A dead city, slowly being reclaimed by the shifting sands, that was the Hell the Hunter now found himself in. But that was the life he'd chosen, wasn't it? He'd struck out looking to find his fame and fortune among the stars, become a legend. But that had been years ago, and all he had to claim was what he carried with him from the crash. He continued on regardless, marching through the silent city, and it was maddening. .. Somewhere overhead cold eyes tracked his progress. He started thinking… Maybe he was already dead. Maybe this was just the transition to the void. Maybe he didn't survive the crash. He was back in the crater, bleeding into the already blood colored sand. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. He rounded the corner then, and saw it; the Construct. And there, in the failing light, its edges blazed with the light that legends were made of. He couldn't be dead. Not yet. Not now. The first round struck him then, punched clean through his pack, his armor… flesh and bone. He dropped to his knees. He didn't feel the pain, all there was the Construct. His calling… His legend. The third round struck low, his left shoulder, and the force of it spun him away from the Construct. The magic was broken. The pain finally registered. A final shot rang out among the ruins… --- Back in the decrepit ruin of a building, the shooter, another Hunter, pulled their own sun-bleached hood off from over their helmet and sighed. "Gone." The Hunter would deal with the body in the morning. If there was still one left to deal with. The light was failing, and that was when the city, and the real monsters, came out. Welcome to hell.