Josh ETP V - Critical Objective

It began with an errand, a mission. The timing was critical, and so were the objectives.

It was warm and sunny. Hot.

She inserted the key and turned the ignition. The engine roared. She belted her buckle. The power: one-hundred-thousand horses, fifty megatons of thrust, zero to the sound barrier in two point three seconds. And the ride!
A football stadium! An industrial complex! But also a presidential suite with more chrome and polished wood than some ever see. And surround sound that actually surrounds falls into genuine leather. It was stitched somewhere nice, with pride.

She's finally going somewhere. It's been years.

She burns left, then right, and north, and backtracks. She waits, she crosses the divide. There's something here. It could be an oasis. It could be an illusion. It could be both.

Outside it's grown hotter. Noxious gases puff and swirl. Metals and paints corrode; It's harsh. The maelstrom is at her door, and rapping at her windows. It wants in. But state-of-the-art, classified automated defenses are up to the task.

The glass though, the glass doesn't quite defend against the roars and the blasts. They are unpleasant.

She's here.

It's not everything she was promised. It's everything that she was expecting, and worse.
The glass is half empty.

Now she has to leave. The atomic reactions are silenced, and the key withdrawn. The buckle is undone. There's nothing left to do. She can't put it off any longer. And the mission calls.

She goes. Into the heat! Into the black desert and its endless waste.

The mission is important, the objective critical.

So are her own objectives. She's come for HIS gold, there's no harm in plundering silver. She needs it. She's earned it.

It's not selfish. It's politics. It's practicalities. Everyone deserves their cut. She's assuming the risks.

It's her show.

Now it's getting cold. They don't like the heat here. In fact, they don't like anyone.

Oh, they'll smile to her face. They'll tell her how wonderful she looks and fantastic she feels. But miles and miles tell her otherwise. Miles and miles tell her that she needs something. She's a walking deficit, dearth incarnate. The land is hostile.

It's also cold.

She knows HIS mission is important. She knows HIS objectives are critical.
Something stirs inside her.

The cold relents. 

They say she's wonderful, and she believes. The miles and miles tell her that she needs something, and she knows they're lying.

She knows; There's more plunder to be had.