Lice was busy fixing up her sand-buggy under the makeshift garage of corrugated iron and general scrap. Inside was an array of transportation devices, ranging from sand-buggies, quad-bikes and their only hover-bike (Ghen, their leader, demanded sole access to this gem - and no one complained lest they wanted a new missing limb). Though under shelter, the light of the burning sun directly above pried through the gaps and gauges of the scrap roof made by the beating of many a sandstorm.

The rest of the pack were gearing up ready for the next salvage sweep. Just outside the garage through its large, door-less opening, was a large piece of fabric propped up by sticks of metal stuck into the ground; beneath it, her pack were preparing, loading weapons, tweaking the hydraulics of their mechanical limbs, strapping on makeshift armor, loading heavy rucksacks with water and rations for the next few days. The pack only sent out a few men at a time on general scavenge trips, but today there had been word from their crow (a pack boy who sat at the top of a high pylon they had erected at the center of the camp to spot prey) of a caravan making its way across the desert. On trips like this the whole pack was needed, which meant they left absolutely nothing behind - in fear that other scavengers might find something useful to steal. Their normal numbers they left behind would usually have been enough to fend off outsiders, but they could not afford the risk: everything but the walls and tents were coming with them. 

Lice was lying on top of a plank of wood with crude metal wheels underneath her buggy. She was adjusting the suspension for the ride to come - with such hazardous, ever-changing terrain she could not afford for her vehicle to get stuck in the sand. She noticed a pair of feet stood by her.

"[color=92278f]Lice,[/color]" spoke the voice, a mechanical foot lightly kicked her in the side. "[color=92278f]We've gotta move, stop tinkering and get to - you've been under that buggy for almost an hour.[/color]"

"[color=00aeef]Shut up, Quint. You know what happened last time I didn't adjust the hydraulics: you got stranded for three days.[/color]", Lice and Quint got on fine enough, but Quint was always complaining she pulled more than her own weight, and Lice complained Quint never pulled his own.

"[color=92278f]Yeah, yeah, what happened to never bringing that up again?[/color]", chuckled Quint. "[color=92278f]Anyway, c'mon. It's time to get going. Ghen is out front.[/color]"

Lice slid out from under her vehicle - the sand-buggies weren't the fastest in the pack, the bikes were much faster (especially the hover-bike), but the buggies were always reliable and less likely to get stuck, which is why Lice liked them. "[color=00aeef]You piggy-backing my left?[/color]"

"[color=92278f]Sure am,[/color]" replied Quint. "[color=92278f]Three's got your right.[/color]"

"[color=00aeef]Urgh,[/color]" moaned Lice. "[color=00aeef]Three can't shoot for hell. But I guess he'll have to do.[/color]" It was typical for two men to hang on to the sides of the buggies, especially on big hauls: there weren't enough vehicles to go around everyone. 

Lice stepped outside the garage; she had already suited up in her armor, her shotgun lightly bumped against her leg with each step. She'd managed to strap some small metal sheets across her mechanical arm - save her joints getting shot apart. Ghen stood ferociously on top of an ammunition crate, the pack gathered beneath him dressed in a myriad of armor, clothing and weapons - only the strips of red cloth tied around their arms, heads or necks distinguished them as a unit.

"[color=39b54a]Alright boys![/color]" shouted Ghen.

"[color=00aeef]And girls[/color]" whispered Lice.

"[color=39b54a]We've got a big caravan off north ways. Don't know what they're carrying but it looks like a good haul: they've got gunmen supporting them, ten or so.[/color]" The pack muttered to themselves in self-doubt.

"[color=39b54a]But we've taken on bigger before, and we know these dunes better than anyone else![/color]"

"[color=ed1c24]Aye![/color]" cried the rest of the pack.

"[color=39b54a]Bikers follow me, we'll scatter them up. Buggies follow behind, hook the vans and raid every last ounce of scrap you can![/color]". He raised his Kalashnikov above his head with a muscly pump of his arm. The rest of the pack returned the salute, shouting and chanting in excitement and adrenaline.

In an organised choas of scrambling feet and shouting, the pack jumped to their vehicles, engines roaring and revving. Ghen glided to the front of them. "[color=39b54a]WHO ARE WE?[/color]"

"[color=ed1c24]THE RED SUNS![/color]"

"[color=39b54a]DAMN RIGHT WE ARE! LET'S RIDE![/color]"

In a cacophony of screaming and whooping the pack set off. Quint and Three held onto the sides of Lice's buggy, jostling about, but not in discomfort, as they rode out onto the sands. Quint called over over the scream of engines, the packs cries and the wind, "[color=92278f]BEEN ON A HAUL THIS BIG BEFORE, THREE?[/color]"

"[color=fff200]NEVER,[/color]" returned a nervous voice.

"[color=92278f]YOU'LL BE FINE, JUST SHOOT STRAIGHT AND WE WON'T DIE.[/color]"

"[color=fff200]OH[/color]"