Chapter 1: A Weapon of Mass Destruction

The firm grip of his flaming hands held his savage weapon throughout his trek through what was left of the hell he destroyed. His blazed face disfigured after many encounters with the true enemy, which caused the cluster of the past few days to have occurred. Skin, flesh disappeared from the fires of anguish. An ear ripped from the irascible reign of his own collective mind. Armour shredded from bullets of despair and desperation, causing mayhem of gashes and wounds. Scars. Reminder of the damnation he had been obligated to create, out of his own duty, in order to achieve what was right.

He built himself this way. No, they built him this way.

Dolour was an unimaginable concept within his limited range of perception. He never experienced such a feeling. It was all them. It was all their faults. Konrad lied through his own teeth… if it were indeed his own. No concern now. Everything had already been done and dusted. The sacrifices made had ceased their own torments. The punishment was worth it. No more would be dead now, the perished can't cause any more substantial mutilation. Their actions of desecration have led to their own slaughter, it was inevitable. The affiliation of the heinous factions that they generated long before the arrival of his presence, was unsurmountable. Until he came into their lovely and luxurious pictures of lull. Neutralization, from his fatal faculty of his own disposal, is what they deserved.

He did what he had to do. For the greater good.

The detriment of the entire situation was taken in... something vaguely resembling stride. What was a moral compass? All he lacked, what was left, was direction. Purpose. Nothing left to orchestrate plans of preponderant destruction. That were essential to complete his original mission, of course. Trekking through the silent alleys ways of carcasses, it only seemed like home was certain within the next 24 hours. No… he remembered now. His newfound purpose in this place.

Dubai as a city itself was not large in scale. It took less than three days to tear the whole thing down, whether by choice or by sine qua non, was quite an accomplishment. Walker didn't consider the implications of this. What was the point in wasting valuable energy? The word was never going to get out. Riggs had passed through the flames of agony. No one can survive drought in buildings of decaying brimstone. All the soldiers, American, traitors, local inhabitants or otherwise, dissolved with their hopeless intentions.

So long as the innocent American civilians would never be in a state of terror of war against the Arabic nations with their strongest ally Russia, they would live in presumable peace and harmony. So long as valuable possessions won't ever be in the hands of the evil and foul... Russians and the Arabic. Reputation be damned. Those who did not deserve to die should not be punished under his own actions. They matter. The seldom non-combatants of Dubai however, those who executed under his own strength and unfathomable power, justified the means. For the greater good. It's where his talents lie, after all.

'You are still a good person.' And he'll never forget it.

His reliable AA12 can't let him down. His relationship with an inanimate object creating animate actions of awful acts was quite absorbing. The connection of his bullets piercing through their skulls were smoothly easy, where they accordingly resided to. No matter if demons managed to resurface from the depths of this abandoned wasteland... if not already. The rotting cadavers hanging from the ropes can come back to life for all their energy, he'll put them right down again. Like he did with Konrad. Anything is possible, if survival at this point can be achieved through worthy actions. The silence of his recently-acquired surrendered men was acceptable, and understandable. Defeat can be quite a blow on one's morale. Walker had never experienced such a feeling... one of recent memory. The twenty soldiers of the Damned 33rd would most definitely have questionable thoughts over his actions, but they knew better than to speak up. They fell in line. At least he managed to evacuate someone from this hellhole. Twenty is a bigger number than zero. And best of all, they didn't seek any alternative notions that compromise his own beliefs. They couldn't see the bigger picture. A successful partnership. Their demise is what they pursued. Lugo, Adams. The names aren't relevant. They dreamed of the sheer indulgence of a perfect world. This was the closest and best possible option, they were too blindsided by their own morals to see it, the imbeciles.

He was the hero he was always destined to be. It's never too late to be the hero, no matter what that disfigurement claimed. He was never real.

The destruction and mayhem he caused… that he was forced to cause, out of his own good will, was on display to the howling wind of time. The attachment of worthless land is, presumably, still valued highly to the deceased local inhabitants. If it's drought they want… Those of the past, won't live to see their beloved city ruined to ashes. At least no more wasted finance will be pushed into this gargantuan dusk heap. Is there any point to rebuilding? There's no time to consider that question, it doesn't matter. He decided to let the sand decide its fate, if it hadn't already. No sandstorms in... viewing sight. The perfect weather condition. Conditions that may not be stated the same for Walker. Not that it is of a concern.

Crying.

Wailing of an adolescent rings through the sky. He pondered the possibilities of the situation. Refugees were still in the area. Refugees meant camps. Perhaps there was still a source of water that lived beyond its fate. The inhabitants won't for much longer.

Pause... what was that different noise?

The noises of mechanical engineering. Army vehicles began rolling from the blurry horizon. "Take cover, quickly!" He shouted silently among his advanced squadron, gesturing towards the moving camouflage of Humvees. More fodder. Only in this instance, their suicidally throwing themselves at him on purpose. Their attempting to take him down? He's that much of a threat? He gripped his weapon with hands of steel in vexation. After all he had done for them, they hold an incomprehensible grudge? The good he did for the masses and masses of Americans that have never experienced a second of living through his punishment, to achieve results, is all for moot to them? They can't learn to accept his choices.

Walker wasn't pleased, to observe the least. How dare they march into his newly claimed lands to teach him a lesson! Is this about morals? Perhaps, he supposed, that this is their immediate actions after his logical decision to eliminate every last soldier that would not bow down to his command, to prove their loyalty for the greater good. The unions of derangement associate themselves as the good guys, but make decisions as the manifestation of the devil. How hypocritical of them! If they decide to refuse and adapt to the good will of his own, then they warrant themselves to perish along with the rest of them! They deserve death!

It wasn't to be the aura of disaster of a one-man army once possible. If it's the integration of their lives into annihilation they want… its total obliteration they deserve.

The vehicles eventually stopped next to fallen pillars and distinct burnt debris. The more he notices, the atmosphere appeared lustreless in colour and contrast, everything absorbed into shades of grey. Smoke from the fumes of extermination. The sturdy soldiers still soundly sane were confused, as they attempted to apprehend the chaos invoked around them… and him. He will stay determined, that defeat will never occur.

An off-guard flank headshot from Walker sparked another destructive battle, one that may be his last. Although, highly unlikely for an unstoppable demolishing demon capable of such devastation that humankind have never glimpsed. The sharp return of fire from numerous US soldiers, traitors, which it wasn't enough for two of them, as they perished from Walker's own hand. A 33rd soldier managed a headshot on a heavy, targeted by the rest of the crew, while Walker quickly vaulted over his cover, managed to one-shot a member of the panicking unit, as he slid into more cover. "One's fucking dead!"

The gore from the spray of bullets that erased the head of the lieutenant of the guilty unit is a part of his rationality. A typical centre of his operations. At the very least, his actions have purpose. What would stopping him accomplish? Is this the only way to fill their own self-sense of validation, that they can achieve something in this ruthless world?

…maybe they're just following orders. Their ambitions are more futile than their attempts to shoot a weapon. More corpses fell to their demise, soaked from the agony of sand that has taken so many before. He felt… something was unusually wrong. This was too elementary. Academy levels elementary. "Die fucking rookies!" Another head blown to shreds. As a 33rd grounded a sniper, walker swiftly and silently bolted towards an unsuspecting rifleman, caving into his head with his AA12, following with macabre shots with the end of the stock, moulding a horrific sight from face of a fallen man… before making sure of his demise with a couple of shots into a heap of mess on the ground. "I'm killing for my government you fucker! Why won't you learn!?"

The sorrow moans of a failed and shameful sniper wept through the dusty sky, as he attempted to slither away in pain and defeat from the monster of Dubai. He didn't get as far as a metre, before being crushed by blows to the back of his head, hit after hit after hit after hit, before a pulverizing puncture through his skull, his entire head exploding in a scene of sickening gore and unspeakable rage. "Stay fucking dead!" As Walker panted with glaring eyes of vexation, the rest of the 33rd battalion stood there. Emotionless. Simply observing the process of human lives in this city taking its dreadful course. There wasn't a single pip of protest from anyone. Obeying simple actions with no intention of mutiny leads to a much more pleasant day. Their predecessors couldn't be as heeding. They knew better than to speak over your commanding officer.

…at least that's how Walker sees it.

The atmosphere went eerily silent after his latest execution. He only stood there, staring at the headless corpse, before slowly moving his head up, stern glare surveying the distance. He could notice a distorted handheld transceiver picking up more voices. "H-hello? Is… the-there…? H-heard shot- fired! W-Walker? Are you there-"

He smashed the metal into rubble. "Stay out of my fucking city… I have people to save."

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AN: I appreciate feedback on this story, if you don't mind. Thanks for reading.