Endless sand and howling, lascinating winds, toke over the once thriving cityscape at hand. The bustling streets filled with business and bystanders, now a graveyard for cars and ruined buildings. The once interconnectedness and restless nature of humankind endeavors now lay silent in a grave of sand. All human joy, greed, and mistakes buried deep in the wasteland, as if never existed in first place.

Scattered through the streets, intermitent mass open graves, scattered weaponry, and banners long erased by the elements showcase the conflict that toke place before all was over. Against what, however, no one knows anymore.

But humankind is resilient, if not downright stubborn, and even now they are intent in living their lifes, however bleak does past, present and future look.

Amidst the desolation, a small village settled amidst the ruins of a small neighborhood gets by with honest work. Ever since the world ended, humanity upped the stakes by reversing back to mostly small communities, almost tribal in nature. No one thrives alone in the wastes, an ironic reminder of collaboration.

Clad in long rags and a makeshift hat, a small figure leaves an abode with a bucket in hands. It's a young girl, barely past her womanhood, intent on attending a local well to get some of the little water that is left to provide for her family. "Careful, Myrna", says an elderly figure, gently caressing the girl's vestments, "the desert has been getting hotter at this time lately. Bring only enough to make our soup, your father's fever won't go down".

The nervously looking girl nods anxiously and resumes her way to the well. Her skin is dry, and her face bears signs of sunburn, despite being so young. As she steps out of the shadows into the midday 50°C desert's sun, her face wrinkles and her eyes squint. Walking small steps through the hardened sand, she makes her way to the well, where she proceeds do take off water and drink it herself, washing her face and hands as well.

As she toke her time to relieve in the water, she barely notices when three armed men jump from corners, and start to surround the girl with malicious intent. She gasps, and goes rigid, eyes wide open now. She starts to shake and her legs go limp. She knows she won't be able to make a run for it, but desperation takes place.

They immediately grab her by the arm and render the poor girl, intending to have their way with her. They laugh viciously while groping her, showing tongue and kisses as the girl screams and thrashes desperately.

"Hi there, sweetness", one of them says, "Your father has been owing us tendays worth of tributes, you know?", he says, as the other two agree with him, "Seems like he has no appreciation for our dignified work out here. Our boss tires of waiting, so we'll take you as payment instead".

The girl screams her heart out in horror as tears dripped through her pale face, but no one came to save her. Alarmed by the commotion, the villagers stare from their windows in despair, unable to fight back, powerless. Her mother fell to her knees on her doorstep, and cried the heaves for God to save her. Her feverish father mumbled her name in agony. The other villagers just shook their head in despair, simultaneously feeling sorry for her and thankful for not being their daughter instead.

Unfortunately, this is all too common in the wasteland: bandits have their way, and the common folk comply. They knew that, and they dare not intervene. At least they may leave her alive after they are done. Such is the way of the wastes.

The bandits didn't know that yet, but today was different. A stealthy shadow walked through the corners nearby, following the scent of banditry and the cry of helpless citizens.

A cloaked figure around a corner stares in deadly silence at the commotion, passing silent judgment. It's unclear how long he's been there in the shadow, but he eventually proceeds to pierce the riot with a deep, cold voice. "If you wanna live, get out of here", he said.

Startled, the three men turn to face the voice, releasing the girl from their grip as they reach for their holsters, and she stumbles away to her parents, crying.

A man in a brown duster and black aviators stands in the front of the main hall of the city, his right hand hovering the unusual big .357 caliber revolver on his hip as the hot wind blows his clothes and curly hair around, in a standoff position. His gun is intricately decorated with silver, gold and carbon fiber parts, full of engraved details, the most prominent one being a pair of wings next to the trigger.

The men look at each other and laugh maliciously. "Know your place, outsider", one of them yells at him, "you should know better than mess with our business. You don't get to tell us to leave". As the man talks, they start to slowly circle around the stranger, menacingly. The stranger holds his ground.

"I was talking to the girl, not you. You don't get to live after this". He continued, making the men look at each other confused, in disbelief.

The bandit that talked before makes a sour face, a vein of anger popping in his neck, "Well stranger, you got a lot of balls for sure", he says, clearly pissed off, "but you don't see to understand the kind of situation you are in right now. Now that you stepped in my dick, I'll have to teach you a lesson".

At this point, they have fully circled the stranger, but he remains immobile. "The only lesson scum like you has to give me is target practice", he says, finally, as the four men align dangerously, waiting for the first move. His last comment really rilled up the bandits.

A tense standoff. A gun cocks. The stranger reads the movement. Time slows down.

The man directly behind the stranger doesn't even see it coming.

In a blink of an eye the stranger lunges backwards, striking the throat of the bandit with his elbow in a very agonizing crack just as he was pulling his gun, making him immediately drop his weapon as he gasps for air.

His agony was brief, however, as the bandit is used as meat shield for the two first shots of the other bandits, while the stranger hides behind him.

A loud bang and the sound of wire stirring, next thing they see is the stranger dragging in the floor moved by an unseen force. They watch horrorized as he holster the big iron and lands the shot on the second bandit bullseye, painting the bleak sand red.

The last bandit panics and shoots haphazardly toward the moving stranger, but the stranger is too fast. He has no chance of landing a shot on him, as the stranger moves at supernatural speed and reflexes.

He slides through the sand and floor as if surfing, making sharp turns and laying curved to the ground thanks to the lodged wire. Before he has time to think, the stranger is already at point blank distance. He tries aiming his gun at him, but the stranger unholsters a blade and with a single slice, cuts his hand clean off, with gun and all, making him drop to his knees, screaming with passion as his eyes bulge at his squirting stump.

The barren sands now reek of iron and smoke from the bloodshed. The stranger gives the bandit a brief time to regret his actions, as he slowly reload his gun. The click of the rotating drum of big iron as it slowly aligns with the barrel foreshadows the last bandit's fate. The bandits babbles incoherently, unable to understand what just happened. The last thing the bandit sees is the end barrel of big iron. A loud bang, and all is over.

He fans his smoking gun on his hand and holsters it dexterously, quickly glances through the village, and nonchalantly walks back to the shadows.

The villagers watch this scene in awe, and take a moment to process what's just happened. At this point, the girl from before rushes outside, eager to thank the mysterious stranger for saving her life.

But by the time she gets there, he was long gone, three warm corpses at her feet.