“You’re a Rebel of the motherf*cking Underground!”
I slipped my Boltok out of my back pocket and into place as I lay prone in the over-grown grass atop a large super-market that was still standing 14 years after E-Day.
“We’re not soldiers, we’re killers!”
I aimed down the sights of the revolver, catching a glimpse of a crumbling world across the street, its murky image the poster-child of a world lost. A destroyed beauty.
“Live the life of sin ‘till the bloody end!”
I set my sights on the target I’d been waiting for. I stopped and waited, my breathing slowed down, my body fixated with its current position.
“Ready to die from birth, living with no mercy, no remorse!”
I pulled the trigger. The revolver jerked under the recoil and the untrained hands that held it. The target on the other end of the barrel went limp as his head splattered against the wall, sending brain chew rippling into the faces of the others too scared to move.
I killed the little sh*t, all because his b*tch of a mother f*cked with the wrong guy. That’s right, I killed her nine-year-old son
, otherwise she wouldn’t get the message.
I rose up, opening fire on the rest of them, hitting the dead brat’s mother twice, once in the shoulder and once in the left eye. Blood sprayed everywhere, hitting the walls and people around her. It was a frigging sight to see!
“What now, b*tch?” I shouted as I fired into the crowd of people down on the street below, not giving a damn who I hit in the process. They were all
gonna’ be sorry they f*cked with James Grimes.
I’m a Rebel of the Underground
, not some pansy-ass joe-blow they could take advantage of. We run this part of town, f*ck with a Rebel, f*ck with death! They paid the price, because I ain’t no damn push-over. I came equipped, do business or you get the business end of my Boltok. That’s just the way it is. That goes for everyone, not just the f*cking One Percent b*tches!
I made a dash for the in-tact doorway which lead down a set of stairs, leading off of the roof, allowing me a quick get-away. I had to move fast because I’d probably attracted attention to this spot. I didn’t want no Grubs showing up on my ass while I made a run for it. Sh*t, a man don’t want nothin’ to do with them when he busy taking care of his own business.
As I ran, I emptied my boltok revolver, letting the six shells scatter on the ground underneath my feet. The shimmering gold tubes rolled down the staircase as I smashed through to the bottom-floor.
I reached into my jacket and grabbed a handful of ammunition, shoving a few rounds into the chamber and letting the extra fall. Sh*t, stupid, stupid
move on my part. Ammo like that was hell trying to find out here, but I wasn’t going to get killed over some stupid rounds ‘a ammunition. Besides, I could always just find another dead Grub the COG-pigs left behind.
As I thudded to the bottom of the stairs, I flew into the doorway with the broken ‘exit’ sign hanging above it. The door almost came crashing down as the force of my entire body shook it loose off its hinges.
I emptied out onto the street and saw a few of the survivors running west. I couldn’t resist, them One-Percent b*tches had to get the message. I jogged after ‘em with my boltok pointed at their backs.
Grinning, I let off a few rounds, “yeah b*tch, get some!”
I missed my first two shots, hitting a car and sending it ringing like a howling dog. Sh*t, how the **** was its alarm still working? It didn’t matter though, if you heard the alarm, you sure as hell heard the shots I was taking at these scared One-Percent *****'s.
I fired four times, consecutively, one right after the other before I finally hit one of ‘em. He dropped like a sack full a ****, hitting the ground and not moving an inch afterwards.
“Hah, you thought you could f*ck with Grimes and get away with it?” I shouted, shooting my boltok one more time before emptying to reload.
The ground started to shake underneath my feet and I knew what was comin’. I almost lost my balance as the shaking got harder and harder, but I didn’t let them running cowards in front of me get outta’ my sights.
Finally, I heard the ground cracking and crumbling behind me, sh*t, the Grubs sure did pick the best 'o times to crawl outta' they hole and it looked like they were comin' to join the party.
I continued to run after the few remaining survivors, slowly catching up to ’em as I popped off a few more rounds here or there. They seemed to be all women now, the coward-ass punk men in the camp being killed off like the One-Percent rats they were.
“Where the f*ck is Moses, now? Where he at?” I hollered at them, taunting them with insults directed toward their camp leader, Moses Lowe.
I didn’t know where the Grubs was at, but I hadn’t been shot in the back yet, so I guess they’d run off somewhere else. Maybe a couple a COG-pigs were roaming the streets and they’d keep the Grubs busy for me while I cleaned up the mess I’d made.
“You’re finished!” I shouted to the frightened women, many of them pregnant, “the One-Percent is dead, you coulda’ joined when you had the chance, but you ****ed up and now ya’ gonna’ pay with your lives!”
The One-Percent and Moses had been messin' in the wrong part of town for a long time now. They were finally gettin' what was coming to 'em and it wasn't going to be pretty. The 'Underground', as the downtown-eastside was known as, was run by the Infamous Rebel Alliance of the Underground
. We didn't take sh*t from no other Stranded livin' in this city. If you wasn't a Reb, you got your ass taxed. This was our town and the One-Percent b*tches from the west-docks were movin' in, thinking they could hunt and gather, do business, on our turf! These little cowering b*tches had been a thorn on my side for too long now, and it was pay-back time for what they'd done!
I raised my boltok and fired into the women, dropping two of ‘em as blood splattered from their backs and they fell without hesitation. I almost tripped over one of ‘em who was still squirming around, trying to grab my food.
Sh*t, this b*tch thought she could embarrass me! Nobody f*cking embarrasses James Grimes. I shoved my boltok toward the woman’s chest and fired three rounds, all close range. I raised my bloody revolver and spat on the dead b*tch before running after them other c*nts.
There was four of them b*tches left and I was getting tired of f*ckin’ runnin’ after ‘em. But these little wh*res had embarrassed me too much. They f*cked with me and I was gonna get ’em back for it! My broken nose, the ass-kicking I had gotten at their hands? Yeah, these little b*tches were gonna’ pay!
“Set me up again, b*tch!” I yelled as I chased after them, saving all my rounds this time, until I was sure I had a better shot.
The women had run into a windowless store and I knew they were hidin’ in it, because this was the same store I’d met these c*nts. I cockily strutted into the store through the front door, making a ringing noise in the absence of a real bell.
“Hey, hey, hey, where my little b*tches at?” I asked, boltok pointed outward and slowly pressing through each aisle.
“Ya’ll thought you had a good laugh at ol’ Grimes expense, eh? Thought it was cool how ya’ll lead me into the back and got me my ass handed to by ya’ll fat husbands, eh?”
The silence only fuelled my anger even more, “you were f*cking wrong! You shouldn’t have f*cked with the Rebels, you dumb-wh*res. Maybe I mighta’ let ya’ll live if you hadn’t piss me off so much!”
I approached a door leading to the back-room. There was nowhere else for them to have gone, they were trapped.
“Oh well,” I snorted, “maybe I’m doin’ yall a service?”
Opening the door, I came across them huddled in the back room. I smiled, angrily lifted my boltok and pointed it at the group of ‘em. They cried out, pleading with me not to shoot them, to spare them, that they’d do anything for me. Some even offered sexual favours in return for their lives, but it didn’t matter what they could offer me. I didn’t want it.
I opened fire.
The boltok ripped through the women, their tears mixing with blood as chunks of their flesh tore off the bone and blood sprayed the walls around them. After expending all six shots into the already-dead women, I counted ‘em all, going over each lifeless face.
Before the realization sunk it, it was too late. I felt a jolting pain strike my back as I fell to my knees, dropping my boltok. There was a body missing, the fourth one had managed to get around me and sink in a pair of scissors into my lower back!
“You son-of-a-b*tch!” she cried as I struggled to get the scissors out of my back, “you killed them all! You killed them all you twisted f*ck!”
She shrieked out in a frenzy, hitting me with her hands over and over, knocking me on my stomach and onto my boltok.
“F*ck you and f*ck Moses!” she cried, “you killed our children you f*cking monster!”
She attempted to kick me while I was down, but I managed to grab her ankle just in time and bring her down. Dropping her to the ground, I crawled on top of her and smacked her across the face with the back of my hand.
“F*ck me? F*ck me?” I gritted through my teeth, “no, f*ck you
I wrapped my hands around her neck and began to strangle her, her face turning pale and her grip on my wrist’s getting weaker and weaker. Finally, she stopped breathing and went limp. I got off her, breathing heavily before reaching around back and pulling the scissors out in great pain.
I dropped the bloody scissors next to the crazy b*tch and looked around for my boltok. I found it lying next to the edge of the room, kicked in the scuffle and brushed it off before reloading and walking toward the exit.
"You kill the f*ckin’ women of a camp and the motherf*cker’s won’t have no soldiers left to keep on fightin’!" - George Stamford, Infamous Rebel Alliance of the Underground Gang-lord, one believed by the COG to have been the one giving the orders during the bloody gang-war of Ehpyra.