Ride Back and Roll-call

The elevator explodes out of the dirt, punching through the earth like a pissed-off geyser. Dirt and rocks rain down in clattering showers, the sudden glare stabbing my eyes after god knows how long in that underground tomb, but the view waiting for me? Worth every second; wasteland stretching endless, red dust swirling in the wind like blood mist.

H8teWagon, purring low and dangerous like a steel panther in heat, stands there; fifteen tons of pure attitude; parked in vehicle form, engine idling. She’s surrounded by the aftermath of what I can only describe as an enthusiastic "self-defense seminar". Almost a dozen corpses; likely more; bandits, varkids, a couple unlucky skags; lie scattered around her in various states of "no longer alive." Limbs bent the wrong way, faces caved in with tire tread indentations, another's intestines tangled in the axle. It's gloriously macabre.

“Hey girl… good job.” I pat her scarred, gore-smeared chassis; metal warm under my palm, slick with bandit juice. The plating is dented in spots from impacts, blood-slick in others where she must've plowed through, but H8teWagon hums happily, chassis vibrating like an eager hound; her headlights flickering once in acknowledgment. She even hops a little, her shocks flexing with a hydraulic sigh, almost knocking a loose boot off a dead guy’s foot.

I climb in, the cockpit sealing with a satisfying hiss; seat molding to my back, straps auto-tightening with a click. My HUD flickers to life across my upgraded AR contacts; data streams scrolling crisp: vitals green, ammo counts full, companion roster syncing seamless.

Strapped in tight on my hips are my Widowmaker’s Kiss and my Overcompensator. Slung across my back, The Divorce Settler and Homewrecker.

“Take us to Sanctuary, girl,” I tell her, voice low over the engine's growl.

I feel the faint ping as GhostScout de-cloaks, landing on the dash with a soft magnetic thunk, tagging a hidden weapons cache buried under one of the corpses: rusted crate half-buried in guts. Nice try, asshole. CashCrab, my wrist-mounted loot sucker, gives a cheerful chime; legs unfolding with tiny clicks; and detaches, scuttling across the gore-slick ground like a mechanical spider. It pops open the cache with precise claw snips, tossing a few credits from the **** pile and trinkets; grenade mods, eridium shards; uploading to my account and inventory with rapid pings. I don't even look; I trust her; CashCrab chirps triumphant, scampering back to latch onto my wrist.

H8teWagon growls deeper, tires screeching as she peels out over the corpses; bodies crunching under wheels like wet gravel, crimson tread marks painting the dirt, the distant echoes of broken dreams; and bandit screams; fading behind us in the dust cloud.

The wasteland rolls past in a blur of cracked earth, rusted metal hulks jutting like broken bones, and the occasional flaming wreck belching black smoke. The ride’s pretty uneventful, except when H8teWagon runs over something... or someone; sudden wet squelches under the chassis, loot auto-pinging into inventory without a hitch.

I glance down at the tablet on my forearm; holographic display flickering to life with a soft glow, fingers dancing across the interface like a kid scrolling a toy catalog of destruction.

Companion Recall - Ready.

A soft, digital hum confirms the roster, mini dancing digital images of them all popping up in a grid; each one twisting in idle animations, quirks on full display.

My HUD pings as Sanctuary III’s beacon comes into range; signal strengthening with a steady beep. Off in the distance, the speck of the mobile fortress looms; parked like salvation wrapped in rust and questionable engineering; massive thrusters idle, hull scarred from a thousand skirmishes.

H8teWagon kicks into overdrive, engine roaring throatier; wind whipping through the open cab, the minigun swiveling just in case some suicidal scav tries to intercept, barrels tracking shadows with predatory whirrs.

I lean back, grin curling my lips, fingers dancing across the tablet; companions' icons pulsing ready.

"Sanctuary better be ready… 'cause I sure as hell am."