"Yeah..."
Scratching the top of my head, I looked at the people gathered around me. We were whispering in a tight group not far from the bound raiders, who had quickly cracked within the first few minutes of interrogation.
Weak, pathetic sentients who cannot stand pain themselves but love inflicting it on others. I didn't even have to resort to violence. A few hints and veiled phrases were enough for the bastards, terrified by what they'd experienced, to give up all their hideouts.
And I got a lot from them... too much, even. Stories of their deeds. The horrors committed by these sub-humans... and so on, and so forth.
My fists clenched with rage from time to time, and I had poor control over myself while listening to these glorious "heroic feats."
"How can a human treat another human like this?"
That was the only question that didn't leave me throughout the interrogation. Meanwhile, standing beside me, Shorty, the red-haired hater of desert dwellers, and the Zabrak brothers—only shrugged understandingly, considering that, overall, nothing unusual was happening.
"This is madness. And I thought Mizuna's place of life was a savage wasteland."
Speaking of my companions. Unlike the majority, who were simply afraid and waiting for my decision, this quartet that had joined Shorty hung around me, sharing opinions and telling me about many nuances of life in the area.
As it turned out, things with the Sand Grimm gang were much more complicated and convoluted than they seemed at first glance.
The thing was that Grimm was the leader of four different gangs, which he managed from a distance, giving them orders through old transmitters.
Actually, listening to the stories of the bandits, the Zabraks, and the redhead, I increasingly came to the conclusion that the head of the Desert Rules had discovered a cache of mining equipment somewhere, or rather, had robbed one of their settlements.
He had Speeders, proper weapons, grenades with all sorts of functions, radios, and much more. A real treasure trove for the locals, which could easily become a stepping stone to the top, provided it was used correctly...
And apparently, Grimm used it. Subjugating gangs, robbing villages and moisture farm stations, warring with desert tribes... he was slowly but surely creating the foundation for a future kingdom.
As it turned out, not all settlements were subjected to total destruction—only those who could compete in the future or unite against the future lord of the local lands. But the weaker, smaller, or loyal ones—on the contrary, they became the foundation of his rule, where he recruited followers and sold his loot.
"It just keeps getting worse..."
They also told a bunch of stories about this Grimm. That he was a total psycho, liked to eat people, always wore his suit and didn't take it off even at night, fearing assassination. All sorts of tall tales circulated about him, even though, seemingly, very little time had passed. Two, maybe three months?
In short, a vile and extremely famous personality.
"I'm telling you, he's a real creep," stuttering, puffing heavily, and spitting with every word, the red-haired caravaneer, who used to cross these lands often following in the Jawas' footsteps, told me most of the information about Grimm, "he's got four gangs under him and each does its own thing! And he watches them! Always silent! A cree-ee-py guy!"
One could listen to these stories forever, and each time they became more colorful while the reality diminished.
In general, each of the captives could tell something, and I carefully sifted through all this information, keeping it in my head.
Probably the only one who still remained silent was the chubby clerk I had saved first. A stout middle-aged man with an unremarkable appearance. He hadn't uttered a single word since the moment he thanked me, instead continuing to sit in one place, surveying the battlefield with a blank stare.
They tried to stir him, hoped he would say at least something... but it was all in vain. The man remained as silent as a fish.
"He's broken..."
"A fragile mechanism, domestic," nodding at their own words, the Zabrak brothers made sad faces, then turned back to me, awaiting further instructions, "what's next?"
"The hunt? Vengeance?"
"Or rescue?"
For me, the choice was obvious, but for these people... Ideally, if we had a couple of banthas, we could fashion a travois from wreckage and send the former slaves to Station Six under the supervision of the brothers.
But we had nothing of the sort, and unlike the Zabraks, the other captives of the desert dwellers were severely emaciated and weakened—they certainly wouldn't survive a long trek across the sands of Tatooine if sent on foot.
I didn't know what to do.
But my thoughts were interrupted by our red-haired talker, who sidled up to me and began whispering a plan of action that gradually took shape into a full picture.
"There's a settlement nearby run by Jester Stormbird, one of Grimm's captains." Licking his dry lips, the redhead looked around fearfully, as if this Stormbird would pounce on him right now for disclosing information. "We can try to steal... uh, I mean, privatize a couple of his vehicles or banthas. Just to get to the station, of course."
Seeing my questioning look, the redhead waved his hands in front of his face. Fear practically radiated from him, though I saw no objective reasons for such behavior.
"And you know exactly where this settlement is?"
"To be precise, I used to be from there myself, but..."
Chuckling eerily, he held up his wrists, showing scars from ropes. His slightly crazed look inspired doubt, but I didn't have much choice. Besides, I was looking for the Sand gang anyway, and if I reached one of his captains, it would be even easier.
"Fine, lead the way."
***
"There it is, Hubba-gourd Settlement Number Four." Licking his lips, the redhead was sweating profusely, and a foul stench of unwashed body emanated from him, overpowering even the smell of the little Jawas I had already gotten used to. "Well, or just 'The Four,' that's what we called it... Anyway, here's the thing... I have a couple of acquaintances left, so I think we can get inside. The main thing is to be quiet and all that..."
He muttered something else while Shorty and I examined the fenced-in village. The town commanded respect. Several towers, barbed wire, and even a moat with stakes... a full medieval set. As for real problems—there were mines, a pair of Drones at the gates, and a searchlight in the tallest tower in the center of the settlement. Actually, there were three searchlights, and each illuminated its own side, sliding across the sands of Tatooine with a bright, snow-white light.
"How many of them are here?"
"Well... uh... about fifteen, probably," his eyes were twitching, and he was constantly fidgeting with his fingers, "hardly more, heh-heh."
He was going through withdrawal; it was obvious. And besides that, his tone of voice inevitably changed the closer we got to the settlement. Fear and uncertainty vanished, replaced by a swagger and pride that he hid poorly under his slimy persona.
"Can you get us inside?"
Preparing for this mission, I was fully aware of my actions. At first, I wanted to set the rifle aside, hoping to resolve the matter more peacefully. At the same time, arguments in favor of this decision echoed in my head—narrow streets, houses, and alleys... a Blaster would be better here. But then I remembered the tortured bodies of the slaves, all those stories about the horrors and the madness happening within the walls of such settlements...
"No. Today Democracy will come to this foul desert, whether they want it or not."
The rifle went under my cloak, and the case was handed to the bewildered Shorty.
Checking the knife in the shaft of my boot, I stared at the back of the nervous redhead's head. It was unclear what he feared more, but apparently, the withdrawal and confidence in success had overridden his common sense.
"Yes, I can..."
Slipping into the darkness, the little liar moved quickly through the sands, deftly dodging the searchlights. He avoided traps he had clearly kept quiet about—otherwise, why move in such a zigzag fashion?
"Shorty," receiving a set of unprintable sounds in response, I smiled warmly at this strange little alien, "go back and tell the brothers to change their location just in case. I've got a bad feeling."
"!!;%:?!%№?"
"Go on, go on, don't grumble." Patting her on the head, I sent the little Grunt away. Most likely, in the camp, I would see something so disgusting, so trampling upon Holy Liberty, that it would be better if no one saw my reaction. "Everything will be fine."
"!"%:;?!;..."
Hanging her head, Shorty stared into my eyes for a few more seconds, then turned dejectedly and trudged back, shuffling her tiny feet in the sand.
***
Waiting for the redhead wasn't difficult, nor was following on his heels through a field littered with mines and other joys of survivalists in this grim world.
He returned changed. Confident, calm, without the tremors or other signs of a junkie without a fix. Apparently, the master of this place had "generously" rewarded him for the information...
Carefully stepping over tripwires, pit traps, and snares, I reached the entrance with my crazed guide, where he pried open a piece of the fence for me, letting me through.
And inside, everything was exactly as I had expected.
Dilapidation, the stench of corpses, the odor of excrement, and other joys of petty bandits who had tasted power.
In the middle of the square hung cages with corpses inside, and somewhere in the back, the screams of tortured female captives, and occasionally male ones, rang out. I didn't even want to imagine what they might have experienced at the hands of such scum.
Several bandits led a group of slaves past us, who were walking completely naked, carrying bulky sacks on their backs. And as soon as one of them stumbled and fell, a drunken overseer was instantly there, delivering blows to the poor soul's back with a rifle butt, saying he was a useless slave...
After tormenting them to their heart's content, they drove them further until they reached some dilapidated dugout, where they locked the slaves. There were about five such places in the whole settlement, and that was likely where the captives were kept.
"Bitch... Soon I'll show you the full power of Democracy."
Promising to definitely leave this one alive, I steadied my shaking hands, which were ready to grab my weapon.
Letting the redhead go first, I began walking right behind him again, closely monitoring movement in the windows. Shadows flickered in some alleys; here and there, laughter and the sound of footsteps rang out.
The ambush was pathetic and easily noticeable, but I kept going, hoping my "friend" would lead me straight to whoever was in charge here, while also leading me as far as possible and gathering all the scum in one place.
My hand affectionately felt the stock of the carbine. Mizuna's gift instilled confidence in me, and my own skills and newly trained body only strengthened my resolve.
But most of all, I was convinced I was doing the right thing—I only had to listen to the screams and groans coming from all sides.
"Protecting Humanity and Super Earth..." I muttered, making the redhead nervous and causing him to constantly look back at me.
"What? Quiet, you, we're almost there..."
Nodding at the junkie's words—he had finally dropped his facade of a friend and simple settler—I suddenly accelerated.
There were only a couple of steps left to the exit of the dark alley, and before my guide could step into the light, I grabbed him by the head, snapping his neck in one motion.
The crunch of vertebrae sent an unpleasant shiver through my body. I don't like killing my own kind. It wasn't for this that I shed so much blood for Super Earth, took oaths to protect Humanity, and guarded the peace of citizens—just to kill people.
"You left me no choice."
Diving back into the shadows, I crouched and made my way along a different path, wary of the noisy raiders who were converging on the spot where the redhead was leading me. There were many more of them. Probably about thirty, but it didn't make much difference.
"Hey... You here?" Not really hiding, one of the bandits shouted the redhead's name, but I couldn't quite make it out. "Come out already, the boss is waiting."
"Idiots... Worse for them."
Listening to the particularly piercing shriek of some woman, I couldn't take it anymore and simply stepped into the light from the other side, behind the backs of these fools, pulling the revolving carbine Mizuna had given me from under the folds of my cloak.
"I don't kill people."
The very first shot punched through the flimsy wall of a house, exploding somewhere in the middle of the bandits' ranks. The roar and bright flash momentarily stunned the camp, leaving the bastards looking around lost, fearfully examining the mangled bodies.
They didn't know what to do. No one said anything, and the criminals only looked around timidly, terrified by the swift and brutal slaughter.
"Because you aren't people."
The second shot served as the signal for the battle to begin. Or rather, for the entire criminal population of "The Four" to start running like cockroaches in the light, firing in all directions.
Shots even flew into the sky, lighting up the area with multicolored flashes. Fortunately, the flimsy houses could quite easily absorb the weak Blasters, and the freaks weren't using anything serious.
Emptying four more rounds into some shack where most of the bastards had taken cover, I stepped out into the square.
My hands moved on their own. Break the rifle, rest it on the crook of my elbow, take out six bullets and put each in its place. Snap it shut and cock the hammer.
Shot.
Firing from the hip at a bandit who ran out, I shifted the muzzle to the next. While the first continued his flight with his legs torn off, filling the air with his screams.
"Mercy, please! Stop!"
I said nothing, feeling my body acting while my brain switched off—leaving only me and my enemies.
Shot. Shot. Shot.
The idiot hiding behind the tower blew apart along with its base. Creaking, the small tower began to topple over, burying a nearby vehicle beneath it, turning the latter into scrap metal.
Laser bolts flew past me. The projectiles left black scorch marks on the walls of the houses, and everything around turned into a real show. The anthem of Super Earth started playing in my head against my will as I walked slowly through the settlement, shooting anyone who pointed a weapon in my direction.
Roofs of houses burst, scattering trash and debris around. Buildings folded, burying the bandit scum who tried to fight back, and when they failed—they hid in their pathetic shacks.
Some of the freaks tried to hide in the slave huts while I reloaded the rifle.
Three Blaster bolts pierced their backs, knocking them onto the charred sand.
A fire was breaking out in the village. The groans of surviving bandits who had been hit by shrapnel echoed around. They whined; some cried and begged for help.
One of them. A very young lad, grabbed my leg with tears in his eyes, smearing snot across his face, he begged for help.
"How long in the gang?"
At my question, he looked away for a moment, saying more than any words.
The muzzle of the rifle pressed against his forehead.
"Please, I beg you... Have mercy, I didn't want to. They forced me. Master, please."
"Mercy is for the strong." Pressing the rifle against the forehead of the juvenile delinquent who had become an animal and was now paying the consequences. "But you do not deserve it."
The shot plowed the earth behind him, and I was sprayed with blood up to my waist.
"I'll need to make a red outfit..."
Noting this thought in the back of my mind, I continued clearing the settlement, bursting into houses and bringing Democracy to anyone who dared to encroach on people's liberty.
For a good half hour, I wandered through this horrifying place that filled me with disgust and ignited hatred in my heart.
But as soon as the last bastard fell on his knees before me, breathlessly begging for leniency. Jester Stormbird turned out to be a common lackey, loyal to his boss because of blood ties. This skinny little dwarf, dressed in a multicolored outfit—now presented a pathetic sight, unlike the moment when he tried to mess with me from the top of his tower.
One precise shot and he was already falling down, while the top floor of his dwelling collapsed inward. But right now, the Jester was the last thing on my mind. When the initial rush passed and most of those trampling on liberty had perished, I was able to look at the work of my hands with a sober gaze.
The skeletons of buildings, fires, and the cries of dying people.
Memories washed over me in a wave, taking me back to the times when the only part of my life was war.
"No..."
Tossing the rifle aside, I looked with surprise at my own hands, smeared with blood. Shifting my gaze to my gray outfit, which had changed color halfway, I only closed my eyes sadly.
"The job is done. And I can't say I feel any remorse. These weren't people, but merely the dregs of society... Parasites that hinder liberty and Democracy...".
At some point, I caught myself thinking that I was speaking in words exactly like those I had heard from television screens in my past life.
"Managed Democracy... right?"
Leaning down, I carefully picked up Mizuna's gift, brushing the sand off it. One shouldn't rush from one extreme to another. Better to understand oneself and find a balance—only then, knowing one's strengths and questionable sides, will a Helldiver become invincible...
"Because we have no weak sides... at least, if you believe the propaganda."
***
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