The "Target" wasn't a person—it was a lead-lined canister containing the last decrypted seed-bank codes, held by a rogue convoy of scavengers known as the Vultures.
"Two minutes to intercept," Jax crackled over the comms to his wingman. DBM TORNADO - Dirty Target
As he closed the gap, the Vultures opened fire. Harpoons whistled past his roll cage, and molotovs bloomed into orange flowers against the sand. Jax didn't flinch. He hit the toggle for the , and the Tornado kicked up a blinding wall of grit, masking his position. The "Target" wasn't a person—it was a lead-lined
He disappeared into the dust, a ghost in a machine, leaving nothing but tire tracks and the echo of a dying engine. a ghost in a machine