A grueling path across the desert dunes…

The sealed metal barrel - its grey surface pitted with strange symbols, some worn away by the passage of time - is heavy.

You carefully roll the barrel over the massive sand dunes, keeping a sharp eye on the terrain.

The pain from your wounds is intense…

During a few brief halts, you managed to pull several tiny - yet devilishly sharp - shards of metal from your bloodied flesh.

Of course, your body is far tougher than that of some pathetic "hummie".

Your tissues regenerate rapidly.

Alas, that offers no relief from the pain…

Nor does accelerated regeneration save you from dangers like a mini-rocket blast that tears a head to shreds…

Images of your two warbrothers’ recent deaths flash through your mind in rapid succession - a "kaleidoscope of death".

So… even the strongest body has its limits.

"I could have died back there… just like my two warbrothers…" - thoughts uncharacteristic of you pulse insistently in your mind.

For as long as you can remember, you have always been a fearless (and somewhat reckless) warrior, charging into battle in the name of the Sovereign’s divine will.

But now, for some reason, unfamiliar thoughts are surfacing in your brain.

A kind of introspection that was never part of your nature before…

The pain of your wounds mingles with strange sensations: nausea, an itching body, and a pulsing "rhythm" inside your head (sometimes causing a ringing in your ears). Every now and then, you are forced to stop at the crest of a sand dune to catch your breath.

After a day of travel, fits of coughing set in...

And it’s bad - judging by the thick phlegm you’re hacking up, which clearly contains droplets of blood.

"Damn! What the fuck is this?! What the hell was in that shitty underground lab?!" - you growl furiously, realizing the serious consequences for your body.

It seems that gas filling one of the rooms in the long-abandoned underground lab was no trivial matter to be ignored.

Well, over years of battle for the glory of your Deity, you’ve grown far too accustomed to disregarding danger and charging headlong into the fray, crushing enemies' skulls and sweeping everything in your path aside.

Your body is incredibly resilient, capable of withstanding the toxic atmosphere of these wastelands.

Poisonous fumes, acid rain, the dangerous thorns of the few local plants...

Radiation-contaminated terrain; fierce wind gusts carrying dust particles harmful to an ordinary "hummie"; and predatory wildlife...

You (like other super mutants) - could overcome all of this through the might of your battle-hungry body and the strength of a will dedicated to serving The Sovereign.

But now...

Something has changed...

You feel so fucking bad...

By the start of the second day of your journey - after a sleepless night filled with pain and violent bouts of vomiting - you can barely move forward. Those endless, desolate dunes of orange-hued sand…

The lifeless desert seems to stretch all the way to the horizon…

Are you really going to die here?

If so, it will be an inglorious death…

The mission failed, the cargo undelivered, the Deity disappointed…

Letting out a furious shout, you summon every ounce of your strength and keep rolling the barrel forward.

Another half-hour of movement…

Alas, your vision has blurred from the pain, and your attention has wavered.

Your foot sinks into what looks like a small patch of quicksand…

A split second later, something swift bursts from the sand toward you - a long, writhing worm (over a meter in length) with slimy flesh covered in countless bristle-like spines that ooze a vile purple fluid.

The loathsome creature lunges rapidly from its ambush deep within the sand, flying past your face with mere centimeters to spare.

A hideous "mouth" opening with three jaws, studded with hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp chitinous teeth…

Fortunately, you stumble over the barrel (which you had been rolling ahead of you) and instinctively duck down.

Your body recoils from the worm.

However, the vile predator manages to graze your left arm with the slimy, spiked surface of its body.

Pain...

A searing pain...

You scream at the top of your lungs, fueled by a surge of rage as you push yourself to the absolute limit to survive.

"If I give that thing even a second, it’ll strike again..." - you think, lunging toward the worm as it lands on the sand and rears up its hideous body for another attack.

The predator has no eyes... yet it unerringly senses your presence - sensing the prey it craves to devour and use as fertile "ground" for its offspring.

You... give it no chance.

Charging at the hideous, hissing worm, you stomp on it furiously with your strong legs.

Its flesh writhes beneath the crushing blows of your boots...

You take care to avoid any further contact with its poisonous spikes...

"Die! Die! Die! You fucking piece of shit!" - you scream, ignoring the pain as adrenaline surges through you.

Soon, nothing remains on the orange-hued sand but a shapeless, repulsive mass of slime and wretched scraps of flesh...

The predator that attacked you has been destroyed.

Yet, you feel no joy in your victory.

The burning and pain in your left arm...

The sensations are intensifying. You keep rolling the barrel forward...

But ten minutes later, you simply collapse flat on your back.

Damn... you were already badly hurt from the shit that went down in the underground lab - and now, on top of that, you’ve got a poisoned wound from a fucking sandhopper...

Why is your luck so rotten?

Is a excruciating death really the only option left?