Not even a couple of minutes after Six finished his call with Moore in their drive they were stopped by some sort of barricade.
Large sheets of scrap metal and wrecked vehicles had been haphazardly arranged across the road, forming a crude blockade. The way it was set up wasn't just random junk thrown together—it was intentional. Someone wanted to stop them.
Six narrowed his eyes, gripping the wheel of the War Bus. He could go off-road and simply bypass it, but something felt off. This wasn't just some debris left behind by time and decay.
Roger, leaning against the dashboard, crossed his arms.
"None of you leave the bus."
He said in a low, steady voice.
"I'm sure as soon as we step out, we'll be rushed. Pretty sure it's just some raiders who saw us at the 188 Trading Post and got greedy."
Rebecca, sitting next to Six, huffed.
"Great. Just what we needed."
Six smirked.
"Why don't I use this as a chance to show off my powers? Let's see if they're worth anything."
The others shrugged, but no one objected. Then, with a deep breath, Six activated his transformation.
His skin turned ghostly pale, his once-dark hair became a pure white mane that crackled with latent energy. Jagged obsidian-black horns grew from his forehead, their tips glowing faintly like embers.
His Elite Riot Gear morphed, shifting into a bleach-white ensemble adorned with black and gray etchings that pulsed like a heartbeat. A belt lined with sleek, otherworldly ammunition wrapped around his waist, and his trusted Desert Eagles took on new forms—imbued with unspeakable power.
A low hum filled the War Bus as his presence became felt.
Then, as if on cue, engines roared to life.
From behind the barricade and along the sides of the road, a convoy of raiders emerged, their vehicles heavily modified and decorated with spikes, skulls, and war banners. There were dune buggies with reinforced plates, motorcycles with armored riders, and a massive six-wheeled truck reminiscent of something out of Mad Max.
The leader stepped forward, a cloaked, muscle-bound man in a hockey mask. He carried himself like a warlord, oozing arrogance and bloodthirsty confidence. One of his men, acting like a hype-man, grabbed a microphone and started barking out an introduction.
"Greetings from The Stotch! The Lord Stotch! The Warrior of the Wasteland! The Ayatollah of Rock and Rolla!"
Lord Stotch took the mic, spreading his arms wide as if addressing an audience.
"There has been too much violence, too much pain. None here are without sin. But I have an honorable compromise!"
His voice boomed with exaggerated theatrics.
"Just walk away…"
"Give me the vehicle and everything inside, and I'll spare your lives."
"Just walk away… I will give you safe passage in the Wasteland."
"Just walk away and there will be an end to the horror."
He took a dramatic pause, waiting for their reaction.
"I await your answ—"
BANG!
Before he could finish, his entire custom truck was reduced to mist particles.
Silence.
Silence fell over the wasteland as Lord Stotch and his raiders processed what had just happened. One moment, their leader was making his grand speech, and the next, his prized vehicle had ceased to exist—not blown up, not burned, but simply erased from reality.
The remaining raiders gawked at the empty space where the massive truck once stood, their bravado quickly crumbling.
Everyone, including the War Bus crew, took a second to process what had just happened.
Six, standing calmly inside the bus, had fired one shot from his pistol, and the entire vehicle was gone. No explosion. No wreckage. Just… gone.
Raul adjusted his hat, muttering under his breath.
"Dios mío..."
Boone barely blinked.
"Yeah, that tracks."
Roger sighed.
"I hate it when that brat uses that attack."
Lord Stotch, staring in horror at the empty space where his prized war machine had been, stumbled backward, his bravado gone. His mic crackled as he hesitated, gripping the device tighter.
"What… What sorcery is this?!"
He stammered.
Six cracked his neck and casually holstered his pistol, his glowing white form radiating an aura of absolute authority. He slowly stepped out of the War Bus, his boots crunching against the icy ground.
"You talk too much."
He said, his voice carrying a weight that sent chills through the assembled gang.
Some of the raiders, once filled with confidence, were now visibly panicked, the smarter ones, were already backing away, engines revving in preparation to flee. Others still clung to their bravado, gripping their weapons tighter, unsure whether to fight or beg.
Boone and Raul exchanged glances, both impressed and slightly unnerved.
"You really know how to make an entrance."
Raul muttered, adjusting his hat.
Boone just nodded.
"They never stood a chance."
Rebecca, leaning casually against the War Bus, smirked.
"Wooooo~ That's my man for you."
Roger sighed, rubbing his temples as he turned to the group, deciding to explain for the clueless ones.
"For those of you who are still confused about what just happened..."
He gestured toward the empty space where Lord Stotch's massive truck had once stood.
"Six's abilities specialize in combat and assassination. That wasn't a fluke or some fancy explosive round—he erased that truck from existence. His abilities ain't just strong—they're tailor-made for destruction and precision kills."
He glanced at the others.
"Let me break it down so you all understand just how dangerous this brat really is."
Roger continued, arms crossed.
"First power—Decomposition, or Disintegration. Anything he touches? Gone. Doesn't matter if it's a person, a machine, or a goddamn building. No energy shielding, no fancy armor? You're dust, it just... ceases to exist. One shot, gone. No explosion, no wreckage. Just erased."
Boone, ever the man of few words, simply nodded.
"Efficient."
A second finger went up.
"Second—Regrowth, or Restoration. The opposite of Decomposition. He can heal wounds, restore objects, even bring something back to how it was before it was broken. Got your arm blown off? He can put it back like it never happened."
Raul adjusted his hat, eyeing Six warily.
"Dios mío... I knew the bos was strong, but that?"
Then a third.
"Third—Eyes of the Spirit. This one's a game-changer. He sees everything. Not just normal sight—he connects to the Information Dimension. That means every enemy, every object, every hidden system leaves an imprint he can read. No sneaking past him. No tricking him. And more importantly, no escaping him."
Finally, the fourth finger.
"And the most ridiculous one—Creation. If he knows what something is, he can make it. Weapons, tech, even supernatural things that don't exist anymore. Eyes of the Spirit helps him analyze stuff down to the atomic level, and boom—he builds it like it was always there."