Heat shimmered above the endless stretch of cracked asphalt, turning the distant horizon into a wavering mirage. Every rock, every rusted road sign, every grain of pale desert sand seemed to radiate warmth back into the air. Even the wind offered no relief—it arrived in dry, blistering gusts that felt more like someone had opened an oven than a breeze.

The mission had been put on hold for the afternoon. Nobody could work for long in weather like this without risking heatstroke, so the team had scattered to find what little shade they could. was the closest thing to shelter.

Guest sat beneath the overhang outside the barracks, grateful for the sliver of shadow it provided. Beside them, Demoman had long since abandoned any attempt to look presentable. His tactical vest hung open, sleeves rolled high, helmet tossed onto the concrete beside him. He leaned back against the support pillar with a tired groan, wiping sweat from his forehead before taking a long drink from his canteen.

He glanced toward Guest, one eyebrow lifting beneath damp, sweat-matted hair, a crooked grin cutting through the exhaustion.