A flickering flatscreen mounted on the wall blared a SWAT-sponsored program,

"Social Security Reform Bill: Encouraging SWAT Veterans to Live Fast, and Die!"

Below, smaller text scrolled rapidly:

"Suck the Life Dry: Subsidized by Ex-Farmer Energy Drinks!"

"Cigarettes and Vodka Subsidies Reduced by 50%! Party 'Til You Drop!"

"Helmets and Armor Outlawed for Soldiers Over 60! Embrace the Glory"

"Tax Breaks for Brandishing Melee Weapons! Get Up Close and Personal"

The one eyed swat commander then stand on podium. "The best way to reduce the social security burden? Make old people die faster! It'll save billions by lowering average life expectancy to the 40s! Will you die old, broke, and forgotten? Or will you die a legend?"

The program abruptly cut to a commercial. A heavily armored car roared across a desolate desert landscape, plowing through a group of shrieking mutants. "You can do it, coward!" flashed across the screen as the car launched itself off a makeshift ramp at the edge of a cliff. Below the ramp, a crudely painted sign read: "Great talent has always a little madness mixed up with it." The commercial ended with a close-up of the armored car's grill, splattered with what looked suspiciously like mutant blood. "V200: Less gasoline consumption, more blood."

Furqan pushed open the door to Wanderer’s quarters. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of unwashed laundry. something vaguely metallic. and a thinner. Wanderer lay sprawled across his bed, a mountain of blankets and discarded tech obscuring him from view.

"What?!" Wanderer groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow.

The door fully creaked open, revealing Furqan standing in the doorway. Dressed in his usual white attire, Furqan looked concerned.

"I haven't seen you at the mosque in ages. What's keeping you so busy?"

Wanderer groaned again and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. "I'm... I'm sick!" he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Furqan chuckled, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You've got a cold again, huh?"

Wanderer pretended to think for a moment, his voice muffled by the pillow. "...Something like that," he replied.

Furqan walked over to the bed and placed a hand on Wanderer's forehead. "Hmm, you seem to have a bit of a fever. Are you sure you're not just trying to get out of work?"

"Yo man, you're not my mom," Wanderer retorted, his voice still muffled.

Furqan raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Not your mom, but I'm always worried about you, my friend. You've been pushing yourself too hard lately. You need to take better care of yourself."

He sat down on the bed next to Wanderer, a concerned look on his face.

"You're playing a game now? You should be resting and taking care of yourself. No wonder you have a fever," Furqan said, gently taking the game device from Wanderer's hand.

"Here, let me take care of you for a while. You just rest and let me do the worrying, okay?"

Wanderer groaned and tried to grab the game device back. "Noooo!"

Furqan chuckled and playfully ruffled Wanderer's hair. "Hush, you big baby. You need to rest and get better. Here, I'll make you some soup. It'll help you recover faster."

He set the game device aside and stood up, heading to the kitchen to make soup for Wanderer.

"Stop acting like a housewife," Wanderer grumbled. "I'm not even sick. I'm just... bored, you know."

Furqan looked over his shoulder, a teasing smile on his face. "Oh, so you're just a lazy bone, huh? You're not fooling me, Wanderer. I can see right through your lies. Just admit it, you're sick and need to rest. And I'm not acting like a housewife. I'm just taking care of you like a true friend."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Wanderer sighed into the pillow. "I'm… kinda… just… stuck in my head, man. You know?"

Furqan’s tone softened. "I get it. Sometimes you just need a mental reboot. Why don't you do something you enjoy? Read, listen to music, go for a walk… something to clear your head."

Wanderer considered this. "...Maybe… maybe I need to see the woods."

Furqan smiled warmly, pleased with Wanderer's suggestion. "The woods, huh? That sounds like a wonderful idea. Going into nature can be very therapeutic. It can help clear your mind and give you a sense of peace and calmness. Why don't you give it a try and see how you feel?"

He stood up from the bed, offering his hand to Wanderer. "Let's take a walk in the woods and breathe in some fresh air. It'll do you good, trust me."

Wanderer hesitated for a moment, then took Furqan's hand. "Alright, but let's ask Shizuka to be around. So we're not awkward."

"Good call," Furqan agreed. "She could use a break too. And yeah, awkwardness is definitely to be avoided when you're feeling off. Come on."

Wanderer groaned again, but this time, there was a hint of resignation in his voice. "Nyoooh!"

Furqan chuckled at Wanderer's reluctance. "Oh, come on, don't be so grumpy. It'll be fun, I promise. We'll walk, enjoy the scenery, and just relax. Who knows, maybe we'll even spot some animals in the woods. It'll be an adventure!"

He offered his hand to Wanderer, a playful smile on his lips. "Come on, let's go. Shizuka's waiting for us."

Wanderer hesitated for a moment longer, then took Furqan's hand. "Alright, but don't blame me if we get attacked by mutants."

Furqan rolled his eyes, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, don't be such a worrywart, Wanderer. The animals in the woods are more afraid of us than we are of them. We're not going to get attacked by anything. Besides, we're not even in true mutant territory, it's just woods. You'll be fine."

He gave Wanderer a playful nudge, trying to lighten the mood. "So come on, let's go enjoy the great outdoors."

The air was crisp and clean as Wanderer, Shizuka, and Furqan ventured deeper into the woods. The dense foliage offered a welcome respite from the harsh desert sun, and the sweet scent of pine needles filled their senses. A narrow, overgrown path, likely a pre-apocalypse logging trail, wound its way through the trees, Twisted metal fragments, remnants of some forgotten war machine, lay half-buried in the undergrowth

As they walked, A small clearing opened before them, dappled with sunlight filtering through the canopy. Several crudely carved wooden totems, adorned with feathers, animal bones, and brightly painted symbols, stood clustered around a weathered stone.

Furqan paused, his gaze drawn to the intricate carvings on one of the totems. "Look at these decorations, Wanderer. It's interesting how the local people leave these offerings in the woods. Maybe it's to give thanks to the spirits or to ward off bad luck. I wonder if they have any spiritual significance."

Wanderer, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. "Paganism?"

Furqan pointed to a totem carved with a stylized two bear's head with a horn. 'These symbols remind me of ancient animistic beliefs, where natural objects and phenomena are believed to possess spirits. It's similar in some ways to the pre-Islamic beliefs of my ancestors.'"

Wanderer’s attention shifted to an old tree, its bark scarred with deep engravings. The language was a strange mix of archaic forms and something more modern, almost… coded. He traced the lines with his finger, reading aloud, his voice low and thoughtful:

"…there have been many powerful warriors through millennia… but the ages of the Second Apocalypse have begun to tear the fabric of the Realms… the critical point has finally been reached… it was foreseen that combatants would one day grow too powerful and too numerous… if left unchecked their intensifying combat would weaken and shatter the Realms and bring about their hell… The Free World Army under Zion invade, challenge everyone… oh my God… the Elder Gods demanded a safeguard to put in place… to avoid total Destruction… one that would make use of the insensational bloodlust… like moths to a flame they would be drawn to battle… when everything seems bleak. A hero rise from ash of old world. from the carphatia he led the true horde and chasing the zion army away… but the old hatreds will be revived…"

Wanderer furrowed his brow; the engraving abruptly ended, as if the carver had been interrupted. The last few words were etched more hastily, almost scratched into the wood.

Furqan, oblivious to Wanderer's discovery, took a deep breath, savoring the stillness of the clearing. "It's moments like these that make me thankful for the simple pleasures in life. The beauty of nature, the diversity of cultures, and the mysteries that still exist in this world."

Wanderer couldn't help but smirk. "What do you mean? I like war crimes."

Furqan rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, come on, Wanderer. Don't be such a hard-ass. Having empathy and compassion doesn't make me a nerd. It just makes me human."

He put his arm around Wanderer's shoulders and gave him a playful shake. "Besides, showing understanding and mercy is what sets us apart from the mutants we face. We're not just mindless killers, you know."

As they continued their journey, Wanderer couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and tranquility wash over him. The quiet solitude of the forest offered a stark contrast to the chaos and violence they had faced in the almost dialy basis.

Just as they were about to emerge from the woods, Wanderer's comm crackled to life.

“Mhm… what now,” Wanderer muttered, glancing at the display on his intercom. The message was simple, stark: Old Commander Dead.

“Not again…” he sighed, a weary resignation in his voice. The old man had been hale and hearty just weeks ago—a bull of a man. Assassination? Or had the old fool finally realized his own incompetence and taken the coward's way out? No… too blind, too arrogant for self-reflection. Wanderer looked at Furqan, a new thought dawning on him. What kind of crazy is going to be running this Ordo now? “Here we go again.”