The slums of Rkam sat in wreckage as buildings sagged into ruin and the streets ran slick with blood. Corpses littered the street like trash, each and everyone posed in gruesome macabre. It was as if Hell itself had descended upon the city and held it in its jaws, ravaging it to the core. Except for the occasional drunk, the port was a ghost town. It was as if the citizens themselves had scurried into the shadows like cockroaches upon Paulus' arrival.
Crouching low against the back of a butcher's shop that had been looted, a tall, hawk-faced man held a carbine tight in his hands. Appearing to be in his early forties, Eustus Metzger was the oldest of all the mercenaries to have been recruited onto Paulus' convoy. He had entered the service just before Zaya, and had been a drunken farmer beforehand who had a knack for pot shots," Where'd they all fucking up and go to," he asked.
Squatting next to him, Zaya took a peek around the corner and held her scorpion close as she signaled Smitty and his team the 'all-clear'," Dunno, but I don't like it. Chaos like this doesn't erupt in a city out of the fucking blue, it festers. Look at the corpses; they've been mutilated. Look at the buildings; they're being burnt to the ground. No mob runs the streets red with blood then takes off. Somethin' is up," the warrior said with a bitter tone. Smitty and a pair of lean, enamored twins, each gripping a B76 beretta quickly followed after him into the alleyway.
Paulus and his group had ducked into an abandoned tavern across the street while Darrel and his team circled around the back. It'd take a couple hours to make it to the warehouses at the port, but when the mercenary looked at it, it was the smart play. Whatever Wkigi was up to was going to end up being messy, and from the merchant's point-of-view, the rebel leader probably would've gathered his men at some sort of public place to re-group. No matter how they looked at it though, the entire city would have converged upon them in a matter of minutes when the first shots went off. Crossing over the threshold and into the alley, Zaya didn't waste a second as her comrades followed quickly after her.
Pulling up behind her, the pair of mercenaries stood stock still as they saw Smitty and the others ahead of them, everybody glancing up in horror. Holstering his revolver, the survivalist walked up to the bricked wall and whispered," What in Hromag's name..?"
Zaya pulled the slide back on her gun as she felt herself stifle a breath. The warrior was tough as nails, but what she saw could make even Darrel, the demolitions expert, shudder. Scaled far above the wall, hanging in rows, men and women were eviscerated and dangled like withered grapes upon a vine. Dried blood stained the graying bricks and crimson, sticky lifeblood dripped to the ground. Horrible gashes had been savagely cut into the victims' faces, mutilating them into horrifying grins. Tied to the pole stretching over them by their own rubbery entrails, the bodies hung like broken marionettes waiting to be playing in whatever grim puppetry they were meant for.
Pushing through the men, Zaya raised her arm and shouted," Look, one of them is still breathing," Pointing at a husk of a man, whose chest was spattered in scarlet which slowly rose against his organic tethers. Unsheathing her kukri, the woman rushed forward and started to climb the heaps of trash that sat against the wall. Gaining a foothold she turned back and roared," Don't just stand there!"
As the various members from both parties sprang forward to help, they were halfway up the mound of trash and to the emaciated victim when a loud boom echoed into the bend. Several cries rang out as a series of muffled coughs from an automatic rifle caused Zaya to freeze. As quickly as realization trickled into her mind, a drop of scarlet lifeblood hit the warrior in the face. Halfway to saving their first casualty, the groups of mercenaries were caught with blood on their hands as the fight for Rkam had just begun.
~*~
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