, I’ll nab the killing blow from behind.”

  “Wait!” Seb hissed before Bez could sneak off. “I’m not gonna be the bait again … Beetle and Birch almost killed me!”

  “It’ll be fine, this one can’t shoot back. This’ll be over before you can cry for help.”

  “Gee, thanks for the encouragement …”

  Taking one last deep breath, Seb hobbled out into the open towards the entrance to this spacious den. It took a while for the Sandskin to notice him, but when it did it let out a colossal shriek that sent shivers down his spine. Jumping into action, the Sandskin aggressively slithered towards him as fast as it could, leaving a faint trail of blood in its wake. Seb looked back to the rock they were hiding behind a moment ago – Bez was nowhere to be seen.

  “Come on, brother. Any time now …”

  The Sandskin was now only ten feet away; Seb caught a whiff of the horrendous stench. A pair of narrow slits on the creature’s face opened wide, revealing a horrifying pit of fleshy yellow eyes. It was primed for the kill.

  Frozen in place, all Seb could do was close his eyes. As the darkness engulfed his vision, and as the throaty hiss eked ever closer, he rested his palm on his pistol. It was far too late for any attempt at self-defence, but at least it gave him some comfort.

  SLASH!

  With a brilliant electronic buzz, Bez’s plasma sword sliced through the tough, scaly skin as if it was parchment. The sand turned blood-red as half of the creature soared through the air before crashing into the wavy dunes. A huge eruption of sound and sand scattered around the area, until both halves of the Sandskin’s lifeless corpse came to a shuddering halt.

  Bez wiped the fresh lumps of guts and scales from his jacket. He deactivated his plasma sword; it spluttered, the blood evaporating from the plasma edge of the blade. He sheathed the weapon on his toolbelt, though its handle and metallic spine were still stained red. It was going to take the entire night to wash the colour out – a job usually left to Seb.

  Seb let out a sigh of relief. I know Bez has never let me down, but my goodness does he know how to cut it close!

  He jumped out of his skin when Bez gave him a solid thump on the back. A wide grin spread across Bez’s face as he basked in his triumphant victory. They were both firmly planted between each half of the creature, a pair of legs and a crumpled torso on either side, with a fresh canvas of blood darkening the shifting sands in between.

  “You see? Just another job. What did I tell you?”

  “Felt like going for a stroll?” There was a hint of sarcasm in Seb’s voice, but an underlying fury as well. “Maybe you went to finish your soup, or maybe your old age is finally catching up to your weary legs!”

  “Relax, Seb. You did great.” Bez looked at the crumpled mess of blood and bones before him, eyeing up his kill. “What do you reckon: tongue or scale? What’s a more impressive trophy to bring to our client?”

  Seb shrugged. He was beyond caring by this point. All he needed was a pint of ale and a good night’s sleep.

  “Y’know, sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get me killed, Bez. You certainly seem to be cutting it close in the last few jobs.”

  Bez stared him right in the eyes. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’d be glad to see you gone. Maybe then I could do a job without you holding me back.”

  He’s … got a strange sense of humour, Seb assured himself. But he has a point. I’m not strong enough yet.

  When I’m stronger, maybe I’ll get the chance to call the shots on these jobs. Maybe then I won’t need my older brother to bail me out every time.

  Bez stooped low, combat knife in hand, ready to tear off a piece of his prey. Seb looked up at the beating sun, and the sun glared back at him with enough heat and intensity to make him shield his eyes. To make matters worse, it looked like there was a sandstorm approaching in the distance; he could just make out a shimmer of dust and sand over the distant dunes.

  “Hey Bez – wrap this up, will you? Sandstorm coming our way.” He flung a limp hand towards the storm, taking as little energy as possible to point it out.

  Looking up from his trophy, Bez straightened with a startle. A look of sheer horror came across his face. His sunburnt skin paled.

  “That … isn’t a sandstorm.”

  The faraway storm bellowed with a ferocious sound, like thunder crashing into the waves of the ocean. A faint murmur of distant hissing and shrieking proved this was certainly no ordinary maelstrom.

  A shrieking sandstorm … Is that storm alive?

  Bez looked around, desperately trying to find an escape route, but with a deep growl he unsheathed his plasma sword and activated it with a brilliant flicker.

  “Get ready, Seb. This isn’t going to be pretty.”

  Seb nodded in compliance and fumbled at his toolbelt for his pistol. The sandstorm was bearing down ever closer; half a dozen, maybe more, shadowy outlines began to form in the midst of the sandy fog.

  He rested the cold shaft of his gun against his forehead, closed his eyes and prayed – his parents had always mentioned a God, but he had never taken the time to pray to it before. He was too young to understand the customs, and by the time he was old enough his parents had already died. Was there even a God at all? Would it even listen? Real or not, a potential ally was better than none at all.

  With a steely look of feigned determination, he flicked the switch on the side of his pistol, and the chorus of beeps and synchronised pulses of light let him know his weapon was ready. But was he ready?

  There was no time to think. The storm of death was upon them.