The Karo Kaan was a city-state on the edge of Finders Way. It was home to nothing but a bunch of Wasters, most of whom wore a red and black bandana tied around whatever body part they preferred. Wendy found that most tied it around their necks, which made their heads such easy targets for her sniper Rappa. 

This was Dead Drop twenty-five—Wendy counted. Maybe there were four more or there could be forty; the dead drops scattered around the Wasteland kept on appearing, and she was a willing participant. This time it was to eliminate Wasters from the town of Karo Kaan, at least thirty the contract had said. That was all: Thirty Wasters and done, signed by none other than the same initials on all the dead drops: I.B. 

Wendy asked no questions. She was merely a drifter, finding whatever job she could find to take care of her sniper and put some food in her stomach. Sometimes, she would enjoy a drink at the pub, and sometimes, she would have a lucky lady clench the sheets as she took care of her. Sometimes, both would happen on the same night. 

The Wasters of Karo Kaan were people no one would cry or mourn for. They were thieves and rapscallions, freeloaders and vandalists. At the end of the day, thirty Wasters will be put down and no one will bat an eye. The corpses would merely be taken to the edge of town, piled up in the grinder, and crushed as food for the dogs. Tomorrow, Wendy will be gone and Karo Kaan would go on looting and pillaging to whatever their hearts desired. 

As Wendy pulled the trigger for her thirtieth victim, a bit of mirth shone on her face. The last Waster fell down onto the sandy ground, and a few seconds later was carried out of her sight. It was as if this was commonplace, as if it was some sort of tribute to the Seven. Wendy was never quite the religious person—all she believed in was a well placed bullet solving her problems.

Wendy stood up from the cliffside overlooking Karo Kaan. She slung Rappa over her shoulder, retrieved her water flask, and with one last look at the town, she left to collect her reward from I.B.

//

Wearwater was a place like none other in the Wasteland. First off, its inhabitants did not want to slice her head open like most other towns did. Second, weaponsmiths outnumbered food shops, courtesy of being a center for war veterans and connoisseurs of such arts. And most importantly, there was the mechanic—the only one who knew how to work with her arm. Seulgi. Seulgi Kang.

“What’d you do this time? Three screws came loose and the wires are all dislodged. How long were you out there for?” Seulgi frowned as she tinkered with the assets of Wendy’s arm. 

Wendy was sitting down on the fold-up chair near the garage entrance, feet up on the table, and drinking from a whiskey bottle while Seulgi hovered over the metal arm on the far end of the garage. Seulgi had to close the garage earlier so that people did not see the arm being worked on. Mechanical phenomenons were not welcome in the Underworld. Only in the flying bastions of the Overworld were they accepted. Anything other than human was considered weak.

“Thirty Wasters from the town of Karo Kaan. I didn’t miss a single shot mind you so you can’t fault me for that. Just had trouble with the recoil is all.”

“That much is obvious, judging by the dents. Is the strength assist not working well? I can divert the power from other parts so you could control it better.”

“No, no, no. Don’t do that. You know I hate it when I can’t move my fingers.”

“Let me tweak the balance a bit, okay? Don’t come to me with a torn up arm and expect me to work a miracle. You’re lucky that I’m even helping you right now. I could send you to the Wasters outside, say you’re a Mech, and they’d eat you alive. Literally.”

Wendy rolled her eyes. “Just a little then. I’d like to have a little dexterity when I’m the bartender tonight.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So I’ve been told,” Wendy said, amused. “Anyway, I’ve decided to pay you.”

Seulgi shook her head. “I don’t take money from you. The Friskers will ask me where the cash came from and you know I’m not good at lying.”

“It’s not cash.”

“Then what is it?”

“Gravulite.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Instead of the usual cash, I got three pieces of Gravulite in the dead drop. Can you believe that? What sort of Underworlder has Gravulite in their possession? Much less give it away to some Waster like me.”

“I.B, was it?” Seulgi went into a think.

“That’s right. I don’t know who he is, but if he’s going to give me a fortune for killing some Wasters, I wouldn’t argue that at all.”

“You know if you’re caught with that, that’s your arrest, trial, and execution date. You’re getting killed on the spot. No questions asked.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing. Have I ever let you down?”

Seulgi raised her brow. “You mean get me kicked out of Retí Bastion? Then yes, you literally let me down from the sky.”

“Oh shut up, you didn’t like the Overworld anyway. People there are too stingy, too serious, too overbearing. Oh, I forgot: pretentious.”

“I don’t need you to remind me. But still, it’s safe, even if the people are full of .”

“Well down here, all you’re going to get is people throwing at you or trying to suffocate you by shoving down your mouth. I don’t know what you prefer but I agree with you, it’s much better if the is inside them.”

Seulgi sighed and smiled wearily at Wendy’s nonchalant figure on the fold-up chair. They shared a look before Seulgi pointed to the metal arm on the table. 

“Fixed the arm. You said you’re going after the bartender tonight?”

“I was kidding. Rappa needs some parts replaced. I’ll be working on her the whole night.”

Wendy stood up from the chair and set down the bottle of whiskey. She made her way to the table with the arm and sat down on the stool next to it. She waited as Seulgi attached the wires and cogs of the arm to the mechanisms on the metal ring socket welded to her body. 

“Well, stay safe and watch your back. You know that already.” 

“You don’t have to keep reminding me, I get it.”

“And Wendy?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful of I.B. If she is who I’m thinking of, you’re not only in danger, but who you care about is too.”

“What are you saying? Who could it be?”

Seulgi paused for a moment. 

“They’re not an Underworlder like us. Ruthless, cunning, and efficient. When I say watch your back, I really mean it this time. Sleep in the Grotto tonight. People there don’t care for your name; they won’t even charge you. So, get Rappa fixed and get out of town quickly. Before you know it, they had already taken you to one of the flying bastions.”

“How do you know all this?” 

Seulgi finished attaching the arm to Wendy’s metal ring socket and helped Wendy put down her sleeve to cover it up. Wendy stretched out her fingers to test them—a little more rigid, but had more control and strength. Seulgi balanced the power out.

“I’m from the Overworld. There are fairy tales of her, legends, and even songs. I think there’s a reason why your employer has Gravulite. Only an Overworlder would have one of those.”

“Is there a name?”

Seulgi pursed her lips and sighed heavily.

“Irene Bae, the sky pirate.”

//

Sky pirate? What a load of bull. 

Pirates were mere thieves like the Wasters of Karo Kaan. The only difference was that they flew in giant ships in the sky, looting and pillaging small settlements in the Overworld. Wendy knew how to deal with thieves like this Irene Bae—a bullet between the eyes would do the trick. As with everyone else, in fact.

Wendy had a bag slung over her shoulder, parts and tools she would use to maintain Rappa. Every other week she went to Trigger Treat, the gun store owned by Seulgi’s old Overworld friend Hyeri. All the gun stores were the same, but this one in particular gave her a discount on the basis of her being pretty or whatever. She could get twice the amount of tools with half the amount of marks. So, of course she would buy from this store.

Wendy had thought of using Gravulite to pay for the tools, but decided she did not trust Hyeri enough. Not like Seulgi, that was. Gravulite was a turquoise-colored rock-like material found in the clouds. So rare and expensive, only the wealthy managed to get their hands on them. They were the science behind the flying bastions of the Overworld, how they floated and moved through the sky. Grav for Gravity. Lite for minerals. The Gravity Mineral. 

Mere possession of Gravulite in the Overworld would have you hounded by prospectors and government officials in hopes of selling the mineral. Possession in the Underworld meant certain death—any Overworld related items were to be destroyed and buried. Having Gravulite or even her metal arm she found falling from a low-flying bastion would be cause for her corpse in the grinder. Dead or alive. 

The three pieces of the mineral were kept in the deep, dark recesses of her pack hanging from the loop of her belt. The pack swayed back forth, daring anyone to take it, but they took one look at her sniper and they backed down immediately. Sharpshooters were respected individuals since the war between the Overworld and Underworld was not forgotten. After all, sharpshooters like her stopped the Overworld from razing the ground they walked on. She must be the only one still carrying her sniper around since the veterans of that war do not even want to remember the horrors committed by both sides. 

But Wendy remembered, she always remembered.  Her metal arm served as a reminder every waking moment.

The Grotto was a small area in Wearwater, home to vagabonds and the desolate alike. It was just under a roadway of the Highland District, the place Wendy would be more likely to spend her time in if it weren’t for Seulgi’s insistence on keeping safe. The Grotto deployed flat cardboard boxes and straw bags as their beds and pillows. But anyone who came to The Grotto did not complain—visitors were asked no questions and charged no marks. No one spoke to each other and a look would be but a mere millisecond. 

Wendy situated herself on a flat box near one of the trash can fires scattered around the area. The trash can fires were necessary for a good night's sleep, else one might freeze as the temperature lowered further and further into the night. 

She took Rappa and set the rifle down in front of her cross-legged figure. She ran her hand across it, feeling the finer edges of the weapon that killed thirty Wasters earlier that day. Thirty was a small number. In the war, at least five hundred pilots of the Overworld were shot down by her sniper every day. It was good to keep practice as her shot was the only thing keeping her from starving to death. 

Wendy heard murmurs as she worked on Rappa, cleaning and replacing weary parts. Some were talking to themselves, excitable tremors as they spoke gibberish on and on. But most were prayers to the Seven. The Seven was something Wendy knew of, but never delved into—Gods and Goddesses were not benevolent beings set forth to save and solve their every problem. It certainly did not save her arm from being torn off by a sand scorpion. Though a part of her wondered if the metal arm was some sort of recompense. It allowed her to shoot her sniper, but if any Wasters took a look at it, she would be fed to the grinder. The arm was both a curse and blessing at the same time. Perfect for the likes of the Seven—oh they loved their oxymorons. 

Overworlders were such annoying people; they said that since they were in the sky, they were closer to what they called Haven—the Seven’s domain. But Wendy knew the truth. Seulgi once said that Overworlders only believed in the eighth deity—none from the seven. The Gravity God, and having Gravulite meant you were given God’s gift. Some say it was this that started the war, the Eighth verses the Seven, but no would ever say it even if it might be true. But as Wendy said, she did not care for religion as all she had was her bullets and her bullets had her. 

She mused whether or not those Gods were real. If they were, they would have stopped her from killing their children. They would have swerved her bullets and planted them to the ground. However, she was quick to learn that the Gods were cruel and instead led them straight to their children. 

Because one thing Wendy never did was miss.

Wendy finished her maintenance on Rappa and set the rifle aside next to her pack. The tools and used parts were put back into its bag, ready for the return to Hyeri’s shop. She took her straw pillow, fluffing it up as best as she could, and then she laid down, closed her eyes, and hoped she would make it through the night. 

//

The night, however, had other plans for Wendy.

Wendy woke with her hair doused in water. Her clothes were soaked and they stuck to her skin like glue. Hands and feet bound to a table, she looked around the room, panic setting in as she realized her situation. She spotted her pack next to her bed, the one filled with food, her flask, hygienic items, but most importantly, the Gravulite. 

She struggled with her bindings, hands and feet budging mere centimeters before a voice called out at her foolishness.

“No matter how strong you are Mech, those bindings are made of Gravulite. It will keep you down. It’s no use.” 

Upon hearing this, Wendy stopped her struggle and followed the voice to a person that seemed to appear out of thin air. A woman with hair black as night carried a small bracelet in her hand. It had a metallic sheen and small flickering lights coming from the slits that adorned it. That could only mean one thing: it was Overworld technology. Whoever this woman was, she was from the sky. 

And Wendy, for the life of her, did not understand what was happening. 

“Looking at the bracelet? It’s from a Grav Dealer from the Retí Bastion. You’re familiar with the city, are you not? Considering that’s where you stole your arm from.”

“I didn’t steal it. It—”

“—fell from the sky. I know your story. Every. Single. Bit. No need to lie to me. I know you snuck into the bastion when it had low Gravulite in its engines. You must’ve been wondering why it was flying so low. I know you’re a soldier, a sniper in fact, that managed to sneak into the armory and snatch that arm of yours during the war. And...I know who you’re working for right now.”

“Who are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Wendy scoffed. “Then who should I thank for putting me in these binds?”

“Me,” another voice spoke from behind her. Wendy tried to look, but her head could not turn enough to see. The woman came into view, holding her hand out as the woman who was talking to her gave her the bracelet. 

This woman was taller with legs that ran for miles. Her figure was of an hourglass, with curves and lumps in the right places. Wendy swore if she met this woman in the street, she would not hesitate to throw a line or two in there for a chance to get her in bed. 

“And who might you be?” Wendy asked, her confrontational nature simmering down as she looked at the beauty.

The attractive woman looked towards the other woman. “Does she ask the same question over and over again?”

“It looks like it,” the other woman said. 

“And have you answered her back?”

“Not at all ma’am.”

“Then why do you think she keeps on asking?”

“Maybe she’s a bit slow ma’am. We did find her in the Grotto sleeping with her sniper out in the open. Also, she has Gravulite in her pack. So my theory is she has some brain damage to be that dumb to sleep there.”

“Huh,” the attractive woman said. She paid attention to Wendy now. “Are you sure you don’t know me?”

“I’m an Underworlder ma’am,” Wendy sarcastically said, mocking the subordinate. “I wouldn’t even have a clue who you were even if you told me.”

The attractive woman leaned in closer, so close Wendy had a whiff of the woman’s scent, Capa Perfume. Oh, that was it—perfume reserved only for Overworld royalty. At least, that was what the drifters down in the markets sold it as. She liked the smell, in fact, and she bought a few bottles, and seeing as though this woman had a Gravulite bracelet with technology unseen in the Underworld, those drifters must have been telling the truth. That would be a first, she mused.

“You’re a noble.”

“Getting closer, but be more specific.”

“You’re an inner noble. You’re close to the ruling family.”

The woman shook her head and leaned in even closer. Then, Wendy saw the greatest clue: a turquoise necklace—the jewel in the middle was one of the most refined Gravulite minerals she had ever laid eyes upon.

“You’re from the royal family,” Wendy sheepishly said. 

“The princess to be exact. Call me Joy.”

“Joy…” Wendy trailed off but then her face came back to one filled with confusion. “So, is that it? You kidnapped me because I stole your metal arm?”

Joy shook her head. “No, I kidnapped you because I want your help.”

“Help relies on two things. Money and a good first impression. And so far, you haven’t given me either.” 

“Money, no. Impossible. And I’m afraid my chance to give you the latter has already been spent. However, a little bird once told me people deserve second chances. So if I unbind you, will you hear what I have to say?”

“I have no choice, do I?”

Joy shook her head. “Either listen to me tied down by Gravulite bindings or we could have a nice chat sipping some tea. And you know how the Overworld is famous for our tea, don’t you? It’s our greatest import to the trash you call the Underworld. We call it the Garbage Bin, because it’s where all the undesirables end up, like your friend Seulgi we have tied up the same way you are in the other room.”

“She has nothing to do with this. Don’t hurt her.”

“She has everything to do with this. If not for her, you wouldn’t even be using this arm. So what will it be? Tea or I could bind these tighter on you.”

“No!” Wendy simmered down. “I...let’s talk over a table.”

Joy smiled. 

“Good.”

Joy looked back at her subordinate. 

“Bring her some new clothes and send her to the garden.” She looked at Wendy. “Sorry about your clothes. These idiots dropped you in the ravine.”

“Glad to know I’m not the only here,” Wendy said as she looked at the subordinate, recalling what the woman said earlier about her intelligence. 

Joy pressed a button on the bracelet and the bindings slowly released Wendy’s arms and legs. She then gave one look to Wendy, nodded in acknowledgement, and left the room with a spring in her step. Wendy had not heard of Joy as she was not too familiar in Overworld politics. Unlike the Underworld, there was a vast amount of intrigue and infighting. The only time they banded together was during the war a few years back. 

Whatever Joy wanted must have been important, as only gifted people made it to the Overworld. Seulgi was a brilliant mechanic and inventor and her friend Lisa of Waker’s Watch yielded maps of utmost detail. It would take a great deal to be removed from the flying bastions and both of them had broken grave rules. 

But here she was, dressed in nothing but fresh black slacks and a shirt. Her boots were still wet and they dug into her feet with a squishing sound every time she took a step. She felt and looked out of place as she followed Joy’s subordinate to the Garden. The walls were made of granite and Doric poles lined the massive hallway in increments. Banners of red and gold hung from the ceiling and outside, as Wendy stared out in awe, were clouds and the floating city of the Retí Bastion. Guards carried steam-powered guns, hardly comparable to her own sniper, but the impact was the same: a hit to any part of the body would most likely tear it off. However, much less accurate since they held the gun.

The guards followed her every move as she passed by them, and she swore she could see their eyes glint with something sinister under those alabaster gold-lined service caps of theirs. Wendy shivered inwardly, but made no outward expression, merely steeling herself for what was to come. This was not her turf anymore. One wrong move and she could be thrown off the edge of the city and become but a mere splat on the land below. 

They entered through giant double doors the size of a small house, and in the middle of the grand room lined with paintings of what seemed to be the Royal Family’s ancestors, was Joy herself in a tiny table compared to the room, drinking from a teacup with her pinky raised. Her legs were crossed and she made no quip when Wendy entered with her subordinate. 

“This is the Garden,” Joy welcomed as she unfolded her legs and sat up straight. She set her teacup on its small saucer and intertwined her fingers together, as if she was conducting a proficiency test on Wendy’s manners. 

“Uhuh.” Wendy looked around, not impressed as she should be. The view outside was much better, but this place, even if the ceiling was a league high, gave her no awe-inspiring feeling. 

“You seem to not be impressed. These paintings are of our greatest inventors and bravest warriors that have ever set foot inside the Overworld.” Joy pointed to a painting behind Wendy, a familiar face adorning it.

“Seulgi was one of our premier inventors until you stole her arm. The council had no choice but to kick her out as she had no proof that it was stolen. They thought she was an Underworld sympathizer.”

“I didn’t know that. She—”

“—never told you? If I were her, I wouldn’t either. Imagine sitting face to face with your mortal enemy and not wanting to rip their throat off. As of this moment, she’s getting a hero’s welcome for conspiring for her thief’s arrest.”

Wendy’s eyes widened in rapt attention. There was no way Seulgi would betray her like that. It had been years since their fall from the bastion and she apologized for what she did to Seulgi as much as she killed Wasters from the city-states. She may have not known the finer details, but she truly was sorry. 

“Shocked? Feeling betrayed? You said something to me earlier about first impressions and trust me, you’ve never given her a good one, and yet she helped you maintain your arm. Of course it wasn’t to aid you; she just did not want her invention to be wasted by a Waster like you. We contacted her a year ago, had her make use of herself so you would trust her, and last night, she led you to the Grotto where we laid in wait in the darkness.”

Wendy’s mouth gaped, her words failing to find its way to . Everything she was going to say would have no use, questions that already had answers, and words so telegraphed that Joy would be able to recite them word for word as they came out of . 

“Don’t talk. Just listen,” Joy said. “I’m going to put it bluntly. You are bound for execution in a week.”

“What?”

“Normally, there would be a trial, but public sentiment looms large over you and they’re not wasting a second. Even now, they’re building the gallows in the city center. One rope, just for you. Flyers are being posted on poles and on tavern walls. The town crier is yelling for your demise and a banquet for your death is being cooked in the kitchens all over the bastion.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“You may not know Wendy, but you’ve made a name for yourself up here. During the war, you killed tens and thousands of our brothers and sisters with your rifle. They said you never missed a shot. And when I watched you murder those