[h1]Francisco Browning and the SG War Gang[/h1][hr] 

(Written with [@SepticGentleman])

[hider=The Magic Sound][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKkii6Ofwjw[/youtube][/hider] 


	Screams echoed across site Aber as dozens of metahumans were slaughtered. The unholy roar of flamethrowers occasionally complimented the symphony of human anguish. Gunfire. Flames. Screams. It was a vicious cycle. Prisoners sprinted through the woods, running any direction to escape the SG soldiers. Some were shot in the back as they ran. Others were pulled to the ground by dogs and were torn to pieces. Some fought back, but a neutralizer grenade would put them in their place. They, too, would join the dead. 

	Francisco was in his element. He tore through the trees like a savage ape, machete in hand. He let out a loud war-whoop as he sprinted. The other soldiers around him responded similarly. A small pack of dogs ran ahead. A few soldiers with grenade launchers fired nullifier grenades up ahead, removing their prey’s abilities to fight back. The dogs would drag them down and Francisco would, in a single fluid motion, end them. This was his element. He was an artist and this was his masterpiece. He bounded off of a tree trunk like a man chimpanzee and tackled a victim to the ground. He pinned them to a fallen log and slashed away at them, sending blood soaring through the air like so many splashes of paint. After he was satisfied, he got up, leapt over the log, shouted out his “Eey-HI!” again, and then rejoined the fray. He leapt for a very large reptilian man. The lizard jumped out of the way and scampered through the woods, right into the line of fire of a flamethrower. Francisco sliced his back open for good measure and watched him burn to death. 

	A short time later, he exited the jungle and walked back to Aber. He was covered in blood. It stuck to his forearms and vest and dripped from his beard menacingly. He had an enormous grin on his face. In his right hand he held Martha, his beloved machete. He dragged a decapitated body by the collar of its shirt in his left hand. It left a trail of blood on the ground as he dragged it. It moaned ever so slightly. When he got a few feet away from where Frank was sitting, he tossed it towards him. It moaned and its skinless face twitched. 

“Can you believe this, man?” Francisco said. “It’s still fucking alive! I ripped it to pieces and it’s still alive! This is amazing! I want one of these things for target practice!” Frank looked down at the severed, flayed head for a moment, before looking back at Francisco and saying, “And you thought this was important to bring to me, [i]right away[/i]? I mean…”  He nudged the head with his boot a bit and said, “Impressive work but, you’re leaving a fucking mess around our new field HQ. Go clean up.” 

     Francisco’s smile faded a bit. He looked over at a few of the men who had followed him into the jungle. They were standing around the body which belonged to the head. It was still twitching and trying to move, despite its total lack of limbs. 

“Hey! You three little bros there!” he shouted. “We’ve had our fun, now clean this shit up!” They looked at him, their faces flushed, and quickly ran off to find cleaning supplies. Franciso picked up the head. It moaned weakly. “They’ll clean the blood up, boss. I’ll go take care of this little guy.” He walked off of the platform and over to the small beach. When he got about knee depth into the water, he took out a grenade, shoved it in the mouth of the severed head, pulled the pin, and launched it into the air. It exploded in a lovely shower of blood, like barbarian fireworks. Francisco watched the blood drift through the air for a few moments. Then he washed the blood out of his beard and walked back to the staging ground. Jasmine was dragging a regenerating prisoner into the jungle for execution. Francisco’s smile returned. 

“You need some help with that, maaan?” he asked. 

“Not from you, shit-hippy.” She replied, stopping for a moment, scanning the grounds, and then turning to take the prisoner towards a section of supply crates and tables. “Free to watch, though.” Francisco looked over at the men who he told to clean. They were hurriedly mopping up, some even trying to mop up the dirt. Francisco tilted his head to one side. One of the men dropped a bucket of soapy water in the process. He laughed. 

“Eh, sure,” he said. “I think the little bros are busy right now.” He followed her towards the supply area. 

“Pretending to be scared of you to feed your fucking retardedly huge ego?” Jasmine responded, setting the prisoner under her boot as she searched through some supply bins.

“Eh, I think they’re just coming down from the high,” Francisco said. “Killing at close distance [i]really[/i] gets your blood pumping, you know what I mean, man? They haven’t got a reason to be scared a’ me. Well, unless someone passed around that stupid Afghanistan story again.” He stuck Martha in the ground and leaned up against a wooden supply tent. Then he took out his ukulele, which he called Caroline, and began to strum a song.

“Ugh…” Jasmine said as soon as the strumming started, “I’m about to put this little fucker in a world of pain, and you wanna riddle his ears with that [i]noise[/i]?” 

“Ah, chill out bro. I’m sure it’ll hurt just as much as you want it to. It’s nice to have ambiance when you’re ending someone’s life. It’s such a [i]special[/i] moment, y’know man?” 

Jasmine didn’t respond as she lifted up some form of pumping device, and after it a tank of black fluid. She set the device on the ground and held the fluid close to the prisoner’s face. “See this, you little shit?” She said, “This is Borman Brothers brand riot foam. Police use it to subdue targets and field-repair armor. It’s rapid-solidifying, and it tastes like rancid ass.” She then proceeded to lift up a hose from the device, pop open a cap on the top, pour the riot foam into the canister, shut the lid, and start it up. She looked to Francisco and said, “Get useful and hold his mouth open!” 

“Sure thing, bro.” Francisco placed Caroline on a table and pulled Martha out of the ground. He knelt down above the prisoner and smiled. “How’s it going, little bro?” he asked. The prisoner opened their mouth the slightest bit. Francisco pounced. He ripped the prisoner’s jaw open, holding it wide, and then stabbed them through their bottom jaw, breaking it and disconnecting the muscles. He stabbed Martha into their left arm and then pulled the lower jaw back. “Couldn’t move it if he tried,” Francisco said. “Let’s do it, bro.”

“Fucking [i]overdoing like always…[/i]” Jasmine replied. She held the hose over the prisoner’s head and said to him, “Let’s see you regenerate from this, asshole!” She then shoved the nozzle down the prisoner’s open throat, and activated the pump. The riot foam began channeling through and down into the prisoner’s gullet, overflowing his stomach, piercing his various organs. The thing with regenerators is, they can’t heal around [i]obstructions[/i]. Traces of the black liquid began to seep from his pants, navel, and every orifice on his face. His eyes ruptured, his movements ceased. He became still. Jasmine deactivated the pump and pushed the prisoner aside, his body now completely stiffed - rigor mortis and then some.

“Alright…” Jasmine said, “Good work.” Francisco burst into laughter. 

“Holy shit dude!” he shouted. “That was great! You’re a fucking [i]artist[/i]!” He pulled Martha out of the corpse’s arm. A bit of foam seeped out with the blood. He cleaned the machete blade on the corpse’s shirt and then sheathed it. 

“Yeah. Whatever.” Jasmine replied, wiping a bit of sweat off of her forehead, rubbing the 37 pin on her beanie. “Thanks, I guess.” She said to Francisco.

“No problem, bro,” he said, smiling. “Anytime. So you know what our next move is?” 

Jasmine paused for a minute, looking around the Site. “Actually, uh… Baba just told me about his assault on the next place over. Site… Haeda, I think. He’s getting some of his regulars, the incendiary gang, gonna burn the whole place down. Want in?”

“Sounds good to me, bro,” he replied. “I’ll do whatever as long as I get to kill stuff! What time are we leaving?” He picked up Caroline again but didn’t start playing. 

“Whenever Baba says so. Just be ready soon.” Jasmine replied, turning to walk off, get… something else done.

“I’m always ready, bro!” he said. “I’ll be around.” He paused and began to play a song on his ukulele. “You wanna light up with me tonight after we burn it down? I’ve got some high-quality weed on me from back home! Celebrations only!” 

“I don’t SMOKE you fucking idiot!” Jasmine called back without turning her head, her usual angry tone storming right back. Francisco watched her walk away. He was playing “What a Wonderful World” on his uke. One of his men walked over, a bloody mop in his hand. 

“What a babe, eh little dude?” Francisco said to him. The soldier turned around and looked at her. 

“Yeah sir,” he said. “She’s a catch for anyone who can deal with her temper.” Francisco sighed and went back to his ukulele playing.  

“And I think to myself…” he hummed. “What a wonderful world…”