Recognition in an instant; a split between an unarmed transport and armored personnel carrier.

Leading the pack, the salvaged shape of a military vehicle severs the concept of warfare completely. Brown plates of salvaged armor welded upon its form, the four wheeled beast’s main threat was found within the seventy five millimeter cannon mounted upon its frying pan like turret. The seven horizontal bars of the Federated Armed Forces upon the armored hull hastily painted over; an unmarked weapon of war turned to the purposes of civilian use.

Upon its hull rides a handful of forms; mismatched body armor alongside clean weaponry ready for use.

“Delaying our engagement was a mistake.” Samuel speaks as he recalculates a tactical analysis.

“I am in agreement.” Samantha replies coldly.

The vehicle convoy halts as one of its riders barks out orders, personnel dismounting from the military vehicle and cargo transporter alike. A total count of twenty five souls; one single patrol among a larger force of bounty hunters within the Baitan Plateau.

Senses witness the aftermath of carnage; dismembered and pulverized bodies strewn in gore and debris across the entirety of the mining pit harking to a history of conflicts found deep in religious text. A confusion arises in unspoken words, conclusions of passed events incongruent with the power of the remaining pair of bounty hunters.

The boy coldly shifts his stance at recognition of the detachment’s leader; the middle aged man adjusting the handgun upon his waist holster as he approaches.

Behind him the rest of the force fans outward in activity; weapons raised in a mixture of body identification and objective securing. Voices intermixing as several high value targets are found, dead frames utterly annihilated.

Speaking up, the lead bounty hunter chuckles in acknowledgement as he stops a good distance away. Raspy accented voice projected with an echo in the pit, calm yet curious in nature. “The Sam Twins! Thought you two got yourselves killed.”

Ragged armor scuffed from conflict, graying hair underneath dark, sun scorched skin hidden behind a wide brimmed hat. The blue eyes of bounty hunter Rhyn Bearerson stares down the twins with a private army at his back. A thousand hunts stored in experience and wisdom, a brutal and cunning perspective upon a dying world. Of a universe of hunters and hunted, the reality of gunfire made flesh in the collection of profit.

The pair of siblings exchange glances, Samuel unconsciously chosen as the collective’s spokesperson. “Why have you made such an assumption?”

A smile hiding intent, the reply arrives. “Well, you assume the worst after a pair of teenagers disappear in the middle of the night, especially out here in Baitan. And after the search parties we sent out came up empty, you make conclusions. But, it’s nice that you’re much more… resourceful than I thought.”

Samuel remains quiet, watching as the surrounding Bounty Hunter group begins to loot the prizes of a battle smoldering. Munitions and arms prioritized, belts of unearned currency counted and placed over shoulders.

Gazing over the aftermath the man chuckles. “Seems like you witnessed a massacre.”

“The implication of your words being we were uninvolved with the events that occurred.” Samuel observes with hostile insight. “You are an individual of many assumptions.”

A scoff sounded, Rhyn observing the finality of a conflict. “What? You expect me to believe you two took all of them out with that rifle of yours?”

“Yes.” Samantha speaks up defiantly.

A dismissive attitude shifting to humor, the middle-aged man re-enages his slow gating approach to the twins slowly. “Well I’m not going to argue about that one.”

Pointing out towards the body now behind the twins Rhyn continues. “Is that a Collective Mage?”

Samuel blinks. “Of what importance is such information?”

A concerned chuckle. “Well two days ago we got radio’d information that Naro got wasted out in Old Springs a few dozen miles east of here by the good VIGIL, Alto Carrin himself. So I have no idea who in the hells that woman is.”

The twins exchange glances between each other and the form of Manara. An honest statement provided in implicit negotiations against an unseen factor, precautions withheld in minds. “She is a Collective Auditor.”

A pause as the man attempts to gauge honesty, the realization of truth visible upon his face. Experience attempts to hide surprise, eyes narrowing and a sharp breath taken. “You’re not lying.”

“Why would we.” Samuel states.

“Savior below…” Rhyn shuts his eyes for a moment. “It’s a thousand fed-dollars for any Collective Mage but for an Auditor on the black market…”

“Based on historical data the standard bounty for a Collective Auditor is sixty five thousand dollars median.” Samuel interrupts coldly. “However the most recent turning of a confirmed Auditor within the Federated Cities was seventy two years ago by a Bounty Hunter named Matherson Helion.”

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“Well it’s a prize to tide us into an early retirement.” The man chuckles, turning to the rest of his party. “What we got?!”

Poking through the wreckage several bounty hunters compare dusty wanted photos and battered corpses; names and identifications matched together in a game of best guesses. Severed heads missing bodies, limbs and gore seeping into the foundations of red mud.

One of the hunters speaks up in response, confusion returning only a handful of confirmations as they kick over a torso. “Geysers and Bermuda’s definitely! Not sure about the rest!”

Rhyn shakes his head. “Look for Steel Front! They’re also in the area!”

A thumbs up, the man returning to the pair of twins.

“We.” Samuel specifies.

“Not like you did any of the work boy.” Rhyn shakes his head as he reaches into his pocket, a brown cylinder lit with electrical current as he puffs a breath of smoke. “You two just watched as that thing wasted the entire camp right? And then took her down like vultures.”

“Incorrect.” Samuel and Samantha both vocalize coldly.

“Lying ain’t good for the soul children.” Rhyn shakes his head. “And it’s not good to be greedy either.”

Strolling in a lazy circle around the twins the bounty hunter continues to speak. “This is around… what, hundred thousand fed-dollars in bounties here including that dead Auditor? Split twenty seven ways, that's a pretty penny. Of course, we can cut you into a bigger share since you took her down.”

“How much.”

“A thousand extra, since you two did manage to do some work.”

Samuel and Samantha pause, silence between the pair as unspoken words are tied together in a bonded conversation. A singular thought; one more soul added to a collective of two.

“That is not acceptable.”

“Two thousand…”

“The currency is irrelevant.” Samuel speaks with authority. “The Collective Auditor is our concern alone.”

The man huffs out a large column of smoke as he hears the words, watching as the arrogant child falters in negotiation. “Listen boy, you’ll need us to get you back to March. Think of this as payment for transportation.”

“We do not need you specifically for transportation.” Samuel informs. “I believe the group under Isabelle Clerk will provide a return trip for a much more efficient cost.”

“Well Isabelle’s not here is she?” Rhyne smiles. “You’ll take the thousand bonus… or this will get ugly.”

“Is that a threat.” Samantha speaks coldly as she steps up next to her brother.

“I’m in the school of tough love.” The middle aged man flicks his duster out, a revolver revealed beneath the five suns. Gunmetal form forged around an arcane grip, the subtle distortion of reality surrounding the magic item caught by trained eyes. “Don’t think just because you’re kids, I'll make an exception for you.”

“You will terminate us.” Samuel blinks calmly. “If we do not accept your offer.”

“Won’t sit well with me if I do actually.” Rhyne admits. “Doesn't mean I can’t force you to my perspective though.”

Stopping in his tracks the Bounty Hunter narrows his stance, a hand carefully drawn over his revolver in preparation. With a loud voice he speaks up to his company’s medic. “Issac, how much bone gel we got left?”

Watching from the sidelines the man replies with a concerned look. “Thirty three applications.”

“I’m not going to kill you Samuel and Samantha.” Rhyne blankly states with a slight smile. “But I’m not going to make this painless.”

From behind the twins eyes flash as Manara loses control over augmentation, a blast of gravimetric energy wrought towards nothing as active ears hear the threat. An instinct overtaking minds, a sister bonded by conflict instead of blood as she convulses on dead grounds.

“Arsa’s name!” Rhyne sharply breathes. “She’s still alive!”

Across the mining pit weapons are raised towards the trio of souls, a standoff beneath the suns above fought in silence.

A sadistic smile approaches on the Bounty Hunter’s face, the man turning to his force behind him. “Stand aside you two, it seems like we need to finish your job after all.”

Samuel and Samantha stop, a slight glance exchanged between the pair. The girl raises the massive anti-material rifle at the man, the shape of the divine instrument consuming minds as a hand hovers over the well machined trigger.

The boy speaks simply, cold words echoing through the ears of watching gods. “No.”

A draw faster than humanly possible, a makeshift derivative of a divine weapon long lost to the people of the dust activated by the man. Six rounds are fired at limbs, three upon the girl’s arms and three upon the boy’s legs in a non-lethal takedown.

Six bullets carve through the dust of the world, .44 magnum rounds ripping through the medium at incredible speed as the roar of gunfire cracks the silence of a standoff.

A blast of gravimetric energy cleaves reality apart, dust kicked up in a fury of power. Six spheres of force are projected with machine precision, six rounds caught in the application of divinity.

The boy’s eyes glow with power lost to humanity, divine augmentation blazing in a godless world.

A collective held breath gripped tight from all parties, Manara staring at the angular form of Samuel with a single prophecy emanating from eons of religious tradition.

Two souls born by the blessing of the Five

To wander the endless deserts together

Within their hands a power to slaughter gods

In their minds the knowledge of paradise lost

A soul born one in a billion: of a miracle crafted in the forges of the gods themselves. A male augmentorum: a monster to defy the Collective.

Two destinies chiseled from bedrock, intertwined like the figments of genetic code. Two souls: a girl and boy to wield a lost divine power.

“What the…” Rhyn trails off in shock as his bullets harmlessly clatter upon rock.

“She is not the mage to concern yourself with.” The boy states. “I am.”