The kid blinked. "Wow… your name is Sunny? What kind of name is tha—"
Before he could finish, Sunny covered his mouth and pulled him down beside the bike.
A convoy of Drifters passed by the road rough men with scavenged armor, machetes, chains, and rusted guns slung over their backs. They looked dangerous. They looked hungry.
The boy held his breath.
Sunny didn't move until the last one had disappeared down the road.
He released the kid.
"The boy gasping for air"
"Well, let's move. I don't feel like getting into any more unnecessary fights today."
The boy shakily climbed onto the back of the motorcycle.
Sunny started the engine, dust erupting beneath them."Hold on," Sunny said. "We've got a long ride ahead of us."
The bike sped forward, leaving behind the graves, the broken truck, and the bloody road all reminders that in the Deadlands, even surviving one more day was a miracle.
The sound of a motorcycle echoed across the dusty fields as Sunny rode back toward his fort. The sun was high, casting a harsh glow over the land. People were busy all around him some bending to clear weeds and rocks from the soil, others tending to the fields, picking fruits, or hauling baskets heavy with harvest. Dust swirled under their boots and the wheels of carts as life carried on, stubborn and unyielding.
The fort came into view: a massive structure protected by a high gate. As Sunny approached, the gates creaked open, letting them pass through after the guards had cleared some people who had wandered too close. The fort wasn't just a building it was a symbol of order in this chaotic world, a place where the dead and the broken found structure, if not peace.
They drove into a wide, open field inside the walls. A group of people was training there dozens of them, moving in coordinated drills, striking, dodging, spinning, their motions sharp and precise. Sunny parked the bike, and they dismounted, walking toward the heart of the field.
The boy following him slowed, glancing around nervously. Then his eyes caught the high, white manor at the far end of the grounds, its pristine walls standing in stark contrast to the harsh, dusty landscape.
"Welcome to the sector, newbie," Sunny said casually.
The boy looked around as some of the trainees stopped mid-drill and bowed, paying respect to Sunny. He nodded back politely, returning their gesture, trying to appear as if he belonged. Most of the trainees were around his age. Better not draw unnecessary attention.
"Follow me, newbie. I'll show you something," Sunny said, motioning toward a quieter corner of the training grounds. The boy hurried after him.
They stopped near a cluster of fighters who were sparring with one another, their movements precise, calculated, almost dance-like in their lethal rhythm.
"Who are they?" the boy asked, eyes wide.
"They are all Raz kids. I was once one of them," Sunny replied, his tone casual but heavy with history.
"They all dream of becoming Raz one day," Sunny continued, watching the fighters. "Every boy here wants to climb the ranks. Everyone wants a better life. A chance to survive… and to be more than just someone the Deadlands chew up and spit out."
He looked at the boy, a faint smirk on his lips. "You have a choice here, newbie. Either you become a Raz in training… or you walk the fields for the rest of your life, digging soil and carrying stones. That's it. No glory, no respect, no protection. Just survival."
The boy became silent. He stared at the ground, considering his path. The weight of the choice settled on his shoulders.
Suddenly, a loud voice rang across the grounds. "The King is coming! Everyone, assemble!"
Sunny nudged the boy forward. "Come on. We have to go now. Opening ceremony for the new members of the clan."
They moved quickly toward a large warehouse filled with people. New faces, orphans, young fighters, hopeful boys and girls all gathered together, waiting for the King. Each one dreamed of becoming a full-fledged Razor one day. The air was thick with anticipation, dust, sweat, and the quiet hum of nervous energy.
When the King entered, everyone immediately fell into line. Their right hands crossed over their chests a symbol of respect, loyalty, and obedience. Even the boy Sunny had taken along joined the gesture instinctively. Sunny himself nodded, quietly acknowledging the King's presence.
The King's voice cut through the chatter.
"Do you believe in God? If you do, that is not wrong. But if you don't… that is your business. God does not give you what you need to survive this harsh world. I do. Only I do."
A hush fell over the crowd.
"As you know, most of you have heard of the Cataclysm years ago. Most of you here are orphans, left with nowhere to go. Some of your parents died, others sold you to me. But I offer you a path, a new oath in life. I want you to do everything possible to become strong, and I will offer you a chance to join the Ranks of the Razors."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
"Some say Razors are cold, heartless killers dogs of the Sovereigns. But the men here in this sector are more than that. Here, we are family. We are one. A Razor's main goal is loyalty to his King and nothing else. That is the number one rule. Understand it, follow it… or find another life in the dust."
The King's gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on Sunny and the boy he had brought.
"Now," the King concluded, voice steady and commanding, "the choice is yours. Prove your loyalty, prove your strength… and perhaps one day, you will join the ranks of the elite. Fail… and the Deadlands will remind you that mercy is not a gift freely given."
The boy swallowed hard, realizing the stakes of this new world he had entered. Sunny placed a firm hand on his shoulder, giving him a small nod an unspoken message that he would guide him through, for now.