The Day Before

Romhainn Citadel

In the overwhelming darkness, Mr. Unknownman moved cautiously through the twists and turns of the tunnel, his gloved hand rummaging through one of the many pockets of his cargo pants and pulling out a small rectangular device: a flashlight. With a click, the intense beam illuminated the path ahead, revealing the walls of barely frozen earth and rock. Firmly gripping his trusty Barraca M10 in one hand and the flashlight in the other, he pressed on through the narrow passage. His boots crunching over the remnants of stones and loose dirt evidenced that the tunnel had been recently excavated. Tracking his prey.

As he ventured further into the darkness, the sound of ragged breaths and muffled curses grew louder. He furrowed his brow beneath his bandages, quickening his pace with determination. Turning a bend, the flashlight's beam revealed Erik at the end of the path. The burly man recoiled, shielding his masked face with his arms in a gesture of terror upon seeing the imposing figure of the bounty hunter.

—Oh, fuck — Erik pleaded with a trembling voice.

Mr. Unknownman snorted with disdain, pointing his weapon directly at him.

—It seems your rat friends didn't finish your tunnel, Erik — he spat the words with contempt. —Now, you truly look like a cornered tunnel rat — He commented, laughing.

—Please, don't take me to them!— Erik cried out for mercy.

—Take you? I was thinking of killing you, little friend — he replied with icy sarcasm.

That man who boasted of being a great villain was now begging for his life amidst tears. —Please man, don't kill me, I can pay you well, believe me! —

—Oh, dude... I appreciate your effort... But I doubt you have that many Recas... It's nothing personal, though. I had fun with you — he commented, quickly aiming his pistol at Erik.

Mr. Unknownman's cold eyes gleamed with ruthless determination, his finger squeezing the trigger amidst pleas, his Barraca M10 spitting fire as an inert body fell to the cold, damp earth floor.

—Ugh... Well... Time to get to work — said the bounty hunter, holstering his weapon and slowly approaching the body of his target. He took out his knife and knelt beside the deceased.

—I don't know what religion you are, or anything like that... But well, I couldn't care less if this pisses off your god —

With precise hands, Mr. Unknownman slid his sharp knife through Erik's neck, separating the skin and muscles with chilling ease. Blood gushed out, soaking his clothes and the tunnel floor. Unperturbed, he continued cutting through tendons and bone until finally, the head detached from the lifeless body.

Holding the bloody trophy, he observed it with cold, expressionless eyes. —You're uglier than I thought — he muttered in a rough voice.

He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a worn travel bag, opening it to deposit Erik's decapitated head inside. The crimson liquid soaked the bottom of the bag, staining its interior walls red. Closing it with a tug, Mr. Unknownman stood up, wiped the blood off his arm, sheathed the knife in his belt, and headed back the way he came.

Once back at the tunnel entrance, he gripped the pipe tightly and skillfully climbed through the narrow opening, using his legs against the wall to ascend. Finally, he emerged in the kitchen of the hut, where the family still huddled in a corner, terrified.

The woman, in a burst of courage, grabbed an iron skillet and lunged toward the bounty hunter, wielding the object with the intention to strike him. However, Mr. Unknownman was quicker, drawing his Barraca M10 and aiming it directly at her.

—Stay right there, sweety! — he roared, his voice distorted by the bandages. —Unless you want to end up like the rat —

He held the blood-soaked bag high, allowing drops of blood to fall to the ground, leaving a crimson trail. The woman froze, horrified, and her husband snatched the skillet from her hands, shaking his head frantically, urging her not to do anything.

Without saying another word, Mr. Unknownman holstered his weapon and made his way toward the hut's exit, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind him. No one dared to stop him.

Exiting the citadel, the imposing figure of Mr. Unknownman moved against the biting wind and the incessant snowfall. His overcoat billowed with each step, waving like a dark and ominous cape. As he passed through the gates of Romhainn's wall, his eyes settled on his mode of transportation: an imposing quadrupedal robot manufactured by the defunct technological corporation, DatCap Dynamics.

The machine, the size of a small old car, showed obvious signs of use, wear, and freezing. Its metal structure was covered in dents and scratches, with areas where the protective coating had been torn away, revealing intricate internal systems. Large sections were painted with a vibrant yellow color, likely for better visibility in adverse conditions. Mr. Unknownman had installed several additional bags, compartments, and accessories along its body, allowing for greater cargo and supply capacity. However, something immediately caught his attention. A group of people surrounded his travel companion, attempting to loot it, tearing off pieces and superficial components in desperation. The bounty hunter didn't hesitate, drawing his Barraca M10 in a swift motion.

—Back away from the fucking robot, you scumer! — he shouted violently, his voice distorted.

Two deafening blasts shattered the silence of those snow-covered makeshift alleyways. Two of the looters fell to the ground, howling in pain as blood soaked the snow beneath their bodies. One of them, upon witnessing the scene, didn't hesitate to flee in terror. But one of the men, in a burst of bravery or madness, crouched down and picked up a stick from the ground, brandishing the makeshift weapon high.

—You better drop that crap right now, buddy! — Mr. Unknownman threatened, pointing his smoking pistol at him, as the reddish light emanating from the barrel's tip began to intensify.

The man, defiant, lunged at the bounty hunter with a guttural cry. Unknownman reacted with feline reflexes, dodging the attack and delivering a devastating blow with the handle of his weapon to the back of the aggressor's neck. The man collapsed to the ground face-first, stunned.

Without wasting time, Mr. Unknownman aimed his pistol directly at the fallen man's head and pulled the trigger. The thunderous noise echoed in the cold air, and the bullet cleanly pierced through the man's skull, scattering a grotesque explosion of blood, bone, and brain matter into the cold white snow.

—I warned you, idiot — he muttered coldly, wiping the bloody remnants from his masked face.

Ignoring the corpses lying in the snow and the terrified people who were fleeing the scene, he approached the quadrupedal robot and spoke to it in a gentle, affectionate tone, as if it were a pet. —How are you, buddy? Did those rats hurt you? —

Its orange optics lit up, emitting a series of beeps and buzzes that seemed to convey a reassuring message. Mr. Unknownman nodded, stroking the cold metal surface affectionately towards his travel companion.

—Good, good, baby. Let's get out of this dump — he said, giving the inert head of the quadruped a hug. He removed the blood-soaked bag he carried at his side and deposited it into one of the compartments of the robot.

Swiftly mounting the robotic canine, Unknownman tapped twice on its cold back, and the machine began to move with a mechanical hum and heavy creaks, crushing the snow with each step they took. They faded away from Romhainn as a dense snowfall slowly engulfed them on the horizon.

Meanwhile

Central Military Base of the Hommss Republic

In a remote location, nestled in the depths of the frozen lands, lies the main military base of the Republic of Hommss. An imposing underground bunker built into the side of a mountain in the past by the Poladoid company under governmental management, abandoned during the fall of the old Republic of Waidmanns, but now repurposed as the main stronghold of the army of the young Republic of Hommss.

The underground complex was an impressive feat of engineering, with multiple levels and compartments designed to house a vast military contingent. Its reinforced steel and concrete walls extended several meters underground, ensuring formidable protection against any attack and surviving the societal collapse due to the planet's freezing. Life support systems, such as air purification and water supply, were designed to keep the base self-sufficient for extended periods.

In one of the spacious meeting rooms, a group of two hundred soldiers of the Republic of Hommss was gathered without wearing their official uniforms. Before them stood a slim and tempestuous man, dressed in a majestic and imposing finely tailored dark gray uniform, snug against his torso, voluminous shoulder pads, his massive back adorned with a high-collared overlapping jacket. Several honor medals gleamed on his chest, earned on the battlefield, elegant shiny black boots, and a remarkable flat, impeccably black visor cap casting a fearsome shadow over his eyes. In the center of it, an eagle emblem cast in lead, symbol of the republic. His hands were covered with fine black leather gloves. This man stood with authority, holding in hand a fine command baton.

With a firm voice, the man announced, —Hommssian soldiers! I have been tasked to inform you that the squadron led by Captain Zaihn has successfully captured the fugitive and is returning home with glory —

A murmur spread through the ranks of the soldiers, but the officer raised his baton, silencing the murmurs.

—However, despite this success, you have not yet been baptized by the cold. That is why I am obligated to inform you that you will receive your first mission. To prove that you are true soldiers loyal to the glorious Republic of Hommss —

The men tensed up, some celebrating with wild cheers, others preparing for what would come next. At that moment, with an imposing and intimidating demeanor, the feared Lieutenant Khalheim made his presence known. Known for his iron discipline and unwavering leadership.

—Listen closely, wretches! — echoed Lieutenant Khalheim's deep voice. —Your mission will be to unify the 'Principality of Kane' with the Republic. The place is led by the ridiculous Kane Essth, who believes himself to be the leader of his own unrecognized nation. A puffed-up village atop a frozen empty plateau. The operation will begin tomorrow at 0600 hours. You will be under my direct command —

Khalheim cast his icy gaze over the faces of the soldiers, challenging them to show any signs of weakness. But they stiffened into attention, responding in unison, —Sir, yes sir! — Raising their fists together, generating a deafening echo through their movement.

chequeado y subido

Chapter 5

"Kane"

Part 1

04/25/2368

0740 hrs

Republic of Hommss

Amidst the icy white desert belonging to the territories of the Republic, the roar of a military transport vehicle made its way through the snow and rock-covered dunes, amidst intense and almost constant snowfall. With a robust, gray, and aggressive design, its metallic structure and angular lines showed significant wear and tear from its use, with dents and bullet impacts evident. It was a vehicle designed to transport twenty heavily armed men, ready to face the most extreme conditions of the harsh icy climate and the unwanted inhabitants outside the Republic.

Inside, the motor noise was piercingly loud and constant. The air was laden with the scent of sweat and leather, mixed with a metallic aroma from the structure itself, the weapons, and the equipment carried by the soldiers of the Republic of Hommss. They wore their dark gray uniforms, made of durable fabrics and designed to provide protection against the extreme cold. Their faces were hidden behind gas masks with red polarized visors, and their respective identification plates at neck level.

Among them was Fihn Qoassy, plate number 888. A young rookie soldier of twenty-five years. Born in one of the underground villages on the outskirts of Hommss's capital, Fihn had been recently recruited, and this was his first mission outside the barracks. His voice, distorted by the mask's modulator, sounded grave and artificial as he complained:

—How much longer until we reach the damn place? We've been in this rusty tin can for almost two hours — he banged on the vehicle's roof.

Some of his comrades chuckled under their breath.

—Be patient, soldier! — responded Xiahom, one of the veteran soldiers assigned to the small platoon. His voice was also distorted by the mask, but with an even graver tone than the rest. —The fucking Principality of that stupid Kane is far from any other settlement. It's normal for the damn trip to be endless —

Fihn snorted but said nothing more. Instead, he focused on adjusting his rifle grip, trying to channel his impatience and nervousness into something productive. The vehicle continued to move forward, leaving a trail of deep tracks in the snow in its wake.