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The sun had slipped below the horizon, and a faint, dusky light cast long shadows across the desert. Back at the Team GRY base, a worried tension hung in the air—everyone was there, except the Vandal. The Agent paced the sandy ground, casting glances out into the fading daylight, waiting anxiously.
The Doctor dropped down from the twisted, dried tree that served as their home base, her feathers ruffling slightly. "Auweh… Still no sign of her?" she asked, tilting her head with concern.
The Agent shook her head, unable to hide the worry in her voice. “She’s never late, Médecin… I’m worried.”
The Doctor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Ja… Then we must go find her. Don’t worry; we will bring her back." The Agent gave a small nod before flying up to alert the rest of the team.
The Agent reached the Assassin and Artilleryman’s nests, relaying the news. “Vandal isn’t back… We’re going to search for her. Oui?”
They exchanged concerned looks, nodding in silent agreement. “I’ll be down in a second, mate,” the Assassin said, grabbing his blowgun. The Artilleryman strapped his hefty crossbow onto his back, ready for whatever they might encounter. The Agent quickly gathered her own knives and blowgun before they all regrouped by the Doctor at the tree’s base.
They took flight in a V-formation, mirroring their morning routine but with a heavier sense of urgency, heading north, the last direction anyone had seen the Vandal. As they flew, they made their shrill, distinct calls, hoping the Vandal would answer. For thirty long minutes, they scoured the desert, worry building with every passing second—until a faint reply finally echoed back.
The Assassin pointed his beak excitedly. “Oi, look over there!” he called out. Below, a massive dust devil churned violently, spinning rocks and sand in a furious whirlwind. Within the center was an eerie, green glow, unmistakably emitting from a figure trapped within.
They squinted, barely making out the Vandal’s familiar shape, struggling against the powerful winds. But something else was there, too—an otherworldly green form, like a spectral figure with horns.
Ignoring the others’ warnings, the Agent swooped down, but the dust devil’s force threw her back, sending her spiraling into the sky. She righted herself with a gasp, hovering above. “Dieu… What is that thing?!” she exclaimed, shaken.
The team regrouped above, frantically scanning for a way to help. Below, the Vandal was caught in a relentless fight, shouting and thrashing against the winds that only seemed to ensnare her further.
“What do we do?!” the Artilleryman shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
The Doctor squinted, spotting an opening at the dust devil’s center. “Ja! There’s a gap in the eye. If Vandal could stop struggling, we might be able to dive in and pull her out,” she called out. “Vandal! Stop moving so we can reach you!”
After a moment, the Vandal seemed to hear them, going limp and ceasing her struggle. Instantly, the eye of the storm stabilized. Without hesitation, the Agent dove through the gap, aiming directly for the green figure in the center. She crashed into it, feeling the wind vanish almost instantly.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself on top of a strange figure—a human man wearing a skull mask with horns. His eyes glinted with an unsettling light.
“HOW DARE YOU!” he bellowed. “HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE LEGENDARY MERASMU—”
The Agent didn’t wait for him to finish. She held a knife to his cheek, pressing in slightly. “Partir,” she snarled. “And maybe I won’t kill you.”
The figure stilled, then smirked. "You cannot kill me. For I am Merasmus, wizard of pure evil,” he sneered.
The Agent’s eyes narrowed. “Then I’ll make your miserable existence even worse.” She pressed the knife a fraction deeper, but in a flash, Merasmus vanished. She stumbled forward, finding herself alone in the calm desert air.
Darkness had settled over the landscape, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw the rest of the team landing around the limp form of the Vandal on the sand. The Agent ran to her side, heart pounding.
“Vandal! Can you hear me? Stay with us!” she urged, kneeling beside her friend.
The Vandal groaned, barely opening her eyes. “I’m… so…” she murmured weakly.
The Agent leaned in, fearing the worst. “What is it? What do you need?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion.
“… I’m so hungover…” the Vandal mumbled. “Cold rag… now…” And with that, she slumped back, fainting.
Relieved sighs broke from the team, tension melting into a kind of tired laughter. She wasn’t hurt—just her usual, reckless self. The Agent exhaled a shaky breath, a faint smile creeping onto her face.
They hoisted the Vandal onto the Artilleryman’s back, and, after some struggle, managed to carry her home through the cool desert night.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
