Deep in the border forest… at night, the ground lay damp and soaked. In the southern region, where rain fell eight parts to every four of sun, it still streamed down from the sky. Droplets clung to the tops of towering, dense trees in the lush green forest. The scent of mud mixed with the breath of wet earth drifted through the air, spreading across the surroundings.
Dark shadows slithered along the tree line, moving in silence like a pack of starving wolves. Large boots pressed into the soil without a sound. Every step was steady, familiar with the marginal boundary that divided the land.
A tall, black-clad figure moved like smoke flickering, swift, leaving no trace. The large frame, dressed entirely in black, concealed every part of the body except for the eyes. Those eyes covertly watched a group of men slipping in from a section of the national border beyond the reach of regular military patrols.
Amid the stillness of the fertile rainforest where no one should have lived there were those who used it to disguise their wrongdoing, smuggling something across under its cover.
"Hey! Hurry up and move it, or the old man will catch us!"
The harsh voice of a burly, fierce-looking man barked orders at dozens of companions trekking in from the Malaysian border into the Kingdom of Thailand.
Whatever was hidden inside the backpacks had to be carried through the dense forest at night, where no vehicles could pass. The nameless men quickened their pace. Their destination was the capital.
At the same time, something flickered melding seamlessly with the heavy darkness that came with the drizzling rain, dampening the earth below.
An M4A1 rifle rested tight against a firm jawline. Sharp eyes, hard and unyielding, fixed their gaze on the targets from higher ground.
"There are fifteen of them. Long guns at the front and the rear. Our informant says each backpack carries ten kilos of ice twenty-five thousand grams in total."
A quiet voice reported from within the darkness.
"Wait for the signal to fire." The deep voice replied evenly.
This was the finest gray zone for scum like them illegal logging, drug trafficking, human trafficking, smuggling untaxed goods. So rampant that a special unit had been established, one authorized to pass judgment the moment wrongdoing was confirmed without waiting for orders like ordinary officers.
The Black-Clad Rangers
Captain Tham, a ranger and leader of a special solo operations unit. A tall, well-built man of thirty, his duty was reconnaissance blending in undercover among the ethnic minority communities of the southern region.
Yet the outfit he wore was almost always entirely black, a mask covering his face so that only a pair of sharp eyes like those of a black panther could be seen.
"Bastards!"
The curse slipped through gritted teeth from beneath the black mask.
A swarm of human scum smuggling their poison into Thailand, peddling it to corrupt Thai youth, forcing the nation' s defenders to shoulder more than their share.
"Move in!"
One of the carriers dropped a bullet piercing straight through his forehead. The large group at the center of the encirclement threw themselves to the ground, scrambling to avoid the gunfire, preparing to flee. But the shots rang out again and again, thunderous through the forest darkness. Dozens of lifeless bodies collapsed into pools of blood. The rest stumbled in panic, fleeing downhill exactly as Captain Tham had planned.
Because that side was where the sniper lay in wait.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Don' t let a single gram of it slip through!" The unit leader' s ruthless voice rang out as he swiftly pursued the scattering crowd.
A lean figure leapt from the bushes, swinging the rifle to change angle, spraying bullets without the slightest hesitation…
For those who corrupted others with hellish drugs deserved only one sentence death.
Like…a reaper in the rainforest.
The last man tried to flee deeper into the woods. Tham lunged after him. The slimmer figure seemed just as familiar with the terrain as any officer, but the black-clad ranger had not been trained merely to give chase. His long strides carried him forward as if he were running across smooth grass, unhindered by obstacles. In one swift motion, he drove the bayonet into the man' s side without hesitation.
Slash!
"Aaaargh!"
Red liquid burst forth in a violent spray, sending the thin man crashing face-first into the ground.
Thud!
The ranger' s combat boot stomped down hard on the man' s chest, pressing him into the damp earth. His mouth filled with mud as he gasped soundlessly, too winded to speak, his face contorted as though he might vomit his insides out.
Click.
The rifle barrel, still hot from the earlier barrage, was forced against his forehead. The rough skin flushed instantly, a vivid red mark forming beneath the heat.
The man in black leaned down, staring straight into the eyes of the man still lying there, struggling for breath.
"Do you know Weerachet?"
The question came cold and low, nearly swallowed by the sound of the rain. His eyes were calm, yet laced with restrained fury. His grip on the gun tightened, ready to pull the trigger at any second.
"N-no… I don' t know him, sir."
The large man trembled violently, as if staring at death incarnate. His eyes darted about, not daring to meet the gaze before him. A thick lump of saliva slid painfully down his throat.
"Where is he?"
The man in black forced the words out slowly. His tone remained even, but his eyes burned with intensity. A chilling smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze merciless and piercing.
"I really don' t know, boss."
Click.
That single sound of the safety being released was enough to make the burly man break down in tears. They streamed down his face as his eyes widened in sheer terror.
"I' m not your boss.
Your drugs… what letters are stamped on them?"
The curt question came as he slowly crouched down, the muzzle still pressed firmly in place without the slightest movement. His expression was as cold as ice.
"…SS, sir…"
The answer came out faint as a whisper. He lowered his gaze, hands trembling as he tried to press his palms together in a desperate plea for mercy.
"Then how the hell would you not know it belongs to Weerachet, huh?!"
The burly man was yanked up violently.
The face before him burned with wrath and vengeance.
Bang!
The gunshot exploded through the forest.
Blood splattered, spraying across the black-clad man' s face. The man on the ground writhed and screamed in agony the bullet had torn straight through his palm. Blood gushed relentlessly.
"Aaaah! My hand! My hand there' s a hole in it!
It hurts! It hurts!"
The criminal wailed, thrashing about as he lifted his mangled hand, staring at it in horror.
"Where is Weerachet?"
The cold voice demanded again. His eyes were icy, merciless dull gray irises fixed on the red blood of the guilty like a heartless predator.
"H-he' s… he' s in Malaysia!"
The man answered between sobs, his body shaking as if on the verge of collapse.
Bang!
Another shot rang out, slamming into his other leg. Flesh tore apart, followed by the sickening crack of bone and a scream as shrill as a vengeful ghost.
"Aaah! My leg! My leg it' s shattered!
Don' t shoot me! I told you the truth!"
His cries pierced through the rain. He writhed on the ground, his face twisted beyond recognition.
"Your legs, your arms if they' re not used for doing good, then you don' t need them."
The low voice spoke slowly, eyes devoid of mercy. The rough hand around the gun tightened without hesitation.
Bang! Bang!
Two consecutive shots slammed into the burly body. Flesh ripped apart. The agonized screaming lasted only seconds before his body jerked violently then went still in the widening pool of blood beneath the falling rain.
"…I' m sorry…"
The final words slipped from his lips before everything was swallowed by the pounding rain. Fresh blood streamed across the ground, the metallic scent rising and mixing with wet earth. The rainfall grew heavier, droplets striking the black uniform of the man who stood motionless in the storm.
Red splattered across his cloak, yet nothing could stain the steadfastness of black. It was the tainted red blood that dissolved easily into the rain.
Captain Tham wiped the bayonet clean against his trousers. The scents of soil, blood, and rain blended and faded into the forest. His well-defined face lifted toward the north the mountain range that marked the neighboring border. A boundary he had no right to cross, even if his enemy stood smiling just one step away on the other side.
"Malaysia…"
The word still echoed in his head.
Weerachet… not just the name of a drug trafficker. The intelligence files identified him as a Thai national with a network of scum beyond compare