Chapter 121: Red Ocher Tribe!
Saul fell silent after Arthur's offer. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the Badlands stretched endlessly in dry waves of ochre and rust.
He knew the truth. Everyone did, really.
You couldn't trust corporations. Not Biotechnica, not Arasaka, not even Kang Tao. They smiled at you with white teeth and extended golden hands, but their eyes always measured your worth in numbers. Credit lines. Kill ratios. Asset value.
But what else could he do?
If they kept wandering, the Aldecaldos wouldn't last another year.
"Truth is," Saul muttered, voice low, "there's nothing left to trust in this world. Not friends. Not family. Brotherhoods fall apart. Blood dries up. And trust? It's just another form of debt."
Arthur didn't interrupt. He just lit a cigarette and let Saul talk.
"We're called scum wherever we go. Villains. Rats. Cancer. No one wants us around. We don't build anything—hell, we barely even own what we carry. We haul supplies, we camp near power stations, and we steal scraps to survive."
Saul exhaled, the weight of it all pressing down. "One wrong move, piss off one corpo patrol, and we're left burying half the tribe in the sand."
"So," he said with a bitter shrug, "what choice do I have but to try something—anything—that might give us a future?"
Arthur took a slow drag, watching the smoke curl and vanish.