Reaper: Interlude #2-Merchants

"You cunt-waffles ready to party!?"

A chorus screams and yells of consent answered the crude call, almost drowning out the rhythmic pulse from the overly large speakers facing them.

"You sick fucks sound quieter than a shit-house rat's fart! I said, ARE YOU READY TO PARTY!?"

Once more the cacophony of jeers, cheers, and anything else produced my the human orifice rocked the 'party' grounds. Somehow it was even more powerful than the last, actually drowning out the speakers pulse and actually shaking the windows of the nearby abandoned building.

In response, large amounts of confetti and drugs were blown out of pre-placed cannons, showering the still yelling crowd and once again the crowd let loose a window rattiling roar of approval. Men and women dove towards the raining drugs, kicking and screaming to get just a handful. Fights broke out almost instantly, while others preferred to make love right there in the crowd, ignoring the hoots and wolf calls they got from the many looky-lews.

Atop the massive podium, standing above the rowdy men and women, stood the Merchant's leaders. Skidmark was front and center, crooked grin showing off his impressively chipped and yellow teeth, clearly having the time of his life. Standing behind him was his main girl Squealer, and his muscle Mush, with Squealer handling the giant speakers and Mush pushing off any lackey that got too close the podium.

Looking upon the fighting, the love making, and the drug taking, Skidmark felt a warmth in his heart.

This was his kingdom, and the many gang members his subjects. E88 and the ABB could go fuck themselves with a bladed dildo, he knew the shit they thought about his crew. At least he wasn't being taken out like a bitch from some unknown cape. And with Lung gone it was time for him to make his move, show those faggot-fucks just how fucked they were when the Merchant's came knocking.

So caught up in the 'beauty' of his 'kingdom' and 'plan', he never noticed the lean shadow works it's way into his 'base'.

The shadow moved through the derelict base with super-natural ease, stepping over the few 'guards' that drugged themselves into a stupor.

Quite a few times it had to hide within the shadowed corners, enhanced by the moonless night, as a few wondering members stumbled through the "base's" hallways. Twice it came across those who were relieving themselves in the hallway, quickly knocked out through jolt or cane.

Within a few moments it came across the room it had been searching for, the one with a whole two guards and rather heavy looking door. They weren't drunk or high, so it was a plus in favor of the Merchant's. Unfortunately, neither one of them had time to react before a reinforced cane struck them both in the windpipes. With a silent scream the guard fell to the ground before subcoming to the bliss of unconsciousness.

Stepping towards the door, the shadow cocked an ear, listening to the rhythmic pulse of the "music", trying to discern it's volume. Once assured that it's volume was sufficient, the shadow slammed into the door with a devastating front kick. The door cracked, the frame groaning in protest as the bolts on the hinges flew off and landed somewhere in the hall. With a creak that was too quiet to be heard, the door swiveled open, showing off the shadows treasure.

Dollar bills of all types, piled upon each other without a care, at least four feet tall. Surprisingly or unsurprisingly all the drugs were sorted out into organized piles and labeled in alphabetical order. Worryingly, the drug piles were taller than the shadow itself.

Setting foot into the room, the shadow ignored the drugs and retrieved it's moderately sized bag.

It was time to get to work.

"Alright you all motherfucking sitzpinklers! It's time to sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and listen to good old Papa Skidmark!" He flashed what he thought was a hollywood winning smile, "You think you stupid sacks of Siberian sheep shits can handle that?"

Yells of agreement perforated the podium as all those who had been fighting, loving, and or sleeping gave their loved leader their substance filled attention. Squealer turned down her speakers, giving her man her undivided attention, hanging on his every word.

Skidmark opened his arms in a grand gesture, this was his moment, and nothing could ruin it.

The shadow made it's way from the open 'vault' to the 'base' kitchen, it's black sack filled to the brim with hundreds of hundred dollar bills. Unfortunately the shadow couldn't take all of their money, that would require return trips, but the shadow could at least put a damper on their drug trade.

It would also serve as a way to make sure none knew that it had been here. After all, plenty of accidents occurred in the kitchen.

Especially when one leaves the stove on.

"We. Are. Motherfucking. Bad. Asses! Am I right you cock-sucking monkeys!?"

Cries of "Yeah!" and "Fucking Yes!" abounded, making the Merchant's leader's crooked grin grow once more. The crowd loved Skidmark, and he fucking loved himself.

"Do we care what that son of a whorish cuntsack Kaiser thinks!?"

"FUCK NO!"

"Do we care what that tentacle-rape faggot Lung and his fuck-toy Bakuda think!?"

"FUCK NO!"

"Do we care what those Protectorate cock-vultures think!?"

"FUCK NO!"

"That's fucking right, you fuckin' anus boils! We don't give shit what anybody thinks! We are the mother-fuckin' Merchants!"

With a twist of the handle, the stove began to emit the deadly gas, though the shadow prevented the flame from appearing. The shadow repeated the gesture with several other stoves that surrounded that rather impressively large kitchen. Many of the stoves weren't even connected to the gas-line, and the shadow wondered why they would have a broken stove in the first place.

Once the shadow was finished with it's makeshift sabotage, it was about to retrieve it's goods when the door to the kitchen slowly opened.

"Lung got his iguana ass kicked by some unknown and now the Asian Bitch Boyz are weaker than ever! Fuckin' Kaiser thinks that all that territory belongs to him, but we'll show that sad excuse for an ubersmench, that only real men can take what they want!"

"HELL YEAH!"

"And that ain't even half of the good shit," he pointed out into the crowd, "Because we ain't fucking stopping there!"

A red eyed thug, slowly lumbered into the kitchen, eyes blinking out of sync. He was dressed in ripped leather biker gear, a bottle and pipe sticking out of his back pockets.

The thug stopped his trek once he was in the kitchen and stared blankly at the sight before him as best he could with his bloodshot eyes and reduced mental capacity.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen was someone dressed in a black coat and matching pants. Black gloves and and boots covered his limbs, but his most noticeable aspect was the white mask with a red painted on smile.

"..."

"..."

The thug rubbed his eyes, "...Fuck I'm seeing Mimes again. I knew that scotch was spiked, I knew it and I drank it anyways," he turned back to the 'mime', "You're not real. I am."

With that the thug began his trek through the kitchen, mumbling to himself. He stopped before the door, not looking back as almost shouted, "And stay the fuck away from my girl you hear? I'm already competing with clowns, I don't need drug Mimes making my chances worse."

And then he was gone, leaving through the opposite door.

After a moment, the 'mime' shook it's head, tied a metallic cable to a can of gasoline, and made it's way out the opposite way the thug had left.

Gas lingered in the air.

"We are going to take this city by the balls! Show them what real badass can do!"

The screams and cheers were constant now, everyone lost in the tide of adrenaline and drugs of all kinds. Skidmark took a moment to lay good one on Squealer, who lived up to her name, squealing in delight when it was over.

"And when the city begs and pleads for us to stop, we will." he let out a cackling laugh, "And then we are going to bend her over and show her that we weren't even half way done with her!"

Skidmark soaked in the cheers of his people, his kingdom laid out before his eyes.

"We strike..."

Once the shadow was well away from the gas filled 'base', cable still trailing, it turned back and gave one final look back at the gathered Merchants.

It saw all the chaos, the drugs, the alcohol, the diseases that they spread without a care.

It looked on at this kingdom of sin and all it's glory.

And like the bolt of Zeus it struck.

"at Daw-AAAAAGHAAGDFHDDGSAAFD!"

The base of the Merchants erupted into a tower of flame, the shockwave throwing the Merchant leaders off of their podium and into the tumbling crowd.

Glass flew through the air, striking gang members left and right. Many others were trampled or slammed into neighboring buildings, unconscious before they hit the floor.

Bones were broken and shattered, skin cut and bruised, some even catching fire from being to close to the blaze. Pure panic had set in and now the once united druggies were running to and fro, trying to escape from the sudden destruction of their 'paradise'.

None helped their pitiful leader as he lay upon those unfortunate enough to have served as his cushion. His arms were broken, his legs in pain, and he had glass peppering his back.

But no wound hurt as much as seeing his kingdom burn before his very eyes.