“No matter what, never engage in a fight you know you can’t win. Your survival, above all things, is paramount.”

oh-one spun gracefully, dodging out of oh-thirty-three and thirty-nine’s jabs. Forty-seven was watching from atop the rusted chassis of some ancient vehicle, half-buried in the sands.

“Shouldn’t be fighting you, then, Sis,” oh-thirty-three muttered. “You’re going to kick our asses in three... two... one-”

She didn’t get to see how oh-one knocked the daylights out of her, sending her faceplanting into the gray sands of the Wastes. Oh- thirty-three heard a squawk, and oh-thirty-nine following suit soon after.

They struggled back to their feet, brushing off sand from their cloaks; thirty-three spat out a globule of something nasty out of her mouth, then plopped onto the sand, groaning.

“This was a skirmish,” oh-one said, as if they needed any reminding. “If this was a real fight, you’d have been dead when I made my first move.”

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“‘S not fair,” thirty-seven grumbled, quietly. “You’re bigger than us. Older. Stronger. And you’re number-two - soon to be number-one, by the looks of it.”

In response, oh-one only grinned. “That’s what you’ve got to learn, lil’ sis. The world’s an unfair place. Everyone in the cities is gonna be bigger and stronger than you. To win, you gotta be tougher.”

“We’ll get there,” scoffed thirty-three. “We were born to fight, right? All we have to do is kill, and get out. We’ll do what we have to do. Nothing else matters.”

oh-one’s smile wavered. “Not exactly.”

She called for forty-seven, to which the girl obliged. She trudged forward, wincing at the sun’s harsh glare. “Yes?”

“D’you wanna fight?”

Thirty-three could feel the response forming, automatic, at the younger, frailer girl’s lips: that yes, she would fight. For her life and for the sanctity of the cult - to purge the acolytes of the Gods, once and for all.

But then forty-seven sagged, and looked between her feet. Thirty- three’s eyes narrowed.

“You see?” oh-one said. “It’s not that simple.”