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Wasteland Tales #5


Consciousness faded in, blurred out with the unknowable rhythm of an alien tide. Shock numbed her, dulled the blade as it cut and gouged.
“Scream you little bitch!”
It was like a dream. A nightmare. Fear and blood. But no pain.
That would come later.
And when she wouldn't, he dug his hook into her shoulder, hoisted her in to the air, a frail, bloody scarecrow.
In the freezing dark of the wasteland night, the caravans burned. Stripped of worth, burned for fun.
“Some toy you were,” he sneered, disgusted.
And he pitched her into the flaming wreckage.

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