"Ma-a-an..."
Scratching the crown of my head, I looked at the people gathered around me. We were whispering in a close-knit huddle not far from the bound raiders, who had cracked quickly within the first minutes of interrogation.
Weak, pathetic sentients who cannot stand pain themselves but love to inflict 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... even too much. Stories of their deeds. The horrors committed by these subhumans... and more, and more, and more.
My fists clenched with rage every now and then, and I had poor control over myself while listening to these glorious "martial exploits."
"How can a human treat another human like this?"
That was the only question that didn't leave me throughout the interrogation. Meanwhile, the shorty standing next to me, the redheaded hater of desert dwellers, and the Zabrak brothers only shrugged understandingly, considering that overall, nothing unusual was happening.
"Madness. And I thought Mizuma's 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 the shorty hung around me, sharing opinions and explaining many nuances of life in the area.
As it turned out, the situation with Sandy Grimm's gang is much more complicated and tangled than it seems at first glance.
The thing is, Grimm is the leader of four different gangs that he manages from a distance, giving them orders through old transmitters.
In general, listening to the stories of the bandits, the Zabracks, and the redhead, I increasingly came to the conclusion that the leader of the "Desert Rules" had found a cache of mining equipment somewhere—or more likely, he'd robbed one of their settlements.
He had speeders, proper weapons, grenades with all sorts of functions, radios, and much more. A true goldmine for the locals, one that could easily become a stepping stone to the top, provided it was used correctly...
And apparently, Grimm had used it. By subduing gangs, robbing villages and moisture farms, and warring with tribes of desert dwellers... he was slowly but surely creating the foundation for a future kingdom.
As it turned out, not all settlements had been totally destroyed—only those that could compete in the future or unite against the future lord of these local lands. The weaker ones, the smaller ones, or those loyal to him and his people—conversely, they became the foundation of his rule, where he recruited followers and sold his loot.
"It just keeps getting better..."
They also told a bunch of stories about this Grimm. That he's a total psycho, loves to eat people, always walks around in his suit and doesn't take it off even at night, fearing assassination. All sorts of tall tales circulate about him, even though it seems like hardly any time has passed. Two, maybe three months?
In short, a vile and extremely famous personality.
"I'm telling you, he's quite the freak," the redheaded caravanner whispered, stammering and puffing heavily while spitting with every word. He used to cross these lands frequently, following in the Jawas' tracks, and he told me most of the information about Grimm. "He has four gangs by his side, and each does its own job! And he watches them! Always silent! A cree-ee-py guy!"
One could listen to these stories forever, and with each telling, the color grew more vivid while the reality diminished.
In general, each of the captives had something to tell, and I carefully sifted through all this information, keeping it in my head.
Probably the only one who still remained silent was the plump clerk I had rescued first. A portly, middle-aged man of unremarkable appearance. He hadn't uttered a single word since the moment he thanked me, instead continuing to sit in one spot, surveying the battlefield with a blank stare.
They tried to stir him, hoping he would say something... but it was all in vain. The man remained as mute as a fish.
"Broken..."
"A fragile mechanism, a house-dweller," the Zabrak brothers said, nodding at their own words with sad faces, after which they turned back to me, awaiting further instructions. "What next?"
"The hunt? Revenge?"
"Or rescue?"
For me, the choice was obvious, but for these people... Ideally, if we had a pair of banthas, we could craft a travois from the wreckage and send the former slaves to Station Six under the Zabracks' supervision.
But we had nothing of the sort, and unlike the Zabracks, the other captives of the desert dwellers were severely exhausted and weakened—they definitely wouldn't survive a long trek across the sands of Tatooine if sent on their own.
I didn't know what to do.
But my thoughts were interrupted by our redheaded chatterbox, who sidled up to me and began to whisper a plan of action that gradually formed into a complete picture.
"There's a settlement nearby managed by Jester Stormpetrel, one of Grimm's captains." Licking his dry lips, the redhead looked around fearfully, as if this Stormpetrel would pounce on him right now for disclosing information. "We can try to steal... um, I mean, privatize a couple of his vehicles or banthas. Only to get to the station, of course."
Seeing my questioning look, the redhead waved his hands in front of his face. He literally reeked of fear, 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 creepily, he raised his wrists, showing the scars from ropes. His slightly insane look raised doubts, but I didn't have much of a choice. Besides, I was looking for the Sandy gang anyway, and if I reached one of his captains, it would be even easier.
"Fine. Lead the way."
***
"There it is—Hubba-gourd Farming Settlement Number Four." Licking his lips, the redhead was sweating profusely, and his body emitted a vile smell of unwashed flesh that overpowered even the stench of the little Jawas I had grown used to. "Well, or just 'Four,' as 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 keep quiet and all that..."
He was still muttering something while I and the shorty examined the fenced-in village. The town inspired respect. Several towers, barbed wire, and even a moat with stakes... the full medieval set. As for real problems—there were mines, a couple of droids at the gates, and a searchlight in the tallest tower in the center of the settlement. To be more precise, there were three searchlights, and each illuminated its own side, sliding across the sands of Tatooine with a bright, snow-white light.
"How many are there?"
"Well... er... about fifteen, probably," his eyes were twitching, and he was constantly fidgeting with his fingers, "unlikely to be more, heh-heh."
He was going through withdrawal; that 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 slippery persona.
"Can you get us inside?"
While preparing for this mission, I was fully aware of my own actions. At first, I wanted to set the rifle aside, hoping to resolve the matter more peacefully. 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 of horrors and the madness unfolding 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 my boot-top, 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 finally overborne his common sense.
"Yes... I can..."
Slipping into the darkness, the little liar moved quickly across the sands, nimbly dodging the searchlights. He was avoiding traps he'd clearly failed to mention, otherwise why move so zigzaggedly?
"Shorty," receiving a set of indescribable sounds in response, I smile warmly at this strange little alien, "go back and tell the brothers to move the camp just in case. I have an uneasy feeling."
"!!;%:?!%№?"
"Go on, go on, don't grumble." Ruffling her head, I send the little grumbler away. Most likely, in the camp, I will see something so disgusting and trampling upon holy freedom that it would be better for no one to see my reaction. "Everything will be fine."
"!"%:;?!;..."
Hanging her head, the shorty stared into my eyes for a couple more seconds, after which she turned dejectedly and trudged back, scuffing her tiny feet across the sand.
***
Waiting for the redhead wasn't difficult, nor was following on his heels through the field riddled with mines and other delights of survivalists in this horrific world.
He returned different. Confident, calm, without the tremors and other signs of a junkie without a fix. Apparently, the master of these parts had "generously" rewarded him for the information...
Carefully stepping over tripwires, pit traps, and snares, I reached the entrance with my unhinged guide, where he pulled back a section of the fence for me, letting me through.
And inside, everything was exactly as I had expected.
Ruin, the stench of corpses, the reek of shit, and the other joys of minor bandits who had seized power.
Cages with corpses inside hung in the middle of the square, and somewhere on the outskirts, the screams of tortured female captives—and sometimes male captives—could be heard. 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, hauling some bulky sacks on their backs. And as soon as one of them stumbled and fell, a drunk overseer was instantly there, delivering blows to the poor soul's back with the butt of his weapon, saying that he was a useless slave...
Having tormented them to his heart's content, they drove them further until they reached some decrepit dugout, where they locked the slaves. There were about five such places in the entire 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 steady my shaking hands, which were ready to grab my weapon.
Letting the redhead go first, I begin to walk directly behind him again, carefully tracking 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 continued further, hoping that my "friend" would lead me directly to the person in charge here, simultaneously leading me as far as possible and gathering all the scum in one place.
My hand affectionately felt the stock of the carbine. Mizuma's gift instilled confidence in me, and my own skills and newly trained body only strengthened my resolve.
But more than anything, I was convinced that I was doing the right thing—I only had to listen to the cries and groans coming from all sides.
"To protect 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 words of the junkie, who had finally dropped his persona of a friend and simple settler, I accelerated sharply.
Only a couple of steps remained until we exited the dark alley, and before my guide could step into the light, I grabbed his head, snapping his neck in one movement.
The crunch of vertebrae caused an unpleasant shiver throughout my body. I don't like killing my own kind. I didn't shed so much blood for Super Earth, swear oaths to protect humanity, and guard the peace of citizens just to kill people.
"You left me no choice."
Ducking back into the shadows, I move along another path on my haunches, wary of the noisy raiders converging on the spot where the redhead had been leading me. There were many more of them. About thirty, probably, but it didn't make much difference.
"Hey... you there?" Without much concealment, one of the bandits shouted the redhead's name, but I couldn't quite make it out. "Come out already, the boss is tired of waiting."
"Idiots... worse for them."
Hearing the particularly piercing shriek of some woman, I couldn't stand it and simply stepped into the light from the other side, behind the backs of these fools, pulling out the revolving carbine gifted by Mizuma from under the folds of my cloak.
"I don't kill people."
The first shot pierced straight through the flimsy wall of a house, exploding somewhere in the middle of the bandits' ranks. The roar and a bright flash stunned the camp for a moment, causing the bastards to look around lost, fearfully surveying the mangled bodies.
They didn't know what to do. No one said a word, and the criminals only looked around fearfully, terrified by the swift and brutal execution.
"For you are not human."
The second shot served as a signal for the start of the battle. More precisely, for the entire criminal population of "Four" to start running like cockroaches in the light, firing in all directions.
Shots even flew into the sky, illuminating the area with multi-colored flashes. Fortunately, the flimsy houses could easily absorb the weak blasters, and the freaks didn't use anything serious.
Discharging four more rounds into some hovel where most of the bastards had taken cover, I step out onto the square.
My hands acted on their own. Break open the gun, leave it on the crook of my elbow, take six bullets, and insert each into its place. Snap it shut and cock the hammer.
Shot.
Firing from the hip at a bandit who had run out, I shift the barrel to the next. While the first continued his flight with his legs torn off, filling the air with his screams.
"Have mercy, please! Stop!"
I said nothing, feeling how the body acts while the brain shuts off—leaving only me and my enemies.
Shot. Shot. Shot.
The idiot hiding behind the tower was blown apart along with its base. Creaking, the small tower began to topple onto its side, burying a nearby vehicle and turning the latter into scrap metal.
Laser bolts flew past me. The projectiles left black burns on the walls of the houses, and everything around turned into a real show. The anthem of Super Earth played in my head against my will while I walked through the settlement with a slow gait, shooting anyone who pointed a weapon in my direction.
Roofs of houses were torn off, scattering trash and debris across the area. Buildings collapsed, burying the bandit scum who tried to fight back, and when that failed—they hid in their pathetic hovels.
Some of the freaks tried to hide in the slave huts while I reloaded the gun.
Three blaster bolts pierced their backs, toppling them onto the charred sand.
A fire was breaking out in the village. The groans of surviving bandits who had been hit by shrapnel rang out all 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 as he begged for help.
"How long have you been in the gang?"
At my question, he averted his eyes for a moment, saying more than any words could.
The barrel of the gun was pressed to his forehead.
"Please, please... have mercy, I didn't want to. They made me. Sir, please."
"Mercy is for the strong." Pressing the gun against the forehead of the underage idiot who had become an animal and was now paying the consequences. "But you don't deserve it."
The shot plowed the earth behind him, and I was splashed 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 infringe on people's freedom.
For a good half hour, I wandered through this terrifying 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, sobbing for leniency, it was over. Jester Stormpetrel turned out to be an ordinary lackey, loyal to his boss because of blood ties. This thin little dwarf, dressed in a multi-colored outfit, now presented a pathetic sight, in contrast to the moment he'd tried to mess with me from the top of his tower.
One accurate shot and he was falling down, while the top floor of his dwelling collapsed inward. But right now, Jester was the last thing that interested me. When the initial rush passed and most of those trampling freedom were dead, I was able to examine the work of my hands with a sober gaze.
The skeletons of buildings, fires, and the screams of dying people.
Memories came in a wave, taking me back to the times when the only part of my life was war.
"No..."
Tossing the gun aside, I look at my own hands, smeared with blood, in surprise. Shifting my gaze to my grey outfit, half of which had changed color, I only close my eyes sadly.
"The job is done. And it's not as if I feel any remorse. These were not humans, but just the dregs of society... Parasites that hinder freedom and democracy..."
At one point, I caught myself thinking that I was speaking in exactly the same words I had heard from TV screens in my past life.
"Managed Democracy... right?"
Bending over, I carefully pick up Mizuma's gift, brushing the sand off it. I shouldn't rush from one extreme to another. Better to sort myself out and find balance—only then, knowing his strengths and questionable sides, will a Helldiver become invincible...
"For we have no weak points... at least, if you believe the propaganda."