"Goodbye Curly Head"

"Fuel"

The desert, oh the mighty desert.

Unconquered, unbothered, stretching for thousands of miles.

…

Can you hear that?

That’s right. Complete and utter silence. 

Not even a gust of wind, not even the soft thumping of a curious mouse.

Peace and serenity, basking in the scorching sun…

…

… That was, until an intruder crossed their path.

Far, far away, they had already started gathering - the endless plumes of tainted, black fumes shooting into the air, polluting Mother Nature’s lungs. The ground trembled, its might and pride muffled by the approaching doom.

Each little rock, each speck of sand, each lizard hiding in its hole, they were all enveloped in a wave of tremors from within, as the mighty machine approached from afar.

The roar of its ferocious engines, pumping fuel like there was no tomorrow - it struck fear into even the most stout hearted creatures of this Land of Old.

Arising from behind the copper horizon, a beast of rusty metal and steel - a giant being dragged across the desert with the help of four Bagger 288 originium powered engines. Quenching their thirst with nothing but pure, unfiltered ori gasoline, they roared in anticipation, pushing the mass of chrome forward.

And onward it went, the jumbled, twisted mess. Forests of rust riddled its exterior, clinging onto the many arms and towers of criss-crossed beams and crane masts that littered the structure. It was a sight both foreign and natural to its surrounding - a stain on the desert’s tranquil beauty, yet also its integral part.

Flames shot towards the sky, each spat out from a tarnished steel pipe of its own, protruding from deep within the heart of the beast, spilling its discharge in a steady rhythm - it was breathing. With each breath came a new wave of fresh air, tickling each cylinder, each piston and gear, only to be thoroughly chewed and coughed out as a scorching mass of fire. 

A moving mess of sharp, thick spades bit into the sand, one after another, grasping at the miniscule dust and pushing it aside. One by one, they slid along the surface, powered by the gargantuan engines. Tracks, caterpillar tracks as tall and wide as a tenement housing complex, ravaged the desert, clinging onto the sand, paddling away and desperately pushing it aside, making way for the giant of steel.

And on the very top of the cruel monster stood a kingdom of milk and honey. Of steel and lead. Of blood and flesh, of booze and chow, and anything else you could ever need or imagine.

The town of Taba.

The infamous Scar Market.

Every lowlife merc’s wet dream, every pathetic swindler’s homeland - clumped together in one, big omelette of crime and inflated prices.