Slumdog Hero

Fii was halfway down the dune before the first vehicle roared over the ridge, kicking up plumes of sand in its wake. She crouched low, gravity shifted to make each stride long and light. Behind her, Serena and Luke moved quickly, their own powers enhancing their movements.

The vehicles—off-road buggies and quad bikes by the look of them—sped across the desert, a raucous swarm converging on the oasis below. No two vehicles seemed the same; all were jury-rigged and modified with spikes and makeshift armor. Fii counted at least ten distinct roostertails of dust.

"They don't look friendly," Serena muttered, following the dust trails with her gaze.

"Thieves or bandits," Luke said. "Likely preying on travelers or nomadic tribes in the region."

Fii grimaced. She'd heard stories of such groups in the Wastes, terrorizing anyone they came across, scavenging for supplies, and enslaving the vulnerable. They made the gangs in the slums seem like friendly neighbors.

"So what's our move?" Serena asked. "Hide? Run?"

Luke surveyed the terrain around the oasis. "Neither. If they're raiders, they won't stop until they've found prey. Our best option is to confront them, make them regret choosing this place today."

Fii raised an eyebrow. "Three against... what, thirty? And we're supposed to scare them off?"

"I prefer the term 'diplomatic deterrent,'" Luke said, a glint of humor in his eyes. "We use our powers, assert dominance, and convince them they'd rather be elsewhere."

Serena cracked her knuckles. "You know I'm always down for a good fight."

Fii considered the idea. She wasn't one to shy away from danger, but this wasn't some gang skirmish in the slums. This was the wild unknown of the Wastes, where every risk seemed magnified. Still, Luke's plan had its merits.

"Alright," she said. "But if they're not raiders—"

"Then we apologize for the misunderstanding and share the oasis peacefully," Luke finished. "Ready?"

The trio broke into a loping run, following the path carved into the sands. The dunes gave way to rocky ground as they neared the oasis, the rumble of engines growing louder with each stride.

Fii could make out figures on the vehicles now—leather-clad men and women, scarves wrapped around their faces, weapons strapped to their backs and holstered at their sides. The vehicles' homemade modifications were clear at this distance; spikes and chains and armor plating, all rigged for ramming.

"Not exactly looking like a friendly convoy," Serena noted drily as they approached.

One buggy roared ahead of the pack, an enormous bearded man at the controls. He skidded to a halt in a spray of sand, pulling down his goggles to survey the trio. Behind him, the rest of the vehicles fanned out, forming a menacing crescent around the oasis.

"Well, well," the man drawled. "What do we have here?"

"Keep it cool," Luke murmured to Fii and Serena. "Let me do the talking."

The bearded man climbed out of his vehicle, boots crunching on the rocky soil. He stood two meters tall, his muscles straining against the confines of his leather jerkin. A bulky pipe pistol from his belt, and he gripped an axe nearly as tall as Serena. A puckered scar cut across his forehead and through one eye, the socket sewn shut.

"Looks like lost little mice," he continued, the smirk on his lips showing he was in no mood to be sympathetic. "Scurrying out where they shouldn't be."

"We're just passing through," Luke replied evenly. "We don't want any trouble."

The big man guffawed, the sound echoing across the oasis. His compatriots joined in, laughing uproariously.

"No trouble? That's half the fun!" He slapped his belly mirthfully. "You've stumbled into the playground of the Salt Jackals, little mice."

"And who are the Salt Jackals?" Luke pressed. "We really are just trying to find our way back to civilization."

"Civilization? Ain't nothing civilized for a hundred kilometers," the big man—presumably the leader—said. "This is the true world, raw and wild. And we are its masters."

"Charming," Serena muttered under her breath.

The leader's gaze swung to her, his one good eye narrowing. "You have a mouth on you, girl."

"So I've been told," Serena quipped. "Many times."

Luke stepped forward, drawing the leader's attention. "As I said, we don't want any trouble. Surely we can come to some agreement."

"Agreement? In the Wastes?" The leader's laughter was harsh. "Here, strength rules. And clearly, you are weak." His hand wrapped around the grip of the axe, his biceps bulging as he pulled it up to rest on his shoulder.

A few of the Salt Jackals climbed off their vehicles, forming a semicircle behind their leader. They were a motley bunch—some muscular, some wiry, all armed to the teeth.

"Easy now," Luke cautioned, hands raised. "There's no need for violence. I'm sure we can be... civilized about this."

"Please," the big man scoffed. "You don't even have the stomach for what comes next." He paused, as if considering. "But I'll tell you what. I'll make you a deal: give us the girls, and you can walk out of here alive."

"Excuse me?" Serena sputtered.

Luke's expression darkened. "Not happening."

"A pity." The leader nodded to his group. "Seems the mice want to play after all. Grab the girls—kill the man."

With a roar, the Salt Jackals surged forward.

Luke glanced behind him. "You two get back. I'll deal with them. No need for all of us to work up a sweat."

Fii and Serena didn't argue, the two of them backing up as Luke strode forward to meet the oncoming thugs.

The first raider swung a chain that wrapped around brass knuckles, aiming straight for Luke's jaw. Luke didn't flinch—didn't even raise his hands. The chain connected with a sickening crack that would've shattered a normal person's face. Luke's head barely moved. He smiled.

"That all you got?"

The raider blinked, confusion rippling across his face like water on glass. Luke's fist shot out—a simple jab that shouldn't have done much. Instead, the raider flew backward like he'd been struck by a truck, crashing into two others and sending all three sprawling across the sand.

Fii's eyes widened. The punch wasn't particularly fast or showy, but the power behind it...damn.

Three more attackers rushed Luke from different angles. A woman swung a machete at his neck while two men aimed their pipe guns point-blank at his chest. Luke stood perfectly still, letting the machete connect with his shoulder. The blade should've cleaved through muscle and bone, but it bounced off, the woman stumbling back from the recoil.

The pipe guns fired with hollow pops. Luke's body jerked slightly as the bullets struck him, but instead of blood, Fii saw only small tears in his bodysuit where the bullets had been absorbed rather than penetrating.

"Interesting," Luke said, rolling his shoulders. "That actually helped."

He stomped one foot against the ground, and the packed earth beneath him cracked from the force. Not a display—he was testing something. Fii recognized the look on his face: he was gauging how much energy he'd stored from those hits.

The answer came a moment later when the nearest raider tried to tackle him. Luke sidestepped and tapped the man's back with his palm—a casual touch that launched the raider ten meters through the air, skipping across the sand like a stone across water.

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"Holy shit," Serena whispered beside Fii.

The leader finally seemed to grasp what he was dealing with. "He's a Super! Shoot him!"

Six raiders raised their pipe guns, the barrels wavering slightly before they pulled their triggers in ragged succession. Bullets peppered Luke's torso and limbs. Each impact pushed him back a fraction of an inch, but that was all. No blood, no screams—just Luke absorbing every bit of kinetic energy they threw at him.

When the guns clicked empty, Luke cracked his neck. "Thanks for the charge-up."

He slammed his fist into the ground. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, the packed earth buckling and heaving. Raiders lost their footing, vehicles rocked on their suspensions, and a wave of displaced air knocked several attackers completely off their feet.

The leader recovered first, hefting his massive axe. "Rush him together!"

Four raiders converged on Luke, weapons raised. He moved through them like they were standing still—not because he was exceptionally fast, but because he was efficient. A backhand sent one raider cartwheeling through the air. A knee to the stomach folded another in half. A simple push launched the third into a nearby vehicle hard enough to dent the metal.

The fourth tried to tackle Luke. Luke let him, catching the man and slamming him into the ground hard enough to send up a cloud of sand and dust. When the haze cleared, Luke was standing, dusting his hands, surrounded by groaning, battered raiders.

The massive leader charged now, axe raised high. "Die, Super scum!"

Luke simply waited, shoulders relaxed, head slightly tilted. When the axe came down, he caught the handle one-handed just below the blade. The leader pushed with all his might, veins bulging in his neck and arms, but the axe didn't move another centimeter.

"You don't get it, do you?" Luke said quietly. "Every hit you land just makes me stronger."

His free hand shot forward—a simple palm strike to the leader's chest. The impact looked gentle, almost casual, but the effect was catastrophic. The massive man rocketed backward as if struck by a battering ram, his body carving a trench through the sand before coming to rest nearly ten meters away.

Silence fell over the oasis. The remaining raiders stood frozen, weapons half-raised, jaws slack with shock and fear.

Luke dusted off his hands. "Anyone else feel like pushing their luck?"

Weapons clattered to the desert floor. Hands raised in surrender.

"Didn't think so," Luke said. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to give us some of your supplies—food, water, whatever you can spare. Then you're going to leave. And if I ever hear about Salt Jackals harassing travelers again..." He left the threat hanging.

"Who the hell are you?" one of the raiders asked, voice trembling.

"Diamond Ace," Luke replied, rolling his shoulders. The movement released small puffs of dust from his bodysuit where bullets had struck. "And trust me, you don't want to meet me again. Now, supplies. Let's make this quick."

The fallen leader groaned from his impact crater, struggling to sit up. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he lived—though from the way he clutched his ribs, several were broken.

The Salt Jackals scrambled to comply, fetching bundles from their vehicles. Food packs, water containers, even a first aid kit—all deposited hastily at Luke's feet before they backed away.

Serena nudged Fii's arm. "And here I thought I was the showoff."

Fii chuckled softly. "No comment."

When the pile of supplies seemed adequate, Luke nodded. "That'll do. Get your leader and go. Don't come back."

The Salt Jackals didn't need to be told twice. They gathered their wounded, helped their half-conscious leader into a buggy, and within minutes, the roar of engines faded into the distance.

Luke turned back to Fii and Serena, brushing a hand through his windswept hair. "Sorry about that. They didn't leave much room for negotiation."

"That was..." Serena struggled to find the right words.

"Efficient," Fii supplied.

"Efficient. Right." Serena shook her head. "One minute they're all grrraaaarh," she raised her arms in a mock attack, "and the next, bam, raiding party scattered like the morning wind."

"Come on," Luke said, stooping to pick up the salvaged goods. "Let's find some shade and regroup."

The oasis proved larger than it had appeared from a distance. A spring bubbled up from between rocks, forming a small but deep pool that spilled over into a narrow stream before vanishing back into the sand.

Date palms and scrubby bushes surrounded the water, their roots reaching deep into the hidden aquifer below. There was even a patch of grasses and wildflowers that flourished in the shade of the larger rocks.

"It's like another world," Serena murmured, dipping her fingers into the pool. "The water's cold!"

"Underground source," Fii explained, crouching beside her. "Probably part of a larger system that runs beneath the Wastes."

They set up camp near the spring, using the Salt Jackals' supplies to create a more comfortable shelter than they'd had in days. Luke assembled a small canvas tent, while Serena used her hard-light constructs to build a makeshift table and chairs.

"Almost civilized," she remarked, admiring her handiwork.

Fii explored the perimeter, examining the rock formations that sheltered the oasis from the worst of the desert winds. Ancient petroglyphs covered some of the surfaces—more Kurigali markings, similar to those they'd seen before.

Her fingers traced the spiral patterns, feeling faint indentations where tools had carved the stone centuries ago. The whispers returned, fainter now but present, like background radiation. Not threatening, just... there.

"Find anything interesting?" Luke called from the camp.

"More Kurigali markings," she replied, returning to the others. "This place was important to them. A waystation, maybe, or a meeting point."

"Makes sense," Luke said, arranging their new supplies. "Water in the Wastes would be sacred."

Sunset transformed the oasis, painting everything in amber and gold. After a meal of dried meat and preserved fruits from the raiders' stash, they settled around a small fire. The night chill descended quickly, but with proper blankets and the fire's warmth, it felt almost comfortable.

"We should reach the edge of the Wastes in three days if we keep this pace," Luke said, studying a crude map they'd found among the supplies. "Assuming this is accurate."

"And assuming nothing else tries to kill us," Serena added cheerfully.

Fii stared into the flames, remembering the raiders' fear as they fled. A defeated enemy was still an enemy—one with wounded pride and a score to settle. "They might come back," she said quietly. "With reinforcements."

"They'd be stupid to try," Serena scoffed.

"People often are." Luke's expression darkened. "But I meant what I said. If they return, they won't get mercy twice."

Night deepened around them. Luke took first watch, while Serena wrapped herself in blankets and quickly drifted off to sleep.

Fii lay awake, listening to the soft bubbling of the spring and the rustle of palm fronds overhead. The Salt Jackals bothered her. Not their attack—that was expected in a place like this. But the ease of their defeat and subsequent retreat. It felt... unfinished.

Luke had defeated them easily, but what about others who crossed their path? People without powers to protect them?

The memory of Virgil's lecture about mercy versus pragmatism echoed in her thoughts. "Sometimes mercy just gives bad people a second chance to be worse," he'd told her. "You gotta weigh the cost of your compassion."

She'd argued with him then. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Three hours into the night, with Luke asleep and Serena on watch, Fii made her decision.

"Need to use the bathroom," she whispered to Serena, who nodded absently, attention fixed on maintaining a series of small hard-light constructs that danced above her palm like fireflies.

With a careful nudge of her power, she lightened her body until she was nearly weightless, then pushed off from the ground.

The sensation of flight never got old—the freedom of it, the perspective shift as the ground fell away beneath her feet. She oriented herself toward the direction the Salt Jackals had fled, then propelled herself forward, riding gravity currents like a surfer on invisible waves.

The Wastes spread beneath her, bathed in silvery moonlight that transformed the harsh landscape into something almost beautiful. She flew for nearly an hour, scanning the terrain for signs of the raiders' camp.

Finally, she spotted it—a cluster of vehicles parked in a rough circle, firelight flickering at the center. She descended slowly, landing silently on a ridge overlooking their position. From here, she could observe without being seen.

The Salt Jackals had made camp in a natural depression, their buggies and bikes forming a defensive perimeter. The fire cast dancing shadows across their faces as they passed bottles between them. Their leader sat apart, his injuries from the day's encounter being tended by a woman with braided hair.

Fii crawled closer, adjusting her gravitational field to silence her movements. She needed to hear what they were saying, to confirm her suspicions before acting.

"—can't just let it go," the leader was growling. "No one humiliates the Salt Jackals and lives to brag about it."

"Man was a Super," someone argued. "Nothing we could do against that."

"That's why we don't go after him directly," the leader said. "We hit somewhere else. Somewhere that hurts."

"The Kur'ai nomads," a raider suggested. "Their caravan's due to pass through the eastern corridor tomorrow. Dozen families at most, women and children."

The leader's face split in a cruel grin. "Perfect. We take their supplies, their vehicles. The strongest for labor. The rest..." He made a cutting motion across his throat.

"But our supplies—" someone began.

"We'll have all we need after tomorrow," the leader interrupted. "The Kur'ai travel heavy. Food, water, trade goods." His voice dropped lower. "And the women aren't bad either."

Laughter rippled through the group, ugly and mean. Fii's stomach twisted, her fingers digging into the sand beneath her. She'd heard enough.

These men wouldn't stop. Luke's mercy, meant to be compassionate, would cost innocent lives—families just trying to survive in the Wastes. How many had already died to feed the Salt Jackals' greed?

She thought of Virgil again, of his scarred hands and the weight of old regrets in his eyes. "Sometimes," he'd told her once, "you gotta be the bad thing that happens to bad people."

Decision made, Fii activated her power, feeling gravity respond to her will. She could feel each raider's position through her gravitational awareness—their weight, their movement, like shadows in the back of her mind.

Inhale, exhale. Focus.

She closed her fist.

The Salt Jackals never knew what hit them.