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Wanderer Ch 41: Trapped Again, A Planet Of Sand! (Final)
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 23:43:16 +0000 UTCI just had to walk toward the sand clouds. In my defense, it was either that or bake alive next to a wrecked alien ship leaking god-knows-wh
I just had to walk toward the sand clouds.
In my defense, it was either that or bake alive next to a wrecked alien ship leaking god-knows-what out of its side. But as the haze cleared and I saw what was making the dust—yeah, that decision didn't age well.
Massive vehicles—like war rigs on steroids—rolled toward me, each one the size of a small apartment complex. They looked stitched together from the rusted bones of other machines, blackened metal plates welded haphazardly over thick tires as tall as I was. Turrets bristled from the sides. Antennas crackled with weird static energy. Real friendly vibes.
Then I saw the drivers.
Each of them stood at least two stories tall, their skin a sickly purple-gray, like uncooked meat left too long in the sun. Their heads bulged with veins, and the surface of their skulls—if you could call them that—looked like pulsing, translucent brain tissue, like someone had just forgotten to install a cranium. Bony rock-like protrusions jutted from their arms and shoulders, some sharpened like blades, others dull and jagged like mountain ridges.
One of them climbed down from the largest vehicle, landing on the sand with a dull, ground-shaking thud.
I didn't run. No point. Between the gravity, the exhaustion, and the giant who looked like he bench-pressed tectonic plates for fun, I didn't love my odds. So I just stood there, hands slightly raised, looking up like a moron.
The alien stomped closer, the heavy plates strapped to his legs rattling with each step. His face was unreadable—more folds than features—but when he spoke, his voice came through deep and gurgled, like rocks grinding underwater.
"You are coming with us, little one. All your belongings... they are now mine."
I blinked. "Great. Bandits."
Two more of the brutes came up behind me, moving with way more coordination than their size suggested. Before I could try anything clever—like pretend to faint or make a run for it—they slapped some kind of cuffs onto my wrists. They weren't metal; they looked alive, coiling like vines with pulses of dim yellow light, and they tightened with just the right amount of pressure to make escape laughable.
"Hey, easy with those, I bruise like a peach!" I grunted as they dragged me toward one of the trucks.
The heat was unbelievable. Even with the planet's second sun dipping toward the horizon, I could feel my skin baking under my torn flight suit. Sand whipped around us, stinging my cheeks. One of the aliens hit a button and a side hatch opened, revealing the vehicle's cramped, dark interior. Crates, armor pieces, what I really hope wasn't bones—this was not your standard luxury transport.
They shoved me inside, not too hard, but not gently either. I landed on a rusted floor, coughing as I took in the stench—oil, sweat, and something faintly acidic. As the doors slammed shut, sealing me inside, the engine roared and we jerked forward.
I leaned back against the wall, wrists burning slightly from the cuffs, breathing through my mouth to keep the stink at a manageable level.
"This doesn't look good," I muttered.
"Quiet back there!" one of them barked through a speaker.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, galactic hospitality at its finest."
As the truck bounced over the sand, my thoughts drifted—back to the ship, back to her. Thalassa. I could still feel her eyes on me, even now, miles—maybe lightyears—away. That cosmic woman wasn't just looking for me. She was hunting.
And here I was, stuck in the back of a war truck full of rock-headed raiders on some sunburnt wasteland planet.
Was I going to survive this?
Honestly... I had no idea.
But if I did, someone was getting punched. Maybe multiple someones. Possibly a goddess.
God, I missed coffee.
The ride was long, bumpy, and smelled like someone had spilled gasoline on a wet corpse... two weeks ago. The desert outside turned darker as we drove, the suns setting slowly behind jagged orange cliffs. I couldn't see much through the tiny rusted slits in the truck's walls, but I could tell we were descending—deeper and deeper into some kind of canyon.
Eventually, the vehicle lurched to a stop.
I heard alien voices shouting to each other outside—rough, gravel-throated sounds that made my bones rattle. Then came the hiss of hydraulics, and the back door creaked open. Warm, gritty air poured in. One of them reached in and grabbed me by the arm like I weighed nothing and dragged me out.
And there it was. Their base.
If you could call it that.
It was a mess of metal and rock, built right into the side of a canyon wall. Huge slabs of rust-colored plating jutted from the cliff like broken teeth, each piece welded into the stone with no sense of symmetry or logic. Spotlights spun lazily from the tops of guard towers. Gun barrels poked out from every direction. And overhead, a cluster of smaller ships hovered like vultures, silent and waiting.
Aliens—dozens of them—stood and stared as I was dragged through the main yard. They towered over me, all of them with that same pulsing brain-skin, some with helmets, others bare-headed and scarred. One even had a third eye in the middle of his forehead that twitched every time I looked at him.
They whispered as I passed.
Or hissed, maybe. I couldn't tell the difference. Either way, I didn't like the attention.
They led me through a massive metal door with bones hanging from chains like trophies. Past hallways etched with strange markings—language, I think, or maybe warnings. Then down a grated ramp into what I can only describe as the most stereotypical dungeon I've ever seen.
Seriously. Stone walls. Flickering lights. Smells of mildew and regret.
One of the guards slammed his fist against a control panel, and a cage door slid open with a groan. I didn't fight. I was too tired, too sore, and way too aware of the fact that their weapons looked like they fired molten metal.
They shoved me inside, then clamped the cuffs into a wall socket like they were plugging in a toaster. I couldn't move more than a couple feet from the back wall. The door slammed shut. I heard the lock hiss.
And then they left.
Just like that.
I stood there for a moment, breathing through my teeth, arms still bound, staring at the cracked floor of my new home.
No windows. No furniture. No escape.
"Well," I said to nobody, "five stars. Real cozy. Would recommend."
I slumped down to the floor, leaning against the cool stone. My body ached in places I didn't know could ache. The crash, the heat, the bandits—hell, I hadn't had a proper meal since the incident with the black hole, and my stomach was very vocal about that fact.
Still... as bad as this was, I was alive. Somehow.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that she was still looking for me. Thalassa. Somewhere out there, that cosmic juggernaut was burning holes through space with my name on her tongue.
I sighed, letting my head rest against the wall.
"Nice job, Jack," I muttered. "You outran the Titans, only to get thrown into a space dungeon by Mad Max brain trolls."
I laughed, just once. Then fell quiet.
I needed a plan. And fast.
Because something told me this place wasn't the kind of prison that gave you a last meal.
And I had a very bad feeling that the next time the door opened, it wouldn't be for a social visit.
