10-03-2008
200km E of Kisangani, Democratic Republic of Congo
Thin fingers drummed along as the crackle of static cut across the cheerful rhythm of afrobeat that buzzed from the jeep's sound system. The vehicle had come with her father's acceptance of a position along with a new house far away from all that was home. A deep stream of sorrow flowed through Ayanda's core as she thought of the last time she'd seen her friends; of the tears shed and the promises made to keep in touch. She looked through the window as her head rested against the glass, her eyes vacantly following the Congo's waters as they neared Kisangani.
Through the speakers the shrill sound of feedback cut through the fog of her thoughts. Her father fumbled with the controls for a moment before trying several stations, all of which were suffering from the same interference as the klaxon of an emergency broadcast bled through the noise. Nyerere brought the vehicle to a stop on the side of the road, leaving the engine running as he moved to the rear and opened the tailgate.
"Stay calm, Ayanda. Keep scanning for a clear broadcast." She watched through the rearview mirror as he retrieved a small case which housed a satellite phone. Putting the receiver to his ear, his attempt to dial for help was cut short as the connection was immediately severed. His pulse began to rise as several scenarios ran through his mind as he tried to rationalize his present circumstances. War was the only conclusion he could come to. But on what scale? He tried to keep a brave face for his daughter as he sat back behind the steering wheel, the phone case set on the dashboard.
"At least we have the Congo to sing to us for the rest of the drive." He smiled bravely at his daughter, the last thing she'd see before darkness descended upon her.
13-03-2008
Kisangani, Democratic Republic of Congo
A dull awareness crept into Nyerere's mind as he tried his best to stretch out in the cramped driver's seat. His eyes focused on his daughter's fidgeting form in his rearview and inhaled deeply. He'd pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, driving continuously for the past two days through the madness that had gripped the city; he couldn't recall when he'd fallen asleep but was thankful he was still cognizant enough to have taken shelter.
The first rays of sunlight pierced the cloud cover, refracted through the shattered glass of the warehouse lot he'd chosen. A few more breaths and he shifted the shotgun from his lap to the jeep's dashboard. Scanning his surroundings, he exited the vehicle and spread a map across its hood. He gave it a few glances as he continued to stretch in a vain attempt to rid himself of his fatigue. Retrieving a half-empty thermos, Nyerere oriented himself with the map and made note of a few routes to the nearest hospital before draining the container with a few much-needed gulps.
Folding and pocketing the map, he peered through the windshield at Ayanda who'd begun to thrash about in the back seat. The glare of the sun reflecting off the Congo as it settled in the morning sky blinded Nyerere momentarily as a shot rang out, richocheting off a nearby vehicle. Within moments he was back behind the wheel, driving through the chain link fence of a shipping yard into relative safety as more shots echoed in the distance.
22-03-2008
100km N of Kindu, Democratic Republic of Congo
The murmur of hushed voices was the first sound she remembered hearing when she awoke to a world of darkness. Ayanda's breaths came in short, ragged gasps as fear and confusion gripped her. It was then that she felt a cool hand press against her feverish forehead while a familiar voice called out her name.
"Ayanda... My precious, I am so relieved that you're awake. You are safe," her father said, a tinge of something unfamiliar in his voice.
"M-my head.." she struggled to speak, her head filling with the muffled drone of her surroundings.
"It makes my heart lighter to hear you speak. It's been three days since you were last conscious, and that was for a brief moment. Tell me, my moonlight, what is the last thing you remember?"
Silence was her response as she sought to piece together the tattered memories of the week prior. The sensation of the room around her faded away and she found herself in the passenger's seat. Her ears focused on the sound of the river that had begun to flow furiously as gales swept through the dense treeline. Ayanda saw her father, his smile umbrage for something he sought to hide from her. Her thoughts moved past him and she sat up with a bolt. Struck by the sudden and horrible recollection, she instinctively clutched at her eyes. She screamed in shock as her hands pressed against several layers of bandages.
The words that followed came through tears that were choked back. "I am sorry, my love. All of the hospitals are... Finding a doctor is difficult right now. I brought you to someone who will help. That's all that matters. They have done the best they can for us and are hopeful your sight will return. You should rest, we can talk about what you remember later."
"B-behind you..." she began as she lowered her arms, "there was a storm cloud. No.. I thought it was a cloud... the kind that would send me running to the windows to watch while Mama sang..." Another bolt; they hadn't spoken much about her mother in the past several years. She continued as tears stung her enveloped eyes. "It moved in the most terrible manner. Like a beheaded snake thrashing about. It.. it was so large... and a storm raged behind it."
Raindrops drummed against the metallic roof of the clinic with a metallic pang as she found herself returned to the bed, her father shifting uncomfortably at her bedside. Her voice had dropped to just above a whisper. "Then there was a flash... and everything went black." She felt the weight of her words trickle into the room as heavy drops fell from the eaves of the rooftop onto the thirsty undergrowth.
10-07-2008
70km NE of Kolwezi, Democratic Republic of Congo
The warmth of the fire Ayanda sat before danced across her skin and she swore she could see the ever-shifting shades of reds with a level of vibrance she had never felt before. She traced a mindless pattern in the surrounding ash with the end of the staff her father had carved for her while she recovered enough to continue moving south towards home. The voices in the camp were defeated, having spent the past two months trekking through the rainforest in search of the Zambian border. If her condition had given her anything, it was time to listen. She heard much along the way and most of it was unpleasant.
The first days of their journey had seen them evacuating the families of several villages between the small mission that Father Jefferson oversaw and Kindu. A corruption had spread across the land; one that ate at the flesh and soul of those that had always known struggle but now were met with existential contempt. Many of the roads had been taken over by gangs of soldiers that quickly began to tear at each other's throats for whatever they could.
It had cost the lives of many to learn this lesson. Jefferson and a group of young hunters along with her father had been ambushed while attempting to scout ahead, taking Nyerere's jeep. Much of their party were injured or infirm and the roads would have been a small mercy. None of the youths returned from this. She felt the grief of their blood. She wept for them and it still stung.
Her skin crawled with the sudden apprehension that she was being watched. Ayanda rose to her feet, steadying herself with the staff. "Who is there?" The sounds of soft rainfall in the bush flushed her senses. She was aware of each individual drop that sputtered against the smoldering logs; of each muffled cough and sniffling nose. Further off she heard, or rather felt, Nyerere as he and the elders convened.
"You are sharp."
Ayanda and the flames reacted uncomfortably at the sound of the voice. It seemed to come from a deep cavern, disconnected from the surrounding jungle. A presence emerged into the shifting light of the fire. "Something flows around you; a great potential. It frightens me." Sudden recognition dawned upon Ayanda as she identified the voice as that of the woman that assisted Father Jefferson in her recovery. Ayanda had taken the woman's apprehension as an indication of the severity of her wounds. She stood silently, leaning heavily upon her staff.
Soft foot-falls grew nearer as the voice continued to speak. "Your father came to us in great disarray. We had yet to learn of the incident when he came rushing down the road in his jeep, honking his horn like a madman. You were left with me in the clinic as Father Jefferson took your father outside and tried to calm him down enough to explain your injuries. Your fever was in its third day; and you had been ranting whenever you weren't unconscious. You spoke of death and demons."
A hand gently pressed against her shoulders and the two sat side-by-side and the world around her was no longer a void. She found herself once more in the small clinic, astounded by the simulacra of sight she experienced. A passive and ghostly observer, Ayanda watched as a seated figure tended to her past-self. As she neared, she realized it was her present companion. She was heavy-set and radiated strength; her steady hands surprisingly gentle as she daubed at Ayanda's damaged eyes as she thrashed in agitated sleep.
Suddenly the supine form bolted upright as shoulders rose and fell in ragged breaths. The older woman, Faizah, tried to comfort the girl and return her to a restful position but found she could not budge the petite form who began to mutter snippets of the conversation Father Jefferson and Faizah had earlier that morning. A bowl filled with warm water and rags crashed to the ground and with it Ayanda was returned to the bush.
"What happened? Can you describe it?"
Ayanda's knees shook violently as she fought to make sense of what transpired. Since she'd lost her sight she had began to experience moments when an awareness she could barely fathom would come upon her. She sought to put into the words how vivid everything seemed at those moments and how rooted she was each time it happened. Faizah listened intently as the young girl described the strange turn her life had taken and knew of the importance of the role she'd one day play. Faizah would personally ensure that this girl be taken to those who could cultivate her gift.
The screams erupted from the other side of the camp; where most of the refugees had gathered to offer a semblance of normalcy in the dark days they dwelt in. Both women rose and turned to the source of the sound, and before Ayanda could react she already heard Faizah cutting through the dense foliage.
Steeling herself, she extended her free arm and began to move. Trying to flee would do her no good; she would have been lost even with her eyesight. Ayanda's senses were overwhelmed as she grew closer to the chaos; bestial snarling underscoring the panicked shrieks of children as the few defenders they had yelled commands to the group.
"To the Lualaba! To the river!"
The demand was followed by three blasts in rapid succession, accompanied by a vicious and pained bellow. She fell to her knees, the staff held tight against her chest. The rains intensified as her body wracked with sobs. Incapable of acting amidst the din of confusion she became a snack amongst delicacies. Undergrowth rustled as Nyerere ran and slid across the jungle floor, pleading with Ayanda to rise. He cradled her crumpled form while shakily loading shells into a shotgun.
"You have to get up! Ayanda!"
The sensation of her father's presence broke through the dissonance and she followed his command and stood, a hand upon Nyerere's shoulder as he assumed a kneeling position. Chambering a shell into a late-model Remington 1100, Nyerere scanned the tree-line as it violently shook with the movement of trampling beasts. They began to fall back to rejoin the others by the river as savage chuckles intermingled with the sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh.
The rush of the Lualaba and the splashing of survivors crossing it provided false confidence and Nyerere noticed just how much his daughter had grown in the past months. Her mother's strength lived on in Ayanda, and he knew she would need it in the days to come. "Go!" he yelled, pushing her towards the water and he turned; the searing pain he felt registering for an infinitesimal moment before he was reduced to spasming motor functions.
As her consciousness plunged beneath the Lualaba, it underwent a complete shift in criterion. She surfaced, and although her sight had not been restored she still emptied the contents of her stomach at what she saw. Her father's headless body convulsed as it was circled by what resembled a hyena as massive as her father's jeep. Its hide was mottled and matted. Viscous saliva fell from churning jaws that made quick work of its meal. Nyerere's remains were immediately pounced upon by similar yet smaller beasts that expelled a pungent secretion from engorged and prolapsed anuses.
Ayanda wiped the bile from her mouth with trembling hand. Once more she felt herself being consumed, not with sorrow but fury. It was the first time she had allowed herself to feel any anger since she'd lost her sight. She struggled to keep a brave face for Baba, even though she blamed him. It was his fault for accepting the job. It was his fault she was blind. It was his fault mo-- jagged shards of perse and peridot penetrated the river basin as it was torn apart; an extension of her rage. Tendrils of solid kolwezite churned through the muddied and bloodied waters as a platform began to rise, separating Ayanda and the remaining survivors from their pursuers. Rich deposits of the chromatic mineral began to layer over one another into a latticework that made an impromptu tomb for her father and a prison for his killers.
Retreating into the water, Ayanda retrieved her staff and with a gesture began to unconsciously carve a path through river and jungle. Her breaths again came in short and ragged gasps, the exertion overtaking her. Her steps faltered and before she could finish stumbling, Faizah appeared at her side, a bundle swaddled in one arm. A warm palm was pressed against Ayanda's forehead and the three of them were gone.
***
6-3-2022
800m SW of Marange, Free Territories (formerly Zimbabwe)
I'm counting three.. four groups of ilaalada, heavily armed with rotating patrol routes. There's a cluster of shacks to the west bordering fields of razertsanga.
Beads of sweat rolled down scarred cheeks as a set of binoculars was lowered; its worn leather straps dripping with collected perspiration. Taking up an elevated position south of the mining complex, Assad had scrambled up a tree to perform reconnaissance. Drying his hands on the cloth of a satchel on his hip, he produced a small notebook and quickly sketched a crude diagram of the site, marking down what he'd observed over the past several hours. Satisfied with its accuracy after taking one last glance, Assad pocketed the book and adjusted the AKs-74u slung over his back before descending.
The small camp he returned to had not existed hours before and would be gone within minutes of their passing. With him, their squad was composed of six fighters; six against an armed and experienced force of at least sixty. Even with the commander and her bodyguard, he did not see how they would take the mine.
His training and instinct told him this was suicide; he swallowed his insecurity and strode past the others to the lean-to that served as their FOB. Inside, the commander sat as she spoke with Tatonga and Takunda; brothers gifted with more bravery than the lion whose name Assad bore. All three turned as he approached, producing the notebook and extending it to his comrades.
After an awkward beat, the commander extended an arm and took the book with a smile. Heat rose from the back of his neck in embarrassment as he recalled her blindness. Assad hadn't been with the movement long, though he had heard much of the NYUNDO and their commander. Rumors said she was a powerful sorceress; he was more skeptical. In the months since he'd joined his time had been split between small incursions against Mbavha and passing along what he'd learned during his time with the Ciidanka Danab to the recruits.
"Many thanks, Assad. Not just for this, but for all you've done for the survival of our movement. These two were just commending you," she gestured to the brothers, "and if truth be told, would not have approved of this operation without your participation. It seems that even the mighty Gwinyai brothers know when to temper bravery with wisdom."
He gave a quick salute at her words before stammering, "The.. I.. There's a map in there of the mine, commander."
"Please, we are all soldiers here. My name is Ayanda."
"Yes, com- Ayanda."
With another gesture from her, Tatonga took the book from Assad and began to commit it to memory as Takunda crossed the cramped quarters, giving up his seat next to the commander.
"Come, sit and tell me- given what you've observed, what do you think?"
He began as his back pressed uncomfortably against a thatch wall, "The complex is heavily fortified. The only entrance is from the south, on an old bridge flanked by guard towers. I marked the two sharpshooters I spotted on the map, armed with Dragunovs."
Dabbing sweat off himself, he continued with his report as the commander sat quietly, an eerie calm radiating outwards from her. "There's a gunner's nest overlooking the razertsanga fields to the west, while the north and east are inaccessible given our equipment. There is no viable entrance for us, commander. Forgive me- Ayanda. But this is suicide given our limited numbers and no viable point of entrance."
The humidity in the hut was becoming unbearable; he was a soldier, not a martyr. The NYUNDO prided themselves on open and direct communication amongst its members, but he felt he had over-stepped his bounds and insulted his superior. She continued to sit in silence as she measured her response.
"Your honesty is what I asked for, and it is what I have been given. Feel no shame in what you've said, for I wouldn't ask the impossible of you. I reserve that for myself."
The soil at their feet began to churn as several roots rose, their tendrils coiling over one another until they had formed an ersatz table, upon which a miniature survey of the mine took shape, down to the position of personnel. A wave of concentration passed over her face as the minute forms of soldiers began to move.
"You missed a few."
Assad gave a stunned chuckle as he began to see why Tatonga and Takunda so fervently believed in the commander. She continued, the actions of her words being played out before them as the walls of the hut unfurled like a blossoming flower, the other fighters save one gathering 'round to see the plan of attack. They would strike in a few hours' time, as darkness descended.
Assad looked over to the boy who sat alone as the others listened; he stared fixedly at the ground as he absent-mindedly loaded .45 rounds into spare magazines. Could this boy, no older than sixteen truly be the commander's bodyguard? Did she require one? The two of them were unknown variables to Assad, but the others were convinced. Even Khethiwe, who took every assignment with the utmost gravity seemed to be put at ease. Insh'Allah they were right.
That night...
Tall stalks of razerstanga swayed to the whims of breezes that swept through the field; the six of them kept low to the ground as they moved towards the shacks at the field's edge. Mshale led the squad while Ayanda brought up the rear; exerting her willpower to keep the serrated edges of the mutated grain from rending their group asunder. The rustling of their gear was masked by the deep rumble of the generators used to power Marange and its industrial mining equipment.
Approaching the end of their cover, the group came to a stop as Mshale gave the command to halt. Weapons were quickly readied as all listened intently. The acrid smell of tumbaku rose in spindly plumes. Two voices were in a heated discussion over rations, angered over the end of most foreign aid to the continent. The guards paced the length of the field, unknowingly passing their location.
"What if we kill some miners? We say to big boss there was kumukira and we had to. More food for us. Maybe more tumbaku." The two shook free hands as they chuckled at their brilliance. "Big boss won't like there was kumukira," the other added, "means fun for us too."
The laughter in their throats turned to confused gasps as the microscopic particulates of tobacco they'd inhaled began to violently amalgamate within their lungs, suffocating them as Takunda and Tatonga emerged from the fields in a crouched run, relieving the guards of their firearms as their convulsing forms were left to asphyxiate hidden from view.
Emerging in unison, the squad quickly made their way towards the bridge to secure it for when reinforcements arrived. The route Ayanda had chosen wove through a congregation of shacks and shipping containers that had once stored aid that these fulayos hoarded. They began advancing, methodically securing each building as they progressed.
The first few stored harvested razertsanga and the tools necessary to perform such a dangerous task. It was halfway through when the stench began. Assad had grown accustomed to it in 30 years of bloodshed; horror had become routine. Grim looks were exchanged as the Gwinyai brothers took point and entered the darkened doorway.
The two returned with ashen faces; no more had to be said. Razertsanga requires a steady supply of meat to maintain it and miners too broken to work were the ideal source once they could no longer be worked. Huddled together, the dead and dying miners could do little to offer any support, but those strong enough spoke of others deeper into the facility. Khethiwe and the Gwinyai brothers went to work moving the living into an adjacent building as Assad approached the commander and her guard.
"Orders, commander?" he asked, adjusting his grip on the weapon's receiver.
"Mshale and I will continue with the assault while Khethiwe and the Gwinyais guard the survivors. I am trusting you to secure the bridge and watch tower once we begin and signal the secondary unit."
He hesitated then gave a brief nod before breaking into a silent sprint towards a deep channel the commander had created, giving him ample cover to get into position at the foot of the bridge. Assad thumbed the safety off of his AKs-74u and whispered a prayer as motes of dust hung in the air. Checking his watch, Assad finished his prayer as the moment drew near. He steadied his weapon as the first rapports began, followed by heavy boots across the bridge's wooden planks as the mine's guards moved to engage the commander.
She knew how to keep the enemy's attention, Assad admitted as he clambered up the bridge's supports. Coming over the top, he immediately assumed a prone firing position and tore through the two remaining guardsmen with quick bursts of gunfire. He rose to one knee, and replaced the half-empty magazine with a fresh one.
Satisfied that there were no more visible threats, Assad continued to the end of the bridge and up the small watch tower. He pushed the still gurgling body of a guard aside and fired a flare into the night sky. Retrieving the fallen guard's Dragunov, he took up an overwatch position and awaited the others.
Meanwhile...
Ayanda felt the hushed foot falls retreating away from her as Assad followed her commands. He was a good soldier, and a much needed addition to NYUNDO. She'd felt overwhelmed ever since committing herself to bringing peace to the Free Territories. Early ties with what had remained of the Comte Foundation and other humanitarian organizations did much when the quarantine began, but those resources dwindled years ago. Liberating Marange would do much for security amongst the neighboring peoples.
The polished bands of Mpingo that adorned Ayanda's neck, wrists and shins pulsed with life as luminous patches of moss swelled within unfurling wooden strands. The growth continued, a thick resin bubbling forth that formed layer upon layer of protective armor. A smooth and featureless casque turned towards Mshale, and her voice echoed strangely inside it as she gave an arduous grunt, propelling Mshale and herself forward upon a throbbing wave of upturned earth.
The shrill buzz of passing rounds was a minor agitation as most of them were far off the mark; fired in desperation as crystalline thorns erupted from the soil before shattering in volleys of piercing shrapnel. Mshale took the lead, a concussive wave of telepathic might tearing through several firing positions. He landed deftly, firing a M1911 pistol while projecting a field to protect his exposed flank.
The flare round fizzled high into the air in a twisting parabola, casting an ominous red tinge as small fires began to break out in the barracks on the far side of the mining complex. A steady trickle of blood began to pour from Mshale's nose as rounds flattened against his barrier; and with a surge of willpower he launched an onslaught outwards that caused flesh to tear and bone to splinter within its radius. Pushing the opposition's forces back into the excavated caverns, Ayanda gave her guard the command to rest as she pushed on.
Her consciousness extended throughout the network of tunnels and shafts that had been dug through years of suffering. Her abilities weren't necessary to feel the overbearing sense of misery that permeated the air. Her heart raced as she felt each atrocity come down upon her like a lash. Phantasms of memory acted out before her in awful repetition, and in this ghastly stupor she stumbled deeper into the mine until she came to a wide chamber, illuminated with hundreds of candles.
"You come, muroyi!" a voice reverberated through the room; it was slick with malice and felt as ancient as their surroundings. A deep pool of fetid water had flooded the lower half of the cavern and in it danced the gaunt speaker.
Her senses were overcome by a palpable manifestation of the corruption that had spread since long before the Val'Gara had arrived. A flurry of flames shot towards her form as she leapt backwards defensively. Summoning her strength and focusing through the haze of haunted recollections, she created a stannic spire that erupted with the exposed flames and came down upon the grotesque leader of Marange.
Thick clouds of smoke and dust rose from an exposed hole in the ceiling of the cavernous chamber. Moonlight rushed to reach earth that had not seen light of its kind in ages. Ayanda gave an exhausted shrug as her armor fell away; a dulled clatter on the rubble. She stepped forward into the pool and as her arms opened to bask in the cool air, the water began to return to its pristine state.
***
20-7-2039
XSF Delta Station, Karoo, South Africa
Drumming the end of a pen against the lip of his mug, Pt. Mikalson looked wistfully as the clock ticked on. It was almost lunch time and they were serving roasted sonderhond that Keller had managed to track his last time into the bush. He'd been stationed here two months ago, having graduated from the Cape Town Academy with less than stellar marks. The occasional bushmeat had been his only real pleasure in what seemed like endless stretches of mindless minutiae. He didn't really see the point of having operational stations within Xanathan lands.
A chime from a small speaker on his desk went off as a notification blipped on the screen. He gave the keyboard a dissatisfied prod with his makeshift drumstick, his eyes poring over one of several daily reports from low-flying drones. Much of the troposphere had been heavily irradiated during the creation of the Glasveld and all but their most advanced aircraft could navigate the skies without disruption. It was usually nothing but grainy images of skirmishes amongst the "free peoples" or packs of Valdieren . He knocked over the mug with a crash as he reached for radio's transmitter.
"Kry my die generaal!"
1-8-2039
Mt. Cameroon
The interference seemed unavoidable, Lt. Smit observed as he completed a third round of calibrations on the recording equipment each XSF operator was outfitted with. He gave the monitor displaying the feed one last exasperated smack before taking a seat. Smit watched on in detached appraisal as he relayed the order to commence. Distortion filtered through the feed as each operator began to move in on the coordinates the drone had provided a week earlier. His attention focused on that of the lead field agent who raised the barrel of his H&K G36, nodding curtly as two other agents breeched the thatch door of a dilapidated shack.
The three entered, clearing their sectors. A halo briefly appeared on screen as the agent switched on their PR-3 G2 rail flashlight. Automatically adjusting for the new light source, the video feed clearly revelealed the contents of the cramped quarters. The other two operators exited, providing the lead ample room to perform his investigation.
He began overturning the room's limited furniture, scouring for any sign of its inhabitant. Flipping over a cot, he discovered a collection of singed notes bundled in the coarse tatters of a field bag.
A shadow shifted overhead as the gaunt form of a hirsute man dropped from the ceiling's arches. He crashed against the operator's tactical vest and clawed frantically at the man's prostrate form.
A horrendeous and guttural bellow came from the rabid being as he successfully took back his belongings, as well as some of the man's ear he'd managed to bite off in the fray. His animalistic celebration was cut short as the fiberglass buttstock of a rifle slammed against a wagging mane.
5-8-2039
300km W of Xanathan Outpost Lamda-5 (Somewhere in former Angola)
"How'd you let this doos get the drop on you, eh?" a voice guffawed as he struck the safety glass of the containment cell. "Fucking hell, he stinks worse than your mother's poes! At least the fucker's stopped yelling, eh? Or could you not hear him, Danse?"
Another guffaw as the hunched form within the cell gave the man a contemptuous glare from sunken, sallow eyes. It had taken him two days to cease yelling since separated from the bag, whose contents were currently being analyzed in the research vehicle that was part of their caravan. Primary analyses revealed high levels of radiation, along with various dormant strains of unknown pathogens.
Danse leaned over and peered out from beneath the guaze that covered his wound. With a grimace he spat on the prisoner and audibly complained, "Why do we have to keep it alive? It's obviously another mutie and should be put down." Danse unholstered his service pistol and rapped it impatiently against the plexiglass pane in an attempt to gesture towards the research vehicle. "Once they figure out you're useless, I'll be glad to kill you myself. I know how to make it-"
His words hung in the air as the armored personnel carrier was explosively launched upwards, its passengers rattling around its cabin with bone-breaking force.
Fetzen
Circ