Antonio gently shakes me awake, and we're heading out not even a minute later, sun barely peaking past the horizon as the desert air is almost chilly compared to its mid day heat. We climb into the truck smelling like concentrated body odor, ignoring our shared stench, we speed away without taking a moment to look back.
The ride is done mostly in silence, watching the nature of our surroundings tiredly as we speed over hills of sand and rock, colourful like a rising sun, its varying reds, oranges, and yellows painted in place.
"We'll need to be quick once we get there, you'll take my back, make sure nobody keeping guard gets suspicious and goes walking around." Antonio starts, white-knuckling the steering wheel as we just narrowly avoid flying into a bombed pit. "I'll head inside, dismantle the equipment myself, make sure these guys are stuck in place for the next little while."
"And what's the plan if we're spotted?" I ask, voice low and sleepy.
"Don't get spotted," He shrugs, staring ahead with a grim expression.
The remainder of the ride is done in tense silence, the strength of it rising with every meter we speed closer to our targets' hideout. Is this mission particularly risky compared to past ones I've gone on, not really, just have to dodge them as there has yet to be any signs of guns possessed by the locals. They don't seem to be very calculated either, though now is not the best time for me to start underestimating people.
The camp itself is eerily quiet, everyone since returned to sleep in their tents, hopefully they're all deep sleepers. Antonio shuts off the truck and hops to the sandy Earth soundlessly, crouching as he makes his way over to the warehouse. I watch from afar, scanning the various homes and differing between wind and potential danger as Antonio stops just outside the warehouse, perching his back against the sandstone wall and he peeks inside, scanning the darkness indifferently.
Nobody comes out, no signs of movement reach us.
He moves inside, swift like a shadow.
I eye the surrounding tents, peer into the crevices within the warehouse, check the roof and scan through all the vehicles left outside. Nobody.
Now's my chance.
I leap out of the truck and crouch as I make my way towards the nearest set of cars; unremarkable, worn down shitboxes, but they are able to move, so they therefore need to be taken apart. The hood of the first car screeches as I pop it open, causing me to immediately duck down, and crawl underneath the first car. It's a tight fit, but I manage to get into a position where I can see if someone were to leave their tent, and after a good minute or two of waiting silently, breath stuck in my throat, I exhale and slither back out. Taking one final scan, ultimately finding no changes in movement or position for anything around me, I focus back on the picture before me. I'm not a professional when it comes to cars, or technology in general; it may sound like an excuse, but due to growing up in Sareanin, I didn't get many chances to experiment with machinery. I'm not sure if the situation is all that different for Antonio, but he instructed me to just cut the wires to the engines or batteries or whatever, so that's what I'm going to do. If I knew what the hell they looked like.
Of course I know what they look like, but I don't know how to interact with them while still trusting that they won't immediately explode. Surely it's not as simple as just cutting the wires.
This is ridiculous, I'm wasting so much fucking time. You know what? Fuck it.
I unsheathe the knife stored by my waist, the one Antonio had given me, and search for the wires, aware that they're likely covered in oil and sand. Before me are a bunch of different tubes and blocks, none of which I know what they're for, but I know there are wires to cut.
So I cut them all.
If they explode the moment they go to turn them on, then that's even better. If they explode within seconds of being sliced, then it won't be my problem anymore.
It takes a bit of work to get the knife through the many wires, but I manage to succeed, without exploding, and move onto the next. Getting through it was a touch easier than the last, the wires appearing to have already been whittled down over time and with excessive heat. The next two undo themselves easily as well, though the fifth car, a beat up shitbox that appears more like a rhombus than an actual care, was perplexing to say the least; it have no motor in the front and the battery was one I would usually find in a lightswitch, with all the wires melted and bound together with duct tape.
Nonetheless, I still snipped it and moved onto the next, I can't risk leaving any vehicles capable of functioning, engine or no engine.
After three more cars, my nerves begin to rise, there's no way that they are all heavy sleepers; every single one of these car hoods were rusted and screeched when opened. No, chances are there is at least one person watching me, now would be the best time to return to the truck and silently wait until Antonio returns. Sure, that leaves six remaining cars uncut, but it's better than being spotted, tied up, and slowly tortured to death in public. Problem is though, I have a task to complete, and I can't just leave it done halfway. Leaving these vehicles behind will risk them being able to hunt us down far more easily and quickly.
No. I need to complete my portion of this task just like how Antonio is finishing his. I am in no position to view myself as above skipping steps, every single car needs to be cut, I will ensure every single car has been cut.
I move onto the next, ducking low as I move my way across the opening of the warehouse, keeping an eye in every direction to avoid being spotted and just as I scurry past the door, I catch a glimpse of Antonio inside, carefully lifting the battery out from the hood of a car, three more placed in the middle of the large room, not too far from where the stains of blood can still be spotted. Perched on the outsides of the gas tanks, all revealed due to the metal being corroded away, are buckets of sand being poured inside.
I'm on the other side of the campground before Antonio notices me and decide to follow his lead. The first of the six cars looks more like a golf cart—with a human's body stretched out inside of the usual metal roof, and the seats are full of nails similar to the beds I had slept on for a portion of my life—but it will still receive the same treatment as the rest. Lifting up the seats with an eerie screech, I quickly unsheath my blade, and with a fluid motion, slice at every wire I see before dropping the seat carefully and ducking for cover in an instant, the echoes of the rust still grasping onto the sandy wind.
Off in the distance, on the other side of the campground, closest to the entrance of the warehouse, out steps one of the three main men we had seen before. Eyes wild and breathing laboured, it's the tallest one with the deep voice. I watch closely, perched behind the walls of the warehouse, blending in with the colourful sand; his movements appear laborious and unruly. Moisture escapes his lips, soaking into his mask, darkening the outer colours until a patch appears, reminiscent of a horse, decapitated and bleeding out. He limps his way over to the warehouse entrance, and suddenly, his movements turn lazy, the sand blows more lazily, the air slows, and when his right hand gradually pulls into view, it's revealed to me why, a weapon, not quite a gun, but close. Enough to be a long range attack and potentially be fatal if the target were to be struck properly. The early stages of development for weaponry, the loophole for this entire law that affects all the nations, a gun is defined as, in its simplest terms; a long-distance weaponry that's attack can be launched with the push of a button, nozzle, or switch and can be potentially fatal no matter the target. This early stage product, a long-range weapon, yes, shaped like a gun, yes, but fatal no matter where the bullet were to land, no. It's made of wood, uses a high resistance elastic to fire and can handle a variety of different ammunition. The one being utilized here, chunks of sandstone, unpolished and chiseled into the shape of a sniper bullet. He moves closer to the entrance of the warehouse, wild and unwavering as he trudges forward in slow motion.
This is going to be dangerous, but if I can wipe him out quickly and duck for cover before anyone else appears, then that'll be perfect.
My face and eyes are covered, my outfit is the same as all the locals in the nearest village, my scent is masked by sweat and now old motor oil.
I can run at him full speed ahead at him and not worry about my identity being revealed.
Alright, enough thinking, he's only a foot away from the entrance now, time to move.
I leap out from cover of the thick walls, my legs engulfed by my red, raging flames that shoot me forward. Time is slowed as I glide through the air, watching as the crazed man slowly turns and finds me, immediately raising his gun, aiming for my head, pulling back on the wire, body no longer shaking as I forge a blade of pure fire in my left hand, swiping it down as the distance between us lessens. His thin fabric burns and spreads further, rising up towards his eyes, down to his chest. I swipe again, the distance between us now nonexistent. His screams are slow and eerie in my ears, but I muffle him instantly, his vocals cut off smoothly. My right hand is now smothering his mouth while the left continues to swing with the raging flames of my dedication to Antonio as he completes his portions of the mission.
I'm fine with falling short on my side, as long as he remains safe on his.
His hands shift, the movement creating after images in my peripherals as his gun reaches higher, aiming for my temple, already loaded and prepared to fire. My left shifts just as quickly, scorching his arms, turning the fabric to ash as his weapon drops to the hard, flowing Earth.
I land atop him, tackling him to the ground and immediately flip him over, pushing his face into the sand, his cries don't spread as he suffocates on the grains. My right hand reveals fire that shifts into a hatchet, sharp and glistening as I drop it down, scorching through skin and bone, cutting off his vocal cords until all that remains is the gushing of blood and the wisping of the wind.
I push off of him a moment later, listening for abnormal movements, heart racing, but slowing to a calm. Nothing, no one. They likely consume something that keeps them asleep, it appears that someone here desires to control the rest, perform the most secretive tasks when everyone is knocked out.
Now standing, I stop and breathe—body now stained red as it blends with the orange. Turning to the right, I find Antonio staring at me, finished with decapitating their vehicles and balancing the batteries all over his body as he stands and stares, unblinking, unmoving.
The man's face is revealed, unremarkable other than a pale scar across his lip and another slicing into his left eye, his mouth is full of foam and nose lined with white powder. He has dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. Average at best in terms of appearances.
Without saying a word, he starts moving forwards, not acknowledging me as he trudges past me, seemingly enraged by the blood now soaking into the sand and mutilated body laying before me. I fucked up. A sandstorm can cover the blood up no problem, but the body? What do I do with the body? We can't just take it with us, blood will get everywhere and what if some comes across us and questions us about the body. This place isn't an anarchy, but it's pretty damn close with how hands-off the government here is.
Turn it to ash.
Yes, that's perfect.
Enraging red overtakes me as I lie on top of the body, allowing it to spread further, feeling his skin heat up, peel, and melt, until it's dried out and burns, glistens, then darkens to gray, crumpling at my touch as it mixes with the sand, drifting further, catching with the breeze, flowing in the air, encircling with the micro tornados all around the area.
When I finally let up, all that's left are specks of red and gray being combed through by the yellow, orange, and red sand.
Turning, Antonio and I meet each other, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think he was proud.
Just five left to go.