But before Fortier could even gather himself to respond, a series of pops shattered the air—one, two, three, four. The truck lurched violently as all four tires blew out, the result of spike traps tossed onto the road. The vehicle veered into a wild, uncontrollable swerve before flipping onto its side with a sickening crunch of metal.
Rowdy screams erupted outside, a discordant chorus of chaos that disrupted the smooth afternoon. The wrecked transport truck now lay like a gutted carcass, its broken frame exposing its passengers to the unwavering gaze of an army of Dread Hunters.
Newbie gasped for breath, tangled in his seatbelt, his limbs sluggish from the impact. His ears rang, but through the haze, one sound was unmistakable—the screams from outside. They carried through the open air, raw and unfiltered, each one clawing at his nerves. And nothing terrified him more than the thought of those screams drawing closer.
Through the missing back doors, he caught glimpses of movement—shadows shifting, figures closing in. The Dread Hunters circled the wreck like wolves scenting wounded prey, their motorcycles growling beneath them.
Commander Fortier stirred, pain twitching through his body. Blood coated him—some his own, most from the lifeless body of Officer Daniels sprawled above him. Disoriented, he shoved the door open, dragging himself past his fallen comrade and out of the cab. He pulled himself onto the side of the overturned truck, swaying unsteadily as his vision cleared.
The Dread Hunters surrounded them in a slow, deliberate formation, their headlights carving streaks of light through the dust-choked air. At the center of it all, one figure loomed about.
Neil.
"This wasn't the plan," Fortier gasped, struggling to force the words out. "This wasn't—" He paused, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Gathering what strength he had left, he bellowed, "This wasn't part of the plan!"
Neil smirked, unfazed. He flicked his cigarette aside, dropped his kickstand, and strolled toward the wreck. His fingers traced the jagged bullet hole in the windshield.
"See that?" He glanced over his shoulder at his men. "Told you it'd pierce. Meteor Kingdom's so-called armored trucks are toys compared to Akrion's. You use the right firearm, and the windshield might as well be paper."
His attention shifted to Fortier, amusement flickering in his eyes. "The hell happened to you?"
Fortier's jaw clenched. "You killed him. My officer. You killed him."
Neil crouched, peering through the ruined windshield at the lifeless form of Officer Daniels. "Hm." He exhaled sharply, straightening. "Good thing you weren't the one driving, Commander."
"We agreed—" Fortier's voice cracked with fury. "We agreed there would be no killing!"
Neil moved before Fortier could react, seizing him by the front of his uniform. With a sharp yank, he hauled him off the wreck and sent him sprawling onto the terrain.
Fortier hit the ground hard, coughing as dust filled his lungs. Before he could recover, Neil knelt beside him, pressing a firm finger to his chest.
"I suggest you bottle up that anger," he murmured, his voice edged with warning. "Save it for what you intended it for. Would be a shame to snuff out that little flicker of rage before it gets put to good use."
Then, without missing a beat, he straightened, sweeping the wreckage.
"Theo!" he called out through the chaos. "Theo, where are you?"
Theo stirred at the sound of his brother's voice, his head throbbing from the crash. He swallowed, tasting blood, and whispered, "In here."
Before he could say another word, something strong and hard slammed into him.
Officer Braun.
The seasoned officer pounced like a rabid animal, fists hammering down in a relentless assault.
"You Dread Hunters are nothing but trouble," Braun snarled between blows. "I'll make sure you and your brother get a reunion—next to each other in a grave."
Theo coughed, spitting blood onto Braun's face with a rasping chuckle. "I've kidnapped wealthy brats that hit harder than you."
Braun's nostrils flared. "You son of a–"
His hand shot to his hip, fingers fumbling with the holster. The click of a hammer being pulled back rang out like a death knell.
"Tell me how this hits," Braun growled.
Then—a gunshot.
Braun froze. His grip slackened. His breath hitched—then faded.
His revolver tumbled from his grasp as he crumpled forward, collapsing onto Theo's chest like a felled tree.
Newbie sat frozen. His wide eyes locked onto the bleeding mess in front of him, paralyzed as terror coursed through his body. Every instinct screamed at him to run—to do something—but his body refused to move. Not that he could, even if he wanted to; he was still stuck in the straps of his seatbelt, after all.
Instead, he played dead, surrendering to fear.
As if the truck wasn't the only thing the crash had claimed.
"I always did enjoy smoked pork," Neil sneered as he nudged Braun's corpse with his boot. His eyes glinted like glass under flame.
Theo grunted, shoving the dead weight off his chest. He reached up, clasping his brother's hand with a bloodied grin. "What took you so long?"
Neil pulled him up with ease. "I'm right on time, little brother. What'd you want me to do—bust into the department like a maniac? Even I know better than that."
Theo dusted himself off. "So what is going on?"
"I had a chat with your beloved commander. We struck a deal: he hands you over once you're out of sight of the kingdom, and in return, we raid one of the parishes."
Theo blinked. "You serious? What's in it for him? And how is launching a full-scale raid smarter than breaking me out in broad daylight?"
Neil shrugged. "Revenge, maybe. Man's carrying a grudge the size of Crescent Parish. Doesn't matter. Most of the kingdom's forces are tied up in the capital for the governor's conference."
He grinned. "That leaves the parishes wide open. And unlike before, now we've got an army of Hunters behind us. That's what makes this smart—we'll be taking them completely by surprise."
"So we're making deals with cops now?" Theo asked, eyeing his brother with raised brows.
Neil smirked and handed him a worn, pinched-front cattleman hat. "If the price is right, right?"
Theo took the hat, smoothed the brim, and set it on his head. "Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's go collect what we're owed."
Outside, Neil faced the horde of Dread Hunters he'd rallied from every crevice of the kingdom. The wind kicked up dust as he raised his voice.
"Listen up! Now that my brother's back, we're moving into phase two. Next stop—Auclair Parish. We hit it hard, we hit it fast, and we take anything that looks like it'll fetch a good price."
The crowd erupted, voices layered in rage and anticipation, hungry for what was to come.
Theo glanced sideways at him. "Since when did you become a strategist?"
Neil chuckled, the kind of laugh that said he was proud but not about to admit it. "Might've had help from the Marketeer."
"The man himself, huh?" Theo adjusted the brim of his hat. "That means we'll owe him."
"Big time."
Theo nodded. "Then let's not waste another second. Let's get this plan of yours underway."
As the brothers prepared to depart, Theo couldn't help but notice the fingerprints of the Marketeer all over the plan. Neil wasn't a strategist—he was a hammer, not the hand that swung it. Whatever was coming for the parishes, it was clear someone else had drawn the blueprints. The Marketeer had fed Neil the playbook, page by page, and now they were charging into mayhem with blind confidence.