Chapter 4: Crushing the Rose
Dante reached Dutch just as Billy, the squad's resident tracker, was returning from a scout.
"The bird was hit in the nose," Billy reported, his voice low and raspy. "Guerrillas stripped it clean."
Dutch frowned, looking up at the canopy. "How'd they take it down? Heat-seeker?"
Billy nodded. "Looks like it."
"There's more, Major," Billy added. "This wasn't a standard transport. Everything about the wreckage says it was a specialized recon bird."
"Is that so?" Dutch muttered, his eyes narrowing.
Dillon, the CIA "pencil pusher" in a tactical vest, jogged back from the crash site. Dutch didn't give him a chance to speak before rounding on him.
"Dillon! Things are getting weird. Where the hell did a bunch of jungle rebels get heat-seekers? That wasn't in the briefing."
Dutch's squad had been hired under the premise of a "rescue mission." They were soldiers, not assassins, and they didn't do dirty wars. But looking at the wreckage, Dutch knew he was being played.
Dillon, a built man with a perfectly groomed mustache and the shifty eyes of a career politician, waved a dismissive hand. "Could be outside interests backing them. We've seen their tech improving for months."
Just then, Billy returned from another quick sweep of the perimeter. Billy was a Native American with a sense of smell that could pick out a target miles away—the best tracker Dutch ever had.
"Billy! Talk to me," Dutch barked.
"Footprints show twelve people in that chopper," Billy said. "The guerrillas took 'em all. But I found something else. Six men in US military boots came in from the north. They were tracking the guerrillas."
Dutch grabbed Dillon by the collar. "What's the play here, Dillon? You send in another team?"
"I didn't send anybody!" Dillon hissed, shrugging him off. "Maybe the rebels just scavenged some US gear."
Dutch didn't buy the bullshit for a second, but he had a mission to finish. He spat on the ground and looked at Billy. "Track 'em. I want to see who these guys are."
Billy didn't disappoint. In less than an hour, he found the six men.
Only... they weren't "men" anymore.
They were six slabs of meat, skinned from head to toe like cattle in a slaughterhouse, hanging upside down from the branches. Their entrails dangled like gruesome vines, dripping onto the humid soil.
Mac, a massive soldier with a shaven head, pulled a set of dog tags from a pile of offal and tossed them to Dutch.
Dutch caught them, wiping away the grime. "Jim... Hopper?"
His face went pale. "I know this guy. He was out of Fort Bragg. One of the best green berets I ever served with."
He turned on Dillon, his voice like grinding stone. "What was his team doing here?"
Dillon's eyes darted around. "Maybe they had another op. I didn't know they were in the sector."
Dutch let out a cold snort and walked over to Billy, who was examining a few spent shell casings on the ground.
"What happened here, Billy?"
The tracker shook his head. "It's wrong, Major. They weren't fighting an army. They were shooting at everything... like they were surrounded by ghosts."
Dutch shook his head. "I can't see Hopper's team getting bushwhacked like this."
"Maybe," Billy whispered. "But I didn't find a single footprint for whoever did the ambush."
Dante was standing nearby, watching the scene play out. It was perfect. The plot was following the script to the letter. But then, he saw a flash of white through the trees.
Linda, the office girl, was sprinting toward the group, her face frantic.
"It's the Predator, Major!" she screamed, her voice piercing the heavy jungle air. "An alien killed these men! It's called a Predator!"
Dutch froze, looking at her like she'd grown a second head. "A... what?"
Dante's blood ran cold. 'That stupid bitch. She's trying to derail the plot. Does she want us all killed?'
Dante slung his rifle over his shoulder and started walking toward her, his eyes burning with a lethal intensity.
Linda, oblivious to the target on her back, kept babbling. "Major! I know it sounds crazy, but our lives depend on you listening! There's an extraterrestrial hunter in this jungle! Hopper's team was just practice! It's in the trees, watching us right now! It's made us its next trophy hunt! Major, you have to call for extraction! Now! Before we're all skinned!"
The commandos stared at her, dumbfounded. The sheer absurdity of her claim had them momentarily paralyzed.
Dutch looked at Dillon. "Dillon... is this one of your people?"
Dillon looked equally baffled. "Don't ask me. I've never heard anything so insane in my life."
Suddenly, Dante let out a booming laugh.
"Hahaha! Classic Linda!"
He stepped up, throwing a friendly arm around her shoulders. "Don't mind her, Major. My colleague here is a bit of a Star Wars fanatic. She gets these 'visions' when she's stressed. Last week, she tried to convince me she was Luke Skywalker's long-lost sister."
He leaned in, whispering to the soldiers with a wink. "The altitude and the humidity... some people just can't handle the pressure. She's probably having a sci-fi induced psychotic break."
Dutch and the others nodded, their expressions shifting from confusion to mockery. "Makes sense," someone muttered.
Linda's eyes went wide. "No! Listen to me! It's here! It's—"
Dante didn't let her finish. He tightened his grip on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her bone, and began dragging her away.
"Come on, Linda. Let's go get you some water. Major Dutch has work to do. Why don't you tell me all about the little green men over here?"
"Dante! What are you doing? Let go!" she shrieked, struggling against his grip.
But against Dante's mercenary strength, she was a kitten in a tiger's jaws. He dragged her deep into the brush, well out of sight of the soldiers. The moment they were alone, his "friendly" face vanished, replaced by a mask of pure, murderous rage.
He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her into the muddy ground. Before she could scream, he brought his heavy boot down on her head, pinning her skull into the dirt.
Crr-ack.
"Don't... please..." she choked out, her face pressed into the mud.
Dante's eyes were pits of darkness. "You want to play hero? You want to change the script? You just signed your death warrant, you stupid cow."
He shifted his weight, intending to crush her skull like a rotten pumpkin. He wanted to feel the bone give way.
Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm shrieked in his brain.
[WARNING! You are attacking Candidate 952702!]
[This is a Non-Competitive Scenario. Killing another Candidate will result in a 1,000-point penalty.]
[Current Balance: 0 Points. If balance becomes negative, you will be OBLITERATED.]
"Tch. Motherfucker!"
Dante spat on the ground and slowly lifted his foot. The threat of systematic erasure was the only thing that could stop his hand. He looked down at Linda; she was already bleeding from her ears and nose, her eyes rolled back.
'I can't kill her directly,' he thought, his mind racing. 'But I can make sure she's no longer an 'objective factor' in this mission.'
A cruel idea sparked in his eyes.
He pulled a rag from his pocket and stuffed it deep into her mouth. Then, he looked at her fragile, slender legs.
CRUNCH!
He brought his heel down on her shin with the force of a sledgehammer. The bone snapped like a dry twig, the jagged end nearly piercing the skin.
"MMMMMMMMFF!!"
Linda's eyes flew open, bulging with agony. She tried to scream, but the gag turned it into a muffled, pathetic gurgle.
Dante didn't stop. He moved to her other leg. Crunch. Then her arms. Snap. Snap.
In seconds, he had turned her into a broken doll. He knelt down, grabbing her by the chin, his face inches from hers.
"Now," Dante whispered, his voice like a razor. "Tell me... why were you so eager to change the plot? Speak, or I'll find a way to make you wish the System would just kill you."
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A/n: Anyone else ever gone through a sci-fi induced psychotic break like Linda? Like, fully believing you're Darth Vader's apprentice… or that we're all just stuck in the Matrix like Neo?
Point is, don't forget to hand over your GODDAMN Power Stones!
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