Along a thin ridge, four Allies rushed to meet Rebel. Melting's mass cadaver detonation had kicked up a large cloud of sand and flesh that rained from above into the desert basin. The four of them hadn't spotted him, Crystal, or Rogue. Too much debris. But it was obvious the invasion force had retreated behind the cratered hill. It was partly due to the chaotic explosion, but mostly to wait out another sandstorm defending the base of the mountain range. The group rounded the top of the ridge, spun on their feet and continued up the other side. This peak was the highest climb, while giving a safe and strategic outlook on the Desert stage. The other mutants were scattered among various caves, but the scouts hadn't found any trace of them. This was a good sign. Any track they could find, any Alligator or Rat could too.

Each one of the Allies were deadly warriors that used to be well-respected bandits. But when the IDPD began to occupy the Desert-Scrapyard border, they left their tribes. And they weren't the only four who had joined Rebel. It was rumored that she had hundreds of people in her pocket. Not literally of course. She was a charismatic guide, but also an enigma. She could easily assume command of the bandit unrest and effectively retake the Desert. It would have prevented the invasion. Despite all this, she kept her allegiance to these mutants who seemed to be growing less and less effective at defending the desert. But the Allies loved their idol too much to question her plans.

Silently they sprinted along the rocks, not requiring words to navigate as one body. Four pairs of feet padded at the same time, same foot, same stance, regardless of height or weight. Silence was always required to be a spy in the Wastelands. The first Ally turned again at the end of the ridge, just in time to have a long staff connect with her skull. The three others heard the crack. The tallest one hopped onto the ridge above, seizing the head of the Assassin. The second one grabbed the lifeless body of the first before it fell off the bluff. The third took aim at the skull and shot the assassin. The tallest one simply tossed this body off the bluff.

Quiet once again. Three pairs of feet . One pair scurried out of rhythm. The tall one, carrying the corpse over his shoulder, was in the middle. One walked in front and another walked behind. Allies were not heroes. It wouldn't matter how much Rebel appreciated them. Their lives would never stop slipping through her fingers. But each one knew their hand assisted her in achieving the impossible. Unity in the Wasteland.