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Quirky Row Chapter 18
🕑 Added 2024-09-20 17:00:13 +0000 UTCChapter 18: Thank You, And Goodnight!
(Friday, October 1st, 2123)
The air was starting to cool, and the people in Stilwater were starting to bundle up. Gone were the short-shorts, croptops, and sandals. It was autumn, and the island off the coast of California was very much starting to show it.
Of course, this being Stilwater, and an American city in general, the slight coolness didn’t bother everyone, and in some cases, was embraced as new fashion was brought out to take advantage of the change.
“Mmm. It’s finally sweater and turtleneck season. Some people don’t like the fall, but I love a woman who can rock ‘em. The way the slightly bulky clothing hugs their curves is real nice,” Playa said in appreciation as he walked down the street, taking time to admire the ladies who were out and about that Friday afternoon.
At his side, Pierce nodded along in agreement. “You know it, Playa! Damn, check out that number!”
“Yeah, that’s nice,” Playa smirked. “Oh! And over there! Didn’t know they made croptop hoodies, but I’m digging it. Not the best for the cold, though.”
“Eh, not as cold as it could be, but that’s island weather for you,” Pierce said with a shake of his head.
“I doubt we’ll get any snow this year,” Playa guessed as they passed by a few Saints in purple who nodded politely at him and Pierce.
“Nah, probably not. Hasn’t snowed in Stilwater since… damn, four years, now? Wow, time flies,” Pierce hummed. A sign drew his attention, and he nudged his boss. “Wanna stop at Donut Whores for a bite while we talk shop?”
“Sure, I could go for a Cheese Danish or apple fritter. Do you think they’ve started to put out the pumpkin flavored and Halloween themed stuff, yet?” the leader of the Third Street Saints wondered.
“Playa, today’s the first day of October,” Pierce said.
“So? I saw Christmas decorations in the grocery store last week,” he retorted as they walked inside the donut shop slash strip-club. Playa then pointed to the menu and snorted. “See, what I’d tell you? Pumpkin Spice Donuts to go with your Pumpkin Spice Latte!”
Pierce grimaced but conceded the point to Playa. The two grabbed some food and sat down in the corner away from the servers, near a corkboard covered in colorful fliers and leaflets.
They didn’t have to worry too much about being overhead, as the store had recently come under Saint patronage, but it didn’t hurt to speak softly away from any prying ears, just in case.
“So, on to business. I’ve had one of my boys watching Donnie’s mechanic shop ever since you shook him down during Road Rage Wednesday,” Pierce informed Playa. “Good thing I did, because Maero went straight to him after you fucked up those heroes last Saturday.”
“And?” Playa asked curiously as he bit into his pumpkin-flavored cinnamon roll.
“And nothing. He left Donnie alone, and went straight to the docks to set up a business deal of some sort. But that’s not the interesting thing. I got word a little bit ago about Maero organizing a bunch of goons for something big. I don’t know what’s going down, but a convoy of trucks are headed to the docks right now from Donnie’s shop. You could probably steal a Brotherhood rig and join ‘em, find out what’s going on,” Pierce explained.
“I could… but I think I’d rather go to a concert,” Playa said, narrowing his eyes at a poster on a nearby wall. He got up and walked over to it and tore it down, eyes roaming over words.
“A concert? Wait, you don’t mean you want to go after Matt Wolfe, do you?” Pierce exclaimed.
“I sure do. He got out of jail thanks to Ultor, and is apparently hosting a ‘Free as a bird’ concert with his band, the Feed Dogs, this weekend,” Playa revealed, reading off the intel from the flyer.
“Huh, it would be a great opportunity to hit them while their down, but don’t you think it’s risky?” Pierce worried.
“Maero can’t afford anything to happen to his last decent lieutenant,” Playa explained. “If Matt bites it, then the Brotherhood will be the weakest it’s ever been. And with only himself and Donnie left in the Inner Circle, Maero will be too busy running around putting out fires to focus entirely on us. It’s win-win.”
“Exactly! Maero will have security out the wazoo to make sure nobody, especially us, sneaks in!” Pierce protested.
“Then we don’t sneak in. We make a wild entrance, get our answers, and then leave. After showing our displeasure to Matty boy about his actions,” Playa stated.
“Fine, I’ll look into it,” Pierce sighed, seeing he wouldn’t win this one. “But! In exchange, you have to go down to the docks to see what it is Maero is using so much security for!”
“Deal,” Playa chuckled. “I’ll be down there real quick. Just gotta slip into a disguise after I’m done with this coffee.”
“Sure, sure,” his lieutenant assured him.
“Oh, and speaking of Ultor, did you find out why the fuck they helped the Brotherhood out like that?” Playa asked as he sipped at his pumpkin spiced caffeine drink.
“That turned out to be actually pretty easy to do. Seems that Maero paid a visit to Dane Vogel and threatened him with bodily harm if he refused to help secure the release of the gang members.”
“Well, shit, Maero’s a dead man,” Playa muttered with a frown.
“How so?” Pierce asked.
“Because Dane Vogel isn’t the kind of guy to let an insult like that stand. I knew him. Went to school with him in Saint’s Row. Think he lived down the block from me,” Playa mused thoughtfully, a far-off look in his eyes as he recalled the events of his past. “He was a senior when I was a freshman in high school, but Vogel’s revenge schemes were the stuff of legends. And nightmares. A popular student makes fun of him? They get expelled when a ‘random search’ uncovers drugs in their locker. A football jock beats him up and steals his shit? That same jock gets his legs broken when he slips and falls down the stairs. A teacher helps cover up some shit other students do to Vogel? That teacher’s car brakes get cut and he gets in a wreck.”
Playa frowned as he recounted the tales. “No one was ever able to prove it, but we all knew it was Vogel getting his vengeance. And I doubt he’s gotten nicer since high school.”
“Damn, you know a lot of people. Heroes, villains, and a corporate mogul worth billions? Next you’ll tell me you knew Johnny Gat in kindergarten!” Pierce chuckled.
“Well, you know what they say, it’s a small world, after all,” Playa replied. “And while I only met Johnny when I joined the Saints, that doesn’t mean I didn’t know about him beforehand, though. He and Julius were pretty famous in Saint’s Row even back before the Saints got started. Julius for his philanthropy, and Gat for his vigilante style protection of the people.”
The leader of the Saints scratched his chin. “By the way, anyone ever found out what happened to Julius after the events on the Alderman’s yacht? I know Johnny never found him, but has that changed?”
“Sorry, your predecessor disappeared off the face of the Earth afterwards. We know he was released from his unlawful imprisonment following it all, but beyond that, nothing,” Pierce said apologetically.
“Ah, well, it is what it is. Hopefully he’s happy, wherever he ended up,” Playa sighed, before shaking his head and finishing off his snack. “Alright, enough moping. I’m off to the docks.”
“Great! The Brotherhood convoy’s at Poseidon Alley Docks. Watch yourself!” Pierce urged. Playa just nodded back with a nonchalant attitude.
He was Skunk, leader of the Saints! This would be an easy assignment.
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‘So, I was half right,’ Playa silently grumbled to himself as he slowly and quietly inched along the roof of a warehouse. ‘When am I gonna learn not to tempt Fate and Murphy like that?’
At first, things had gone smoothly. He got into a disguise and rode the bus to the docks. Then, he made his way to Poseidon Alley. Pierce’s contacts had been right; there’d been a huge number of Atlasbreakers escorting pickups and moving vans. The latter two vehicles were being loaded with large numbers of crates from within a warehouse.
The vehicles had loaded up and then departed, and Playa had planned to sneak inside to try and get a peek at what had been moved around.
Unfortunately, the plan hit a snag as more trucks had appeared before he could get in, and he was forced to climb up onto the roof to avoid detection.
Then, he’d had to wait several minutes for them to grab shit and leave, and finally he was able to worm his way into the warehouse through a skylight and dropping down onto a catwalk that over looked the interior.
“Damn, that’s a lot of shit,” Playa muttered to himself as he looked down at hundreds of identical boxes that filled the area.
Curious, he descended to ground level and began to examine the containers. They were plain brown cardboard, and devoid of any insignias or logos. The shipping labels claimed these boxes to have come from Mexico.
“Tijuana, huh?” Playa mused. “Alright, let’s see what the Brotherhood are ordering from across the border.”
With a switchblade, he carefully slit the top of one of the boxes open, peeking inside to discover more boxes. Boxes inside of boxes! But these smaller ones were brightly colored and showed pictures of colorful explosions.
“Illegal fireworks?” Playa muttered, looking over the contents of one of the crates the Brotherhood convoy had been loading up. “This is what Maero mustered that huge convoy for?”
He checked a few more boxes, and yes, it appeared that there were only fireworks in the warehouse’s containers. High-grade, extremely fancy – and deadly! – fireworks, but fireworks all the same.
But something still felt off about the whole thing, leading to Playa grabbing one of the fireworks (from Mexico with love, as its label proudly declared) and cracked it apart. A baggie full of fine white powder was hidden inside the cavity.
“Ah, so that’s how they do it,” Playa realized. Some of the fireworks were fake! Instead of gunpowder, they were stuffed with cocaine and heroin. Others had bullets tucked away inside. There were even military grade explosives!
“The pyrotechnics for the Feed Dog concert… brilliant way to smuggle in shit like this. Sniffer dogs would smell the gunpowder and explosives from the fireworks and miss the illegal stuff. Forest for the trees or some crap,” Playa mused to himself.
Yet as impressive as it all was, the leader of the Third Street Saints had the feeling this wasn’t the mysterious ‘shipment’ that had the Brotherhood in a tizzy.
Sadly, Playa didn’t have time to ponder this development further, as the sound of trucks pulling up outside rang out, and he cursed to himself.
“Damn it, they’re back already?” he griped in annoyance. He quickly put the boxes he’d opened away, stuffing them into a corner in the hopes they’d be overlooked when the loaders came. Then, as the loading bay doors rattled open, Playa shimmed up a support beam and hid from the Brotherhood goons near the ceiling.
Just in time, too, as half a dozen Brotherhood members in red rushed inside and began to grab the boxes nearest to them.
“Hurry up and clear this place out! Maero wants there to be room for the extra hardware that’s coming in!” a lieutenant barked as Brotherhood members scurried about, grabbing the boxes and loading them up.
“When the hell is this super important shipment supposed to show up, anyways?” a gang member grumbled as he stomped towards Playa’s hiding spot in the rafters.
“Dunno. Think it got delayed after the Saints robbed Jessica. She had the money for it,” another goon replied.
“Damn Saints. They claim to be cleaning up Stilwater but they’re just as scummy as the Sons, and twice as hypocritical as the Ronin!” the first gangster uttered hatefully.
The duo grabbed a crate and hefted it, carrying it away and allowing Playa to breath out in relief.
Half an hour later, the batch of smuggled goods was loaded up and they left. Not having much time before the next round of the convoy arrived, Playa dropped back down and then booked it, escaping from the warehouse and the docks entirely before the Brotherhood returned.
Once he was safe in Saints territory again, he pulled out his phone. “Hey, Pierce, have I got some news for you!”
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(Sunday, October 3rd, 2123)
“Dude, I don’t like this,” Shaundi whispered to Playa.
“I know, I know, just bear with it,” he hissed back at her. She looked at him as if he’d run over her puppy and refused to get out of the car to apologize.
The plan for the evening’s raid was simple. Shaundi would disguise herself as one of the stage workers at the Feed Dog’s concert. Then, she would lock some doors, but leaves other open, allowing Playa and a select few Saints to sneak in. Pierce and Johnny would be part of this strike force, with the former taking charge and showing off his new villain costume.
“I mean, I look like a complete loser in this get-up!” Shaundi complained under her breath.
“It’s a Feed Dog’s t-shirt with jeans and a red bandana, it’s the best we could do on short notice!” Playa replied. “Now get over there and scope out the place before we hit it!”
“Fine! But I expect some kush when this is over! And none of that weak shit Pierce smokes!” Shaundi griped.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Playa scoffed. He watched as Shaundi left the mission and hurried off to take her place over at the concert hall. Which was really just a warehouse in the docks the Brotherhood had converted into a place for raves and night clubbing.
The Kennel, as it was called, was the place for Brotherhood members to kick back, relax, and party and it was exclusively for the red-colored gang. It was also Matt Wolfe’s main base of operations, the place where he held his concerts but also where he stashed portions of the Brotherhood’s illegal items. Guns, drugs, and even sex slaves passed through the Kennel, which made it a high priority target. It was heavily defended at all times.
But tonight, there were going to be lots of drunk and high gangbangers listening to ridiculously loud music, and there was enough wiggle room for a member of the backstage crew to leave one or two doors unlocked for Playa and the rest.
‘Godspeed, Shaundi,’ Playa thought in prayer for his friend and lieutenant, before turning around and walking back over to a door that led into a changing room.
“What do you think? Do you like your new costume?” Playa asked as he walked in. The place was set up similarly to a combination green room and dressing room, with a wardrobe closet containing the Saints’ villain costumes, spare out fits, and a few other accessories and odds and ends at the back, a make-up station to the right, and a purple couch to the left.
“I dunno, it’s nice and the design is boss, but doesn’t it make me look fat?” Pierce muttered as he looked himself over in a full-body mirror near the make-up station.
“That’s just the protective padding talking,” Johnny drawled as he put on his own defensive garb in the form of a bullet-proof vest taken from the wardrobe. “You look fine.”
“Are you sure? Isn’t it a bit, I dunno, racist?” the member of the Inner Circle wondered worriedly.
Playa raised an eyebrow at that as he looked over Pierce’s outfit. It was a styled after medieval knight’s armor, but was sleeker, and painted matte black with glowing purple highlights. He looked like a villain from a fantasy MMO that had swapped over to a Sci-Fi setting. His helmet and pauldrons even had spikes!
“Pierce, you are a black guy. I don’t think it’s racist for you to dress up as a black knight,” Johnny replied as he strapped several guns to himself.
“You’re the one who wanted to go with the aesthetic in the first place,” Playa reminded Pierce, who nodded slowly.
“Alright, yeah, I suppose,” he murmured. “I mean, it is impressive. And I can really tank some serious firepower, now, when I use my Quirk on it.”
“I’ll say. I musta emptied a thousand rounds into it before it even started to look scratched up,” Johnny praised. “And those were armor piercing and explosive rounds, too!”
“Yeah, I coulda done without you shooting a rocket launcher at me,” Pierce deadpanned at Johnny. “Although I was flattered you thought so highly of my Quirk’s ability to resist it.”
“You’re welcome,” Johnny joked. “Now come on then, Defender, time to show you off to the troops!”
Pierce, or Defender as he went by when in costume, followed Johnny out in the underground mall below the mission, where the men they’d selected for the beat-down were gathered.
The strike team wasn’t the only bunch of Saints in the underground area. A lot of different members were relaxing or doing tasks to get the place up and running. After a month of work, the former shopping mall slash hotel was looking better than ever. And every single one of them cheered upon seeing the two lieutenants.
The cheers grew louder when Skunk descended in full costumed regalia, standing on the steps in front of the Jesus statue next to his top lieutenants.
“Listen up, everyone! It’s time to collar Maero’s rabid dog, Matt Wolfe!” Skunk declared, pumping a fist into the air. “We’ve taken out Jessica! Now it’s his turn! We will make the streets safe once more!”
Roars of approval rang out, and Skunk nodded, pleased by their enthusiasm, before motioning for them to settle down. He then gestured at Pierce.
“This is Defender! He and Johnny Gat will be leading the strike force!” Skunk announced, and his lieutenant was no doubt blushing under his helmet at the praise. “Make a mess, cause some chaos, and ensure the Brotherhood do not forget who really runs Stilwater!”
More cheers rang out, and then Skunk led his team off to the garage, where they loaded into several vehicles and drove out into the streets. Above, the sky was dark with stars dancing in the cold heavens.
Not for the first or last time, Skunk was glad for his trench coat as the night had gotten much cooler. He suppressed a shiver as he stepped out of the lead car, and instead focused his attention on the Kennel.
“Time to raid the place,” he declared, before looking over at Defender. “Care to do the honors?”
“Sure,” Defender nodded. “Split into your assigned teams. Davy, you and your men are with me. Tark, you’re with Johnny. Ron, with Skunk. Try to keep things non-lethal, but if it comes down to it, your lives are more important to us than those of the Brotherhood. And remember to secure any drugs or guns, and rescue anybody that’s been captured. Alright, move out!”
“Yeah, let’s do this!” Johnny cheered as he cocked a shotgun and ran off towards the front entrance. Defender shook his head and made his way to the side entrance of the building near the loading dock. As for Skunk, he led his group to the back door, entering through the rear entrance thanks to Shaundi leaving the door unlocked.
Inside the building, Skunk could feel the noise from the band on stage shaking him down to his very bones. The music wasn’t all that great, either. Very simplistic lyrics and dull beats.
“It’s pretty loud,” Skunk noted, glancing at his team of four. “Why don’t we inform Matt he’s disturbing the peace?”
“Just like my neighbor whenever I play my music,” one of the Saints with him sighed sadly.
“Err, right. Come on, let’s clear out the back area before we storm the stage,” Skunk ordered, leading his group into the bowels of the warehouse.
They came across several stagehands and grips working for the Brotherhood, and if they surrendered, were ziptied quietly. Those who resisted? They had their teeth knocked out before being ziptied.
Once that was done, they headed over to the door that lead out to the main floor. The stage was just ahead, and Skunk could see Matt pause mid-chord as the sounds of gunshots and screaming rang out from his audience.
“Time to crash the show!” Skunk called out to his men, who cheered and jeered. He broke out into a jog, and ran out onto the Feed Dog’s stage, where Matt Wolfe and his band were staring in horror as Johnny and Defender’s teams broke in and began wreaking havoc on the Brotherhood.
“Sorry to barge in, but I heard there was a musical hack who needed a lesson in what ‘talent’ was!” Skunk called out, striding forth like he owned the place. Matt whirled around as he approached, eyes widening in rage and disbelief.
“YOU?!” he roared furiously.
“Me,” Skunk said smugly. “Shows over, Matt. And you won’t be getting an encore.”
“You think you can just interrupt my concert and get away with it?!” Matt snarled, and his body began to twist and distort. His band mates dropped their instruments and booked it, not wanting to be caught up in the brawl that was about to break out. They did not get far, however, as the Saints with Skunk pounced on them.
Matt Wolfe ignored them, and let out a primal howl that deepened as his face elongated. He soon gained two more feet of height, and became almost a foot broader at the shoulders. Muscles ripped apart his shirt and pants, but his exposed skin was quickly covered up in dark grey fur.
“I always knew you were Maero’s little bitch, I just had no idea it was so literal,” Skunk mocked as Matt Wolfe finished his metamorphosis.
His Quirk, Werewolf, was an impressive transformation Quirk that let him morph into a bipedal, anthropomorphic dire wolf at will. He was faster and stronger in this form, as well as more durable. But, he had a major weakness, one Skunk planned on exploiting.
“DIE!” Matt howled, slashing at Skunk with his claws. The leader of the Third Street Saints leapt back and evaded the attack before punching the werewolf in the chest.
Skunk’s attack hardly did anything, however, even with the reinforced brass knuckles built into his gauntlets.
“Nice try, you little shit!” Matt sneered, before backhanding Skunk across the stage. “But it’ll take more than some cheap steel to hurt me!”
“I’ll have you know that this is high-quality steel!” Skunk shot back as he bounded to his feet, glaring through his mask at the werewolf rockstar.
The Brotherhood’s second-in-command let out a roar, and darted forward, not interesting in bandying words about anymore. He tried to claw open Skunk’s chest, but the gas mask wearing supervillain was faster, jinking to the side and punching Matt in the throat.
The werewolf coughed a bit as the blow actually hurt a little bit, but not enough to do anything else, and he lashed out with a backhand that smacked into the Saints’ leader. The blow sent him staggering away, but he didn’t give in, and lunged, hammering heavy blows into Matt’s side.
Even with his enhanced physique, those punches still hurt, and Matt grunted out in pain as his ribs ached from the blows. He lashed out with a kick at Skunk’s chest, but the purple-themed supervillain dodged to the side.
With a battle cry on his lips, Skunk grabbed Matt’s leg and yanked on it, unbalancing the lieutenant, causing the werewolf to fall. Skunk then tried to stomp down onto Matt’s head, but the rocker saw it coming and rolled away, wrenching his leg out of Skunk’s grasp.
He didn’t stay down for long, and Matt lunged at Skunk while on all fours, dashing across the stage with insane speed. Skunk was not fast enough and jaws clamped down onto his left arm.
“Argh! Damn it!” Skunk shouted as fangs pierced through the sleeve of his costume and dug into flesh, causing blood to spurt.
The leader of the Saints quickly activated his Quirk before Matt could try and tear his arm off, and blasted a horrific scent straight into Matt’s face. The awful stench made the Brotherhood officer release the limb he’d been trying to savage as he gagged while his nose burned.
Skunk grunted, cradling his left arm as he staggered back, blooding pouring from the wound.
‘Damn, that hurts… doesn’t feel like it broke anything, though, at least,’ he thought to himself. ‘Still, that was too close for comfort, and those claws look dangerous. Time to start finishing this.’
“Stay clear, everybody!” Skunk shouted at the crowd. Defender, sensing shit was about to get real, ushered the fighting away from the stage as best he could.
Once the Saints had gotten away from the stage, another foul odor exploded from Skunk, and Matt roared once more in disgust and pain. His werewolf form was impressive, but his superior sense of smell was turned against him.
“I’m going to snap your neck!!!” Matt howled, clawing at his nose and watering eyes in agony, only for a sharp, unbearable pain to erupt from his lower body as Skunk ran up and kicked him in the crotch.
A pathetic whine leaked out of Matt’s throat, but that was all he had time to do, as Skunk began to strike him repeatedly, each blow focused on his joints to disable him.
Matt howled furiously, and recovered enough to grab Skunk. He then flung him away like a rag doll, trying to smash his opponent against the floor. Skunk gasped out in pain as his breath was knocked out of his chest from the impact.
“You… are pretty strong,” Skunk admitted.
“I’m just getting started!” Matt declared, picking him up and slamming him into the floor. He then chucked Skunk at the wall.
He decided to take advantage of that, and twisted out of Matt’s grip by breaking one of his fingers. Then, as the werewolf was distracted and cried out in pain, Skunk scrambled to find purchase on the wall. He managed to cling to and scale the surface of the wall until he reached the catwalk hanging over the stage.
“Head’s up!” Skunk cackled, tearing a stage light from its spot and chucking it down at Matt. It hit him dead on, shattering and sending glass all over the stage which stabbed into the second-in-command’s feet-turned-paws.
“Come down here and face me like a man, coward!” Matt screamed furiously as he dodged another falling stage light that Skunk tossed at him. His screams turned even louder as he mis-stepped onto more jagged shards.
“Okay, then! Here I come!” Skunk shouted as he jumped off the catwalk into the air before delivering an axe-kick to the top of Matt’s head. Fangs cracked and blood spurted as Matt’s skull was violently smashed down into the stage.
Glass shards dug into both of them, but Skunk’s costume held up better than the exposed body of the lieutenant, and Skunk jumped to his feet before delivering a punch to Matt’s back, hurting his spine.
He then viciously kicked the werewolf in the ribs hard enough to cause him to flip over so he was facing up, eyes staring at the ceiling.
“When Maero gets his hands on you… you’re gonna pay!” Matt panted out, blood trickling from his lips.
“Maybe,” Skunk said, not believing it at all. He then stomped onto the wannabe rock star’s chest. It cracked a few ribs and drove some pieces of glass deeper into his flesh, which made the werewolf howl pitifully in pain. “But not before you tell me about this fucking mysterious shipment Maero is so hung up over.”
“Is that it?” Matt snorted in disbelief. “That’s why you attacked me?”
“Well, that, and you’re complete scum,” Skunk said. “We know about the women, Matt. We know about your little… ‘escapades’ with the ‘merchandise.’”
He then ground his boot harder into the werewolf’s chest, glowering with dark satisfaction as Matt yelped.
“I don’t like sex traffickers. Prostitution? That’s fine, so long as the hookers are willing and the pimps aren’t heavy handed. But you? Kidnapping and selling Heteromorph women into sex slavery… that is vile.”
“They’re just fucking animals!” Matt growled. “They’re not humans! What the fuck does it matter what I or anyone else does to them?!”
“Wrong answer,” Skunk snapped, and he popped a pellet off of his gauntlet before crushing it in his hands. A third foul odor immediately filled the air and caused Matt to dry heave. As bad as it smelled to a normal human, the scent was unbearable for someone with a canine’s acute senses. Skunk had specially tailored it to be utterly terrible for a dog or dog-like being with a powerful nose.
“Stop! Please stop!” Matt whimpered.
“Tell me what the fuck this shipment is!” Skunk demanded.
“It’s… it’s guns!” Matt cried out pitifully.
“Guns? That’s what Maero is so focused on?”
“It’s not just guns! It’s the people supplying Maero that’s got him all wound up!” Matt explained.
“Who? Who are his backers?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?!” the rocker spat, only to regret it as this time the boot slammed down on his crotch. “ARGH! I don’t know! But Maero is meeting them at the airport at midnight tonight to discuss business or some shit!”
“I see. Midnight, huh? How curious,” Skunk muttered. He then glanced at a clock on a wall nearby to check the time. “Eleven twenty-five… if I let Johnny drive we can be there in time.”
He then looked down at Matt, still in his wolf-form, and shook his head. “Well, I suppose that’s all I need to know. Thanks.”
He then kicked the member of Maero’s Inner Circle in the side of the head, knocking it to the side. With that done, Skunk stalked off, and for a moment Matt thought he was going to live.
However, that hope was dashed as through his bleary, blood-stained vision, Matt’s heart sunk as he saw Skunk standing next to a green-haired woman wearing the outfit of the concert’s backstage crew. She handed Skunk a device with a big red button that Matt immediately recognized, and he took it, before looking back at the Brotherhood officer.
“No… no, please!” Matt pleaded, but he saw no mercy in the eyes of the Saints’ leader. Only his own terrified and brutalized reflection in the lenses of the gas mask.
Skunk didn’t say a word, and simply pressed the big red button. The next thing Matt knew, his entire world was fire and pain as the pyrotechnics for the event went off, with his lupine head positioned directly above one of the firework’s tubes.
Matt Wolfe howled in pain, thrashing about as his fur ignited and his flesh melted, but he went ignored as Skunk and the woman simply walked out, leaving him to his fate.
He died screaming, just like so many of his victims.
