Incline 38: Ivahstar

I release the cable, flinging it up into the air. I nod in satisfaction. My arms get to work, winding the cable back down into its lock. I pat the device and turn my head down the tunnel.

The black market has a mess they need to deal with. They won't be coming here. However, I have more than enough confidence that Gamtambo's gangsters will. One of their cars did not return. The very car that was supposed to have me in it. Said car even had a special device in it, upon further inspection.

They will come, and I am here, waiting.

My gun comes into view and I open it up again, an unkillable curiosity in my head. I've handled blood wasps for so many years, using their honey as ammunition. But I've never had a blood wasp queen on hand, egging the hive on. I'm very excited to test the difference in my already reliable weapon. 

Each hardened spike of honey already has a fine red, crystalline shade to it. Now there's a subtle golden shine on top of it. Like the core of each is molten, and ready to be enjoyed. Though, unlike some other honeycomb treats, I am not putting this near my mouth. The gangsters will more than enjoy it all.

My wire line of cans rattle and I listen out, putting my ear trumpet to its name. Tires on road. Heavy and light, all coming in at speed. All together. 

I pick myself up, heading out of the way, and I take the cord of my trap. Slipping behind a boulder formation, I properly seal myself from the oncoming crash. No excitement pumps through my heart, and my body turns cold. If I listen carefully, even now, I can hear the pants and howls of the Pack of Seven.

Undwote will find this cavern full of the souls of the damned.

"That's it... Feel safe... Feel safe..." I mutter, the muscles in my dominant hand tensing up. The cars and more coming closer and closer. Their lights are all but blinding me. Too soon and they'll screech on the brakes. Too late and nothing will happen.

Wait... Wait... Wait. Now!

I snap the cord, pulling on it with all I have. The device flicks open, smashing aside the restraints. Metal stretches, whipping to its full tension. Tires barely have time to screech and crashes roar.

I duck down low, keeping to the boulders as metal frame, bodies and tires fly about. A mess that is only growing and growing. Only those furthest back have time. As quickly as it starts, it ends and I cover my face.

Rushing out of cover, I ready my weapon and keep myself low. Fires burn bright and some are quick to erupt with joy. I add to the screams. Gunning down the first burnt up, mangled gangsters I see.

The smoke hides me and my lack of flashes keeps them clueless. Yells and calls for people echo from the other part of the tunnel. I draw a knife and plunge it into the neck of one replier. Filling another with a jagged line of spikes. More and more bodies join the pile.

One man becomes too aware, he panics. He leaps back, weapon drawn, and fires at will. Bullets with no target other than the invisible evil in his imagination. I watch his form through the smoke, minding a metallic ping so very close to me. He keeps backing up until he's in view of the surviving gangsters.

More and more join him, a firing line forming up. My eyes narrow and I slip away, delving close to the raging inferno of already exploded cars. Another survivor rushes to his feet and runs. Already itchy fingers let loose and he collapses a new man. A bullet ridden man.

Keeping my head down, sub-machinegun, shotgun, handgun fire and more fill the tunnel. Rock rains from the tunnel's ceiling and specks of road fragment. More cars explode as hot metal reaches them. Some super-heated by travelling the fiery road.

I pat my chest and open a pouch, bouncing a grenade in my paw. My wrist bounces up and down, a steady rhythm working my explosive. A good fragmentation present. One I'm all too impatient to keep a secret. A finger slips into the pin and I pull. Not an effort spent on the task.

My brain hears and sees no numbers, but my gut does. No worries cross my mind and I ready my arm. The moment comes and I expose myself to the light-ruined tunnel. I throw the grenade and it flies.

No kiss rings through the tunnel, only the declaration of hatred. Pins of hwardgon flesh fall and more scream and roar. I back-step, avoiding the renewed fire. The smoke is not as thick as before, but good luck finding someone like me.

I twist and turn, sliding over a makeshift stove, and I roll along the road. My legs pick me back up and I get to my vantage point. Snapping the front of my gun down, I check how many spikes I have left in it. My eyes go over each slot, empty and full. Counting the details and tallying it all up. 

I should reload now, but I'm feeling dangerous. Reckless and enraged. These gangsters stole my daughter. They took her. My daughter!

A growl breaks my stoicism and I snap the gun back together. I line up my first shot and my periphery vision takes in the world. My trigger finger moves, and I get to work. The easy ones fall and I move to the densest pairings as they dive out of the way.

Too little die for my satisfaction and I duck. Too many bullets come for my soul in return. I silently reload my weapon, not a fearful twitch anywhere to be found. Readiness returns to my weapon and I get up, a sprinting spring in my legs.

I stick to the foggiest parts of the burning tunnel, weapon at the bow. Gangsters barely come into view and I fire. Bodies drop and more follow. Some die in quite the unlucky manner, a spike in their heads. Others are far luckier, luckier for me. My knife comes out, and I put its edge to good use.

Intentionally catching on their bodies, I force it through. The metal holds up through fur, skin, meat and fat. Popping out into the open with a forceful halt, a trail of red follows. My eyes shift, and another gangster is foolish enough to come before me.

He barely has a moment to flinch, let alone call for help. His body falls, filled with spikes no hwardgon should ever have. Another follows and then some more. I throw a leg out, smashing a door into the arm of one more.

The gangster screams, my weapon barrel finding his head. A distant expression remains on my face. A twitch of my finger letting it pass to him. Though it is no stone, his final screams remain etched there.

I am in full view of those around me and I dive. Bullets fly once again and my ears listen out. These are not soldiers, but the lessons are still there. A rumble lingers in my throat and I let the fires down the tunnel show me the way. Long, tall shadows that vanguard against nothing.

Rushing up between bursts of gunfire, I trail around one mobster. Catching him off guard and keeping it that way. The guns turn quiet, and the road runs red with warming blood. It splashes about, catching on my clothes and feet.

Though I cannot be sure of anything, I am no fool. If anyone is hiding, they'd come out to try and save their lives. I pull another grenade out and toss it without a care. It rolls under some quiet cars. Ripping them apart in a growing fireball.

Scorching winds blow across me, the shockwaves battering my aged body. I turn, finding a small group of mobsters with nothing but the faces of boys. One struggles to find the next drum for his gun. Another fails to bully him into loading his weapon.

I leave all but one dead and calling for Death himself. In his fear, the last man standing does not notice my approach. I stop before him, gripping the end of his gun and turning it away. He tries nothing, only shivering as I stare deep into his eyes.

"You owe me answers. A lot of them." I explain, pulling the gun out of his hands and throwing it aside. I drop my weapon and my ammo container. The blood wasps within demand retribution for the shake to their miniature hive within. The mobster tries to knock me down and his hubris sees it turned around.

"WH-WHO'RE YOU!?" he demands to know, somehow not knowing the answer already. I crush one hand underfoot, grinding it into the ruined road. He growls and hisses, the pressure scraping apart his skin. 

"Where did you take my daughter?" I ask, ignoring his question as I lean close. He gnashes for me, desperation giving him quite the hunger. I satiate the pangs with a tight fist. His head goes back, smashing against the road and bouncing back up. He groans, a daze taking him over.

I grab his jawline and shake his head for him, getting that focus back into his system. He whimpers as my grip remains contradictory. Gentle and firm. A stone moves down his throat, the song of a gulp making it to me as the fires burn.

His snivelling nose takes in all the smells of the carnage. The burning cars, the bodies getting eaten up by the flames. The cooking blood and the way it boils into the smoke. A barbeque given the wrong context.

"Where. Is. My. Daughter?" I repeat, the answer I want still not on my mind.

"I-I-I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'R-" he answers wrongly, and my knife comes out. I plunge it into a limb of my choosing, cutting into it and letting him scream. He throws his head and eyes around, finding no one to save him. The face that scares off innocent people is not here. The criminal's hardened stare is nowhere to be found.

All he does is whimper.

"Where is she?" I repeat again, slicing the blade to its next place of rest. I move it up, bringing the point to a standing position. A finger balances it carefully and he can't keep his hands away from it.

"GO KILL YOURSELF YOU BASTARD!" he roars, finding everything in his spirit and more to spit at me. I blink, unbothered by the extra liquid on my face. I press the knife down, making him scream again. Possibly so loud that the black market folk hear us.

"You came here on Gamtambo's orders. Attacked me. Took my friend. Took my products... TOOK MY DAUGHTER!" I explain, repeating the core detail as he continues to evade the question. It ticks away inside of me. That very bad thing for him. He doesn't know!

Oh... Oh, no.

I look away, observing the dead, a forlorn hope in my body. That's all they are. The dead. I shake my head and slice the knife along the gangster's neck. He gurgles to sleep, a loose grip on my shin.

I knock it off, flicking and wiping my blade clean. I approach one of the few intact cars and dig around for anything I can work with. Glove boxes open up and I empty them of everything. Pieces of scrap fly out of my grip and I am left with some stone tablets. I knock a hand on them, testing the magic within and throwing them away as they show nothing.

My gear returns to my grip, and a vehicle rumbles to life. I snap my eyes up, watching its tires screech desperately. I raise my gun, aim, and fire. It slides to a stop, spikes ruining half of its tires. A fine line of pierced metal and more. 

Each step brings me closer and closer and I find a terrified gangster. He keeps his hands up, his circumstances well understood. I pat the top of the car and open the door. He comes on out, arms still clear for me to see.

"Your friend back there was not of much help to me. Gods above, you will be." I explain, recalling what I need to make a habit of collecting. The mobster nods, a silent shudder shaking him before the orange dominance of the inferno. I jab him with my gun, getting him moving towards my things. A still working car passes my eyes and I dump some tools on top of it to mark it.

"I... I know where to go..." the mobster hopefully does not lie.

"Good. I need the lift." I explain, poking him along some more as a constant reminder cackles away in the tunnel. So many are dead and I have shown him how easy it is for me to do it. He will not live, but I will let the lie remain in his head. A hope that never existed.

His life is worth nothing to me, only my daughter's matters.