A cloud of dusts appeared as the men with stripe uniform marched in unison. They were in the middle of a desert. Their commander was dressed with flair. Following on their heels was the ever faithful Bruce, the jackal. Interspersed among the grasses and gravel were golden star and mariposa lily. Some areas were already invaded by the hostile horehound.
The men were erecting some pseudo arch where they tied their hostages with cables. One of the hostages was dizzy, his world swirled and twisted and made him want to throw up. He tried to stay conscious, but he couldn’t. He was a journalist and his hope of being rescued was getting slimmer each day.