Chapter 41 — Say "Thank You"
Hank burst out of the shadows like a striking viper.
His left hand clamped over the man's mouth like an iron vise, while the hand axe in his right sliced clean across the windpipe.
SHFF!
A spray of blood — and the scavenger collapsed without a sound.
Hank eased the body to the ground, not wasting even a breath.
His eyes locked onto the next target — a raider crouched with his back turned, rifling through a corpse for ammo.
Hank glided forward like a ghost.
THUD—SHNK!
The axe buried into the man's neck. He didn't even gasp before he dropped.
Two bodies disappeared silently.
That was enough to trigger alarm.
"He's behind us! HE'S BEHIND US!"
"Shoot him! Kill him!" Scarface shrieked, snatching a pistol and firing wildly.
BANG! BANG!
Bullets smashed into the scrap pile in a spray of sparks.
But Hank was already gone.
He dove forward into a roll, avoiding the gunfire and raising the P226 mid-motion.
BANG! BANG!
Two shots tore through the chaos —
the lookout who spotted him dropped instantly, and the raider beside him fell with a burst of blood.
Hank came up running, sprinting toward the nearest cover like a hurricane.
Bullets chased him across the concrete, chewing into the ground behind his heels.
The enemy fire clustered on him — but their formation fell apart.
"Surround him! He's just one man!" Scarface howled, voice cracking.
Six or seven scavengers began to spread out, trying to flank him.
Hank forced himself completely still — hyperfocus surging.
Footsteps told the story:
Three on the left. Two on the right.
Scarface and another — head-on.
He moved first.
Hank burst from the right side of the container like a lightning strike.
BANG! BANG!
Two precise shots — one raider collapsed instantly, another flinched back behind cover.
Gunfire ripped toward him in retaliation.
Hank dove back behind the container — just as footsteps closed in on his left.
No hesitation.
Left hand to the waist — the axe came free.
He didn't look — just pivoted and hurled it around the corner.
WHIRL—THUD!
"AGHHH!!"
The raider charging from the left crumpled, the axe buried squarely in the center of his face.
Hank swung back out from the right.
BANG!
The last right-side attacker barely poked his head out before Hank shot it clean off his shoulders.
Another three bodies fell in seconds.
Including Scarface, only four enemies remained.
Panic rippled through what was left of them.
"He's a demon—he's not human!" one raider screamed, tossing down his gun and sprinting for the exit.
BANG!
Hank dropped him without hesitation.
Mercy was not currency he traded in.
More gunfire — more death — and the numbers dwindled.
When the dust settled, only one man was still standing:
Scarface.
He was pressed flat against the side of the shipping container, clutching his bleeding shoulder, breathing like a drowning man.
The arrogance from earlier was gone — replaced by raw terror.
"Shit… shit…" he mumbled, shaking so hard he could barely hold his gun.
Hank exhaled, ignoring the dull ache of the earlier impact on his chest.
"Hey — Scarface!"
His voice cut through the yard like a blade.
"It's just you now. How long are you planning to hide?"
Scarface flinched — but stayed silent, curling up even tighter against the steel wall.
"What happened to all that barking?" Hank pressed, voice taunting.
"You were going to skin me alive, remember?"
"FUCK YOU!" Scarface exploded, rage overriding reason.
He jerked out from cover and fired blindly.
BANG!
The round hit nothing — but the muzzle flash gave away his exact position.
Hank didn't blink.
He leaned out, aimed in a blur—
BANG!
The bullet hit the edge of the shipping container, only a few centimeters from Scarface's skull.
Sparks and metal fragments blasted across his face.
"AHH!"
He shrieked, scrambling backward, rolling frantically into cover — too terrified to peek again.
Hank didn't waste bullets. He knew the man was already trapped.
"Drop the gun and step out," Hank called, openly amused.
"I might consider letting you die in one piece."
"Fuck your one piece!" Scarface roared, voice cracking.
"I'll take you with me!"
He snapped — charging out from cover in a blind frenzy, firing wildly in Hank's direction and screaming like a rabid animal.
Rounds sprayed everywhere — chewing into steel and concrete — but not anywhere near Hank.
For someone prepared, such blind-fire was no threat at all.
Hank slipped aside from the sloppy spray of bullets, raised his pistol, and the moment he tightened his finger—
CLICK! CLICK!
Scarface's pistol failed to fire.
He'd emptied the magazine.
His body froze — color draining from his face.
Despair swallowed him as he realized he had nothing left.
Hank's pistol remained trained on him, but he didn't pull the trigger yet.
"Looks like your luck just ran out."
"D–Don't kill me!" Scarface collapsed mentally.
He dropped the empty gun and threw his hands up, shaking violently.
"I surrender! I'll tell you something — just don't kill me!"
"Oh?" Hank raised an eyebrow, still aiming.
"What secret?"
"M–My brother!" Scarface babbled. "The leader of the nearby camp — he's my blood brother!"
"You kill me, he'll come after you for sure! He's got numbers — firepower — a whole damn army!"
"You let me live, I'll make sure he doesn't bother you! Hell, I can even vouch for you — get you into the camp!"
Hank listened without a flicker of emotion.
Scarface thought he saw hope and clung to it like a drowning man.
"There are a lot of them!" he pushed on, desperate, exaggerating wildly.
"At least eighty! With rifles, shotguns, handguns — everything! They took the best spot nearby — food, water — all secured!"
His eyes darted, calculating, hoping greed would save him.
"My brother respects me — if you spare me, I can talk him into taking you in!"
Hank processed the intel quickly.
Eighty men.
Even if the number was inflated, it was still a threat.
Information this valuable couldn't be ignored.
Scarface saw Hank thinking and forced an awkward smile, wiping sweat from his brow with trembling fingers.
Hank smiled faintly in return.
"Say thank you."
"H–huh?" Scarface blinked, confused — thinking Hank wanted thanks for sparing him.
He forced an ugly smile.
"T–thank you…"
BANG!
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