The dunes

There wasn't so much as a breeze in the air to blow around the sands as Deran peaked one of the massive dunes. The landscape in every direction was the same dull orange and brown, and the sun was sinking below the horizon, making the sky much the same. It wasn't a particularly exciting or thrilling life, being a sand raider, but it was his life, and he was managing to get by with it. Perhaps one day he'd be lucky enough to go off and find a new home, where water and food weren't such a rare and expensive commodity. But he doubted that. 

A few running steps down the hill preceded the flick of Deran's wrist, launching out a small but thick piece of metal from the sleeve in his skin, which quickly began to unfold and expand. Deran leaped up over it as it hovered and grew in front of bim, and landed on the form of his hoverboard, rather than the slippery and dangerous sands below. He surfed down the slope of sand, watching the shifting particles for any sign of something below which he could use moving forward. 

What he found in its stead was a new kind of danger. In the distance, masked by the setting sun, came three other sand raiders, more than likely out for blood. For the most part, Deran was a loner, choosing to work for himself and no one else, meaning a day's short comings were manageable, and he had need to find significantly fewer supplies to get by. But it left him vulnerable to attack from other groups, who could take whatever meager supplies he had for themselves, and leave him broken and starving. That was how this had all started for him. If possible, he wished to avoid returning to such lows.

He turned hard away from the crew, knowing that they were already heading in his direction. He raced over the sands as fast as he could, but his hoverboard was old, and sorely in need for an update. To tell the truth, that was the main reason he was out searching that day. He had a backstock of food that could last him some time, but what he really needed was electronics and metals.

He slipped the bow from around his shoulder, drawing back and letting an arrow fall from the sleeve in his arm into place. He had had the surgery nearly a year ago to add the sleeve like container into his flesh, and though it had taken time to get used to, he founf the attachment nearly required for his day to day life. He knew that it would be only so much time before the group was on his back. The sooner he could stop them the better. 

Deran turned on his heels, the hoverboard continuing to carry him in the right direction as he pulled hard on the string, bringing it to meet his cheek. The twang of the bow was loud and sharp as he let go. He didn't bother making sure the arrow hit its mark, or watching it soar through the air. He was back facing forward, riding hard down the dune, praying that a single warning shot would be enough to save him.