Arcaworld: Secrets Of Onyx

"The Scrapyard"

It is an uninhabited, barren wasteland. Sand and junk are the only things I can see for miles as I am positively trudging through. My footprints behind me only make a brief memory in the sand while the wind at my back covertly moves to hide it. I wonder how many people have wandered these deserts like me. It would be impossible to tell, the malleable landscape moves to erase their existence. This place is called the Scrapyard and it has a saying:

Nunc ab nobis superesse immemores. 

"Sometimes we survive by forgetting"; this is what 'The Scrapyard' was meant for. Forgetting. And I'm here to make it remember.  I don't know what I'm here for. This is the first assassination contract that Father has set me; without being judged by any of the pitiful followers he puts in place to watch me. I pull out the bounty from my pocket. Tetla is the name of the contract. He's a terrorist. Killing feels insignificant to me. It's the job that I have been brought up to do. I put the bounty back into my pocket and take a glimpse at my hand-made GPS. The green blinking dot shows it is still working and that he isn't far off, but for how much longer? I place it my pocket and run my hand through my windblown brown hair, moving it out the way of my rusty goggles. I clutch my small backpack tighter as I continue my journey.

The back of my neck heats up gradually as the sun beats down on it. I fiercely tug at my battered and ripped cloak for reassurance, but it doesn't offer any protection from the sun. Sighing, my blue eyes scan the desert through the goggles. So far I've seen no signs of life anywhere, not even insects. Only junk. Decrepit old junk. Old metal helmets, wrecked robot arms, misused firearms, and ravaged tanks buried halfway in the sand either dotted around the landscape or piled on top of each other forming colossal mountains of metal. From what I can perceive there was a war here, but that's all I can gather. Father has ordered me to kill this target but has given me little to no knowledge of this place. I think he sees it as more of a challenge. I bend down and pick up a small piece of scrap. Sand falls to reveal the ancient cybernetic contents. While inspecting it my mind works out whether I could make use of this. It appears to be old. Older than my dad's tech. Ultimately, it's useless. The years of no use has finished it. Sighing in disappointment I drop the relic of the past and the sand aggressively moves to bury it. I can not make use of its cybernetic parts for new inventions, but I've got plenty of junk in my workroom, so I don't need any of this junk, no matter how tempting. 

Fed up, I look at my GPS again, the blinking green dot is gone. A blank screen. I don't know where I am. The desolate landscape leaves me with no hints of direction and no way out. I look to one of the many mountains of iron, they induce levels of existential dread I rarely experience; endlessly towering above me to what seems like the heavens. A vantage point. Deeming it worthy, due to the climbable surface, I walk over and proceed to clamber up it. The scramble is long and tenuous. I wipe my left hand across my forehead to clear the sweat from my brow as I continue to the top. Luckily, only small pieces of junk fall from the mountain as the years of piled up metal and erosion has given it a strong foundation. Eventually, I reach the top. The unstable ground makes me step cautiously and the increased altitude makes my chest expand. This position requires deep, full breaths.