Someone hated them.

Loathed them to the point that their hundred strong members had been reduced to thirty in the following weeks. No matter what they do, the bastard strikes during times where they thought no harm will pass them.

Striking when there was no one around. Patient enough to kill them one by one. It would have been easy to understand if it was a rival gang, trying to fuck them over. However, it wasn’t the Vultures, Yakuzas, Triad, or the Huchen Gang. It wasn’t the Deus Machina Cult, nor was it Corpsec.

“Oh God, what did we do wrong?”

He was a lowly member. Nothing more than a courier that was tasked to bring out packages and deliver them to certain areas. They do trade organs, but most of the time it was from idiots who came to them, hoping to earn quick money for their natural organ, and trade them for a better one that was more durable.

He heard that the trade was doing good until this fucker showed up. It was clear from the beginning that whoever was targeting them, it was the same guy. The way he operated and killed was similar. He operated the same way, but no matter what they did. It always ends up with their safehouses being butchered by a psycho vigilante that hated them.

He had woken up tonight. While everyone thought that the bastard left them alone. He came back, entered their hideout, and started tearing through his friends throats. He had been lucky so far. Avoiding the guy after he slit the throat of the allies he had worked with for the past months. He stood next to a bed, inserting a thin long knife that made the member struggle before dying.

He covered his mouth, trying hard not to scream. He held onto the charm that his grandma had given him. He wasn’t much of a believer, but he wanted God to forgive him for being involved with people like them. He simply wanted the money from working with them. Whatever else they were doing wasn’t something he agreed with.

He can see that there’s a rifle that was placed near him. He looked at the bastard stabbing his friends and thought to himself that he could kill him now while he had his back turned. His fingers reached out to the rifle, he aimed down quietly, and took a pot shot.

He was sure that he hit the bastard on the back of the neck. He was about to fire again, when he saw something sliced through the barrel of the rifle. A sharp wind tore through the gap between his thumb and pointer finger, slicing through the wrist, and coming out of the elbow.

The monster turned towards him. Carrying that thing blade of his. He took a step forward, and then quietly carried the knife to him. He said no word. The most awful thing about the bastard was that he held nothing but contempt against them.

He didn’t want to hear them out. He said no hateful words. What was the reason he started killing them? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he wanted to do was run. He stood up while enduring the pain, his augmented legs making a sound as he hopped around. He grabbed a pistol on the table, aimed down at the monster, and took a pot shot.

The bullet that should have hit the monster on the chest got flung sideward, hitting the flat of a table instead. He tried to attack again, but this wind cut through the pistol. He didn’t know what that was, he didn’t care as he ran forward, not bothering to care about the fallen that was flat on the ground with their throats sliced.

How did he manage to kill them without alerting the others? He didn’t understand. Even if he has a cloaking device, there should be a struggle.

He was running. His vision tunneled and yet when he looked back. It was always that guy behind him walking patiently, watching him patiently, waiting for him to tire.

He tried to get into one of the vehicles, but the front of the car was sliced in half by that wind again. He kicked the door, rolled out, while trying hard not to defecate.

The junkyard took up a lot of space. Hills of old cars and vehicles that had long been abandoned. He recalled that every Friday, twice a month, some Corpo Company comes in, starts recycling the unending cars, and transports them somewhere. He recalled that there was a power loader that was on standby. His friends told him to never touch the damn thing since if the Corpos using it found out, they’d start shit. No one in their right mind was willing to offend the Corpsec. But he couldn’t give a single damn shit about it, not when his life was in danger.

He found the yellow power loaded in the station. It was hooked up and was fully charged. He pulled his personal link out, and ran a jacking crackware to remove the security. He entered the power loader, ran the crackware, and jacked his mind into the power loader.

Unlike most of the power loaders found around landfill and junkyards. This one was owned by Corpsec, and moved better. He knew that this damn thing could at least shield him from whatever it was, and they had been planning to take the damn thing.

The monster came into view. He searched through the system of the power loader, activated the defense system, and started firing rounds. 

The monster took cover. Through the targeting system, he was able to guess that he was using the cars as cover. He still had enough rounds to shred the bastard.

“JUST DIE ALREADY.”

He spoke through the power loader's speaker. He stopped firing. He looked around and frantically searched the junkyard. He looked up and saw the bastard being pulled up by a wire. He pointed the power loader's weapon, and commanded it to fire.

But that same wind sliced through the arms of the power loader. The monster twisted his body, landed on top of the power loader and twisted his hand.

A jet stream poured off his left hand, slicing through the reinforced shielding. He didn’t know how that was possible, but that stream of water was cutting through the glass.

He activated the hydraulic to try and shake off the monster. The monster clung, and then pointed his left gauntlet, activating a laser that melted through the same spot.

“Damn it,” he shouted as he released the cooling system of the power loader, throwing off the monster.

“How am I still alive, shit!”

He didn’t understand how he was holding on. Every fiber of his being was somewhat working on his survival. It was lucky enough to survive, but to think that he had to just shoot at the guy, attract his attention, and then fight him off.

No, a good part of him wanted to kill the bastard in front of him. They weren’t good people. He knew that. But most of them were here only to earn money. It was only for the money. He wasn’t here because of some sick belief about some cult. All he wanted was to profit and bring enough cash back home. It might be immoral. Maybe this was nothing more than karma for what they had helped accomplish, but he felt that it was still his right to fight back.

He swung the powerloader’s arm. The psycho ducked under, dashed forward, and then released that same damn wind again, but this time he released three of it on the chassis of the powerloader.

He tried to move. But the movement system of the powerloader wasn’t responding. He tried to respond, but the monster wrote something on the glass. He didn’t know what it was, but he felt his neural chip and his ocular malfunction. He was half blind. His senses were robbed and he could only rely on his smell and hearing that was still functioning.

Was he hit by an EMP? He didn’t understand why he wasn’t by the damn EMP in the first place. Or was it fun for the monster to play with his life like that?

The power loader fell back-first. The monster took out the battery pack from his gauntlet, inserted a new one, and started melting through the chassis of the power loader. His vision returned, but was blurred.

He unplugged his personal link. He reached out for the manual eject and threw himself out before the bastard could dig him out. He tried to run, but a gunshot ran out loudly, hitting his augmented legs, making him trip. He got up, and then forced his aching body to navigate the junkyard, avoiding the bullet flying y.

He threw himself up and tried to jump out of the junkyard’s fencing only for something sharp to stab through his stomach. The familiar hook made him despair as he was pulled back. He grabbed his augmented left arm on the hood of a car and tried to pull the hook off his stomach by kicking it with his right foot.

The monster stopped pulling. He instead approached him and slammed his foot down on his legs. He could hear his cyberlegs shatter. His bugged out vision returned clearly. What stared back was a digital mask that gave him a sense of dread.

The monster kneed him on the torso and pushed him down. His finger searched through his neck. The monster took the necklace that his grandmother made and inspected it.

“Where did you get this?”

The monster’s voice was distorted. Changed by the mask that he was wearing.

“Fuck off.”

The monster nodded his head and pointed his gun on his limb. He shot his left arm off and then used his free hand to rip it off. Although there was no pain because it was an augmented arm, he still felt the connection creating a sensation, warning him that his arm just got ripped off.

“Where did you get this charm?”

The monster asked. His tone remained the same. It held no annoyance. It only held this loathsome patience. His mind went blank as bravado disappeared. The courage that made him act was simmering away.

“Whoever gave you this charm, it made you lucky. It’s bound to you. I can’t use it. Unfortunately ,useless for me. It’s blood-bound to you… it used the years of a life to protect you. Hmm, perhaps an old witch that used her lifespan? No wonder you were able to evade and last this long. I’m not usually this incompetent.”

The monster mercilessly crushed the charm that he held on his arm.

“A shame that whoever gave this to you didn't think about what you’d do with it. Hmm, I guess some of you assholes are naturally attracted to this cult. Can't blame him or her, but it’s a waste of a charm, to only end up in a cultist piece of shit trash’s hand.”

“What the fuck are you even saying?”

The monster stood up and checked his magazine. He didn’t know why the monster talked, and why the monster bothered crushing his grandma’s charm, but he instinctively knew that he had survived because of that charm.

Luck left him.

His jaw shuddered.

He could feel his pants wetting as the monster pointed his gun at him.

Wait, let me live.

He tried to speak up, but he realized that his throat got stucked. No words came out of his mouth. He couldn’t get his voice out simply because of fear.

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet that the monster fired bounced off his nose bridge. The monster observed him.

“A shame that you used up your luck.”

The monster pointed the gun again and then shot him twice in the head. He felt the second bullet dig through his skull. As if time had slowed down, he saw the third bullet entering his forehead, and finally putting his lights out.

The last thing he saw was the monster staring him down with his back against the moonlight.