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"Target’s dirty, but I've got it," Jax yelled over the rising howl of the storm. He turned the wheel toward the eye of the vortex, using the DBM Tornado’s sheer weight to anchor him against the gale while the Vultures were sucked into the sky behind him.
"Two minutes to intercept," Jax crackled over the comms to his wingman.
Inside the cockpit, Jax gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. The Tornado was a beast of scrap metal and high-tensile steel, powered by a scavenged turbine that screamed louder than the wind. Today’s mission was simple but lethal: a extraction.
The sky over the Dust Bowl was the color of a bruised plum, thick with the static of an approaching storm. In the heart of the wasteland, the didn’t just drive; it tore through the landscape like a jagged blade.
The Vultures’ rig appeared on the horizon, a rolling fortress of spikes and rusted plating. Jax floored it. The Tornado’s unique hydraulic suspension kicked in, allowing him to weave through the debris field at speeds that would have flipped any other vehicle.
He disappeared into the dust, a ghost in a machine, leaving nothing but tire tracks and the echo of a dying engine.
The "Target" wasn't a person—it was a lead-lined canister containing the last decrypted seed-bank codes, held by a rogue convoy of scavengers known as the Vultures.
Jax reached out, snagging the canister with the Tornado’s magnetic winch. As the metal clattered against his chassis, the sky finally broke. A real tornado—a towering pillar of black grit—began to drop from the clouds.
