The roar of engines ricocheted off the cavern walls. A high-speed chase was underway. An armored convoy, loaded with a valuable shipment of slugs, was desperately trying to outrun three pursuers.
At the head of the formation, riding his Hyena-model Mecha Beast, was Alex. His face, once full of doubt, now displayed cold, calculating concentration. Flanking him, two men fired their blasters ceaselessly, sending bursts of energy hoping to hit the transport's wheels or chassis.
"Stop wasting ammo!" Alex shouted over the howling wind. "Wait for the curve!"
Alex studied the road with geometric precision. He knew that firing blindly at armored plating was useless. He needed physics, not brute force.
The opportunity arrived seconds later. The convoy entered a sharp turn carrying too much speed. The heavy vehicle tilted dangerously, fighting against centrifugal force.
"Now!"
Seizing the moment of instability, Alex fired. His Rammstone slug shot out of the barrel, transforming into a living wrecking ball mid-air. The impact was surgical: it struck right at the axle of the lifted wheels. The explosion, combined with the inertia of the turn, was too much.
With a deafening metallic screech, the convoy lost its balance and flipped, skidding several meters before coming to a halt in a cloud of dust and sparks.
The trio, led by Alex, didn't stop. Without dismounting their Mecha Beasts, they began to circle the overturned vehicle, moving like sharks stalking wounded prey.
"Get them out of there, but don't damage the merchandise!" Alex ordered.
The men loaded specific ammunition: Flatulorhinkus slugs (Stinky slugs). Often underestimated by rookies because their only "power" is releasing foul gas, Alex knew that in confined spaces, they were devastating weapons. They were, in essence, biological tear gas grenades.
The slugs impacted against the broken windows of the caravan, bursting into a cloud of dense green gas.
Seconds later, the drivers and guards stumbled out of the vehicle, coughing violently, eyes watering and throats burning, unable to breathe or see. They were completely incapacitated by the chemical attack.
One of the guards tried to raise his blaster blindly, but Alex was faster.
He loaded a Rammstone into his weapon. Upon firing, the creature hardened in mid-air, striking with the force of a stone sledgehammer directly into the guard's chest. The man was launched backward, knocked unconscious instantly by the blunt force impact.
The zone was secured. Alex halted his Mecha Beast and surveyed the scene. It had been a perfect ambush.
The trio headed toward their lair. Flanking Alex were "Frost" and "Blaze," his temporary cronies.
During the ride, Alex's mind was racing. He knew that to get to Dr. Blakk, he needed to get his attention, and his research revealed that the tycoon had an insatiable thirst for slugs. Initially, Alex thought about capturing them honestly, but he soon discovered it wasn't that simple. Tracking, capturing, and training them took time and resources; furthermore, he couldn't hand Blakk a shipment of starving or dying slugs.
So, he opted for the second option: piracy.
Becoming a raider wasn't something he was proud of, but it was a necessary evil. It was the most efficient way to gather a large volume of high-quality slugs and, in the process, earn the gold needed to fund his crusade.
Moreover, he had noticed something pathetic about his enemies. The combat skill of the people in these caverns was lamentably low.
"They've been using slugs for centuries, yet they still fight like amateurs," Alex thought, eyeing his companions sideways. "Their tactics boil down to standing still behind cover and firing blindly, hoping to get lucky."
Thanks to ignorance and the lack of formal military education, the "art of war" in Slugterra had stagnated. Tactical knowledge was lost over generations, and every gunslinger seemed to have to learn from scratch. A bit of basic strategy—flanking, suppression fire, and mobility—had been enough for Alex to neutralize them and take control.
Finally, they arrived at their hideout: a natural cavern hidden behind a rock waterfall in a remote sector.
The interior looked like Ali Baba's cave. There were caravans, a fleet of Mecha Beasts (one for every successful raid), and piles of gold and gems. There were enough supplies and weaponry to equip a small battalion.
Alex dismounted and began to admire the loot. He felt a mix of pride in his success and pity for those he had despoiled. However, his instinct, sharpened on the streets of his previous world, warned him of a shift in the air.
Behind his back, the betrayal was finalized. He heard the unmistakable click of a blaster hammer being cocked.
Alex didn't turn around immediately. He sighed.
"So, you want to end it like this?" he said with a tone of feigned disappointment and sadness. "I thought we had bonded over these three weeks. It seems you just can't get reliable henchmen these days."
"Sorry, buddy. Nothing personal," replied Blaze, his voice thick with greed. "We just want all the gold and the slugs."
"Yeah," added Frost, aiming at the back of Alex's neck. "Besides, it's better to split the loot between two than three."
Alex smiled slightly. He had anticipated this since day one.
"You know... I suspected something like this might happen. That's why I hired extra security in case either of you idiots betrayed me. BOB, NOW!"
He shouted the name with authority, jerking his head toward the cave entrance.
The bluff worked perfectly. Frost and Blaze, paranoid by nature, spun their weapons and gazes toward the entrance, expecting an ambush. But there was no one.
When they looked back, Alex was gone. Only his Mecha Beast remained.
"Dammit!" shouted Frost.
They went on high alert, aiming their blasters frantically in all directions, searching for their former leader in the shadows. Suddenly, a clack echoed on the far wall, and the hideout's lights died, plunging the cave into absolute darkness.
Blind, the two traitors panicked.
"Get to the breakers!" ordered Blaze, moving by feel.
In the midst of the blackness, they heard the whir of a slug being fired. They reacted on instinct, firing toward the source of the sound. Blaze's fire slug and Frost's Tazerling briefly illuminated the cavern, but passed harmlessly over Alex, who was prone on the ground.
Alex's projectile, however, hit the mark. Or rather, the ceiling.
It was a Phosphoro slug. Upon activation, the creature emitted a flash of white light so intense it acted as a flashbang grenade.
"My eyes! I can't see anything!" screamed Frost, dropping his weapon to cover his face.
Alex gave them no quarter. While they tried to recover from the flash, he fired again. This time, a Sand Angler. The projectile hit the ground at the traitors' feet, creating an instant vortex of quicksand. Both began to sink to their knees, trapped and immobilized.
"And to finish..." Alex murmured, loading his favorite.
He fired a Rammstone.
Two fists, two faces.
The slug hit Blaze first and ricocheted with impossible physics to hit Frost immediately after. The impact was dry and brutal. Both fell unconscious onto the sand.
Alex turned the lights back on and looked at his sleeping ex-partners.
"The rebellion is over."
Alex had to draft a new plan of action quickly. Although he didn't have to split the loot with anyone now, he faced a logistical problem: he had too much merchandise and too few hands. He was alone, in the middle of nowhere, at the mercy of any other group of highwaymen passing by.
He needed to get these slugs to Dr. Blakk, but to move such a quantity of resources, he needed people, and he needed them fast.
He returned to the town tavern, the only place where loyalty could be bought. He entered with a firm step and, without beating around the bush, offered an amount of gold juicy enough to silence any uncomfortable questions. He was looking for a crew for a dangerous journey.
A few hours later, Alex had managed to gather a motley group of 20 people: a mix of slingers for security and drivers to handle the Mecha Beasts and recovered cargo vehicles.
However, Alex wasn't naive. He knew that traveling with twenty unknown mercenaries was sleeping with the enemy. He alone couldn't take on twenty people if they decided to mutiny and steal everything. But he had an ace up his sleeve, a card he would play before leaving.
"Listen closely," Alex said in front of his new crew, his voice firm. "This shipment isn't mine. I am transporting merchandise directly for Blakk Industries."
The effect was immediate. The atmosphere in the group changed drastically. The greedy looks of some, who were clearly planning to steal the cargo halfway, filled with terror. Apparently, in Slugterra, Dr. Blakk's reputation was absolute. People respected him, yes, but above all, they held a visceral fear of him. Stealing from Alex was one thing; stealing from Blakk was a death sentence.
With that security established, the march began.
Shortly after, an impressive caravan of 21 people could be seen traversing the cavernous roads. The Mecha Beasts roared, kicking up dust, transporting the largest shipment of slugs these caverns had seen in a long time. Alex rode at the front, not just as a survivor, but as a rising leader.
Meanwhile, on The Surface...
The atmosphere was lugubrious, heavy, as if the air itself was charged with sadness.
In a house that used to be full of life, now only the stifled sobs of a mother could be heard. The woman, sitting on the edge of a bed, held a framed photograph in her trembling hands. She couldn't hold back the weeping.
The tears ran down her cheeks, hot and salty, until they fell onto the glass of the frame, right over Alex's smiling face. It was a photo from better times, before the accident, before the disappearance.
"Where are you, my son?" she whispered with a broken voice.
A hand rested gently on her shoulder.
"Easy, Mom. We'll find him. We're not going to stop looking."
The speaker was a young man very similar to Alex. They shared the same sharp features and the same determined gaze, but there were subtle differences distinguishing one brother from the other; perhaps a stiffer posture or a different haircut. It was Alex's brother, trying to be the pillar of strength his mother needed, even though inside, his own anguish was devouring him.
He looked at the tear-stained photo and clenched his fists. He didn't know how, or where, but he swore he would bring his brother back.