Waste Land

Soldiers get paid to do a lot of things. Some good, some bad. Mercenaries get paid to do the same shit, they just get paid, better. But what do you do, when the jobs become scarce, and money runs low? Sometimes, you hear a story, recall a tale, find a map, that points to treasure and wealth. Down on your luck, you might just go looking in a giant sand box for a buried treasure too. They did.

Alexander Cross sat with his three comrades. They had been through it all. Fought as marines in the two hundred and third. Discharged dishonorably, and became mercenaries for hire. Now they were treasure hunters, of all things. Oh how the mighty had fallen. Alexander was a six foot black man, with a large muscular build, and rugged good looks.

When the military continued to send his men into more and more dangerous places, with nearly suicidal missions, for the same dollar they always made, he started to get fed up. When half his regiment got wiped out, he walked away from that life.

Alexander had a combat knife, on his left calf, a pistol strapped to his right thigh, and held a standard **** rifle. He was well versed in all guns, but his forte was with heavy weapons.

Megan Salvatore sat across from former Commander Cross, second in command to the squad. Not much had changed since, the busty Latino woman had left the military to follow the man to greener pastures. At five foot ten she was a fairly tall woman, with a muscular toned body. Long raven hair, soft olive skin, a firm ass, and her large breasts had made her a target for most male soldiers. But this sniper had a temper, and wasn’t afraid to let it be known.
Twin revolvers graced her sexy thighs, and a vicious machete ran parallel to her belt at the small of her back. An intimidating sniper rifle sat butt first between her legs, and was held with the affection normally reserved for a lover.

Next to Commander Cross was the other female of their small group. Tabitha Mercer, a busty red head, with a killer ass, and a killer disposition. The ivory skinned Irish woman was deadly with the pistol at her hip, and the smg in her lap. But it was her psi abilities that made her lethal. Her emerald eyes, were often mesmerizing, when one could look away from her deep cleavage long enough.

Next to the sultry Latin sniper, sat the massive Axle Riggs. Former mechanic, former soldier, the bear like man, stood six and half feet tall, and was 300lbs of muscle layered upon more muscle. Axle carried a hand cannon on his thigh, and a shot gun in his lap. To be honest, he was just at home beating you to **** with his giant gloved fists, as shooting you in the face.

The drop ship was taking them down to a desolate planet nick named the Waste Land. They had heard the rumors, about the wealth hidden somewhere in the planet. But they had gone on to serve their nation. They had listened the tales of mystery that surrounded the dangerous planet, but they had gone for the money that was close at hand. Now they heard of the mercenary work that was to be hand on this rock, and now they were going to get what was theirs. Hidden treasure or not, work was on this planet, and that’s what they needed.

Suddenly the ship rocked wildly, and everyone clung to their seat. "I think we're taking fire Commander." Salvatore frowned. With a nod, Cross got up, and moved cautiously toward the cabin, where the pilot was. "Whats going on?" He asked, as an explosion tore the ship in half, and the world went dark.