The sun blazed overhead, its scorching heat beating down across the endless wasteland of the Diablo Desert. The air shimmered, warped by the heatwaves, and carried a low buzzing sound—caused by the hum of a hover bike cutting across the sands.
On it sat a young man with long, shaggy black hair that whipped slightly in the wind. He wore green fabric armor and loose yellow gi pants. A sword hung from his waist, tapping against his side with each bump in the terrain.
Perched on his shoulder was a small, blue cat.
"Yamcha, where are we going?" Puar whimpered, lazily resting her head against his shoulder.
"Well, I... haven't a clue," Yamcha muttered with a dry chuckle. "Not like I've got some grand goal or anything, huh? We're just heading past the Ox King's territory, to that old dump—Fungus Town. See if we can gather any useful info."
Puar sighed, her tiny body slumping further. It had been a few weeks since Yamcha underwent his sudden change—a wild, almost obsessive determination to improve his martial prowess.
The two had kept at it. Training had become a routine—brutal, painful, but grounding.
Yamcha winced visibly as he pulled the brakes on the hover bike, bringing it to a slow halt as the sun began to dip below the horizon.
"Guess it's time to set up camp, Puar," he said blandly, his gaze drifting to his bandaged fists. The repeated impacts on hardened steel weren't exactly healthy—but the progress he felt in each strike was undeniable.
Puar floated off his shoulder, rummaging in the small backpack strapped to Yamcha's back. She fished out a scratched-up Capsule Corp capsule, an old piece of tech with a fading white label taped to it: "Home!"
With a grunt of effort, she clicked the top and tossed it. A brief hiss, a puff of smoke—and the object within exploded into being.
Their temporary home: a rugged, rocky structure shaped like a miniature tower. Same as always.
Together, they pushed the hover bike inside—still hadn't gotten a capsule big enough to store that—and took a moment to exhale. To unwind.
Simultaneously…
Wrrrumm…
The low growl of an engine echoed across the dunes, muffled by distance. A massive, two-story blue bus trudged its way through the shifting sands of the Diablo Desert. Tattered flags flapped from its roof, each marked with a crude symbol: a bear's head with two bloodied swords crossed behind it.
The bus came to a jarring stop.
The driver—a man of average build and nervous energy—peered through the dusty windshield, spotting a faint glow in the distance. Light—flickering yellow—spilled from carved windows in a rocky structure.
He stood, stumbling toward the back of the vehicle, and opened the armored door to the rear compartment. Inside loomed a hulking black bear-like Earthling in traditional Chinese military armor, sitting with legs crossed and eyes closed.
"B-Boss… there's a small house up ahead. Looks like it's inhabited. Should we… continue or raid it?"
The driver adjusted his black glasses, voice trembling. He looked utterly fragile next to his war-hardened superior.
"Aurgh—ahhahah!" the bear chuckled, rising with a snarl. "What kinda idiot sets up camp in the middle of nowhere, this close to the Ox King's territory? Let's teach these fools a little lesson, shall we?"
He pressed a button near the door. A low klaxon blared through the bus, summoning the bandits to the upper deck. They filed out, animal-like Earthlings mixed with brutish humans, slinking into the sands like a pack of wolves on the hunt.
Swash…
The sand shifted beneath their feet as they surrounded the rocky pillar-home. A few scattered into the cardinal directions—north, south, east, west—encircling it entirely before rushing back, kicking up a fine dust cloud in their wake.
"Well done, Shǔ and Tùzǐ. Shé, now… Mǎ—light it up."
"Uh… Boss?" Mǎ—a humanoid horse, bipedal and awkward—nervously stepped forward. "Wouldn't blowing them up destroy all their stuff? No loot?"
The bear's grin vanished.
"You questioning me, horse-face? Just do it. It's not like these bums have anything worthwhile. We'll hit the next town for loot. Now get to it."
Mǎ gulped and pressed the detonator.
BOOM.
The house exploded into a cloud of flame and debris, a shockwave rippling through the sands. The blast left nothing but smoldering rubble and thick dust in its wake.
"Well," the boss said with a satisfied grunt, turning back to the bus, "that was fun. Nothing like blowing up a bunch of random kids. Puts 'em out of their misery."
Swashh—Paw.
The sound of wind warping. Flesh striking flesh.
Shǔ—the rat Earthling—was flung across the sand, knocked unconscious by a blunt force strike to the head.
Two figures stood at the edge of the dust cloud. Nearly identical in appearance. One of flesh. One of steel.
They fell into martial stances—poised and silent—waiting for the bandits to react.