Chapter 10: In Sheep's Clothing

Fox pulled up outside the Yellowflag in the black Mercedes that he was so often chauffeured around in, though now he was sat firmly in the driver's seat, the window down. Lucille was leaning against the wall of the bar when he arrived, the Steyr hanging from her shoulder and her handgun back in its holster. She had donned her beret, now too. Despite her flowing hair, she looked basically the same as she had done when she first arrived here.

"Well, don't you look lovely," Fox mocked her. Considering his eccentrically stylish fashion sense, he was in no position to judge. "I take it you're ready to go?"

"Almost," she told him. "Just waiting on Revy. She's finishing her drink inside."

"Of course she is," Fox muttered. "I don't imagine she'll be too pleased when she sees me driving the car."

"Oh, she already knows. Can't say she was happy about it but as long as you have the information we're looking for, she'll play along. So what did you turn up exactly? You were vague on the phone."

"Nothing concrete," Fox told her. "Then again, nothing is. But this is as close as I've gotten to pinning down the Wolf. My people tell me he'll be in a village in the country in an hour or so."

"Why?"

"Well, all the adjoining villages and camps have been wiped out in the last few days," Fox went on. "And if my reports are correct, they all belong to the same group of maniacs. The Gold Legion, they call themselves. 'Legion' is a bit generous, considering they're a glorified terrorist cell with basically no advanced technology or weapons. They didn't stand a chance."

"Cheerful," Lucille joked. Revy emerged from the bar with both her guns drawn. She couldn't have made it more obvious if she tried that she was only going along with this because she had to. She did not exactly see eye-to-eye with Fox, given that he played a pivotal role in Rock's downfall not too long ago. She hopped into the back of the car without a word. Lucille joined Fox in the front. They took off immediately, wasting no time.

"So where ya taking us, Fox?" Revy asked as they neared the outskirts of the city.

"Ah, well, we'll be stopping off in a lovely little village out in the countryside. Beautiful place, I'm told. Supposed to be divine during the summer. Pity it's currently occupied by terrorists." Revy grunted.

"At least I'll get to shoot someone." Lucille took the Steyr in her hands and made sure it was ready for action. Her encounter with Apollo had left her both drained and stressed. She wanted nothing more than to take her agitation out on unsuspecting foes. If this place was as overrun as Fox claimed, they would have plenty of people to shoot at. Unless Wolf got there first. They were less than forty minutes on the road when the car came to a stop on a muddy backroad. The huts and shacks nearby were primitive in appearance, but there did not seem to be any sign of life. It was raining, now, too.

"Do try and hurry, ladies," Fox told them. "I'll keep the engine running." The two of them left the car and carefully started towards the centre of the village. The low-hanging grey clouds made it difficult to see clearly, but it was obvious something had happened here. The walls of the huts on either side of them were riddled with bullet holes and many of the tents had been torn to shreds. As they ventured further in, they could spot several bodies, broken and bloodied in the pasty mud that almost engulfed them.

"Fuck me," Revy exclaimed. "Pussies didn't know what hit them."

"What is he up to?" Lucille asked quietly. The clouds were beginning to dissipate now, making it easier for them to see. What was more, the body count rose considerably with their new field of vision. Before, there were probably seven or eight dead. Now, easily twenty bodies caught their eyes, scattered around the ruins of the town. They spotted figures up ahead now. They looked to be arguing. No, nothing so innocent. The man closest to them made a jerky movement before the other he had been talking to fell to his knees, a knife protruding from his throat. The one who had killed him did not turn, but they knew who it was. The Wolf was recognisable from his jacket. The knife, too, which was more like a sword, was the same one he had been using since he first arrived in Roanapur. He ripped it from the dying man's throat and sheathed it on his back once more. Revy and Lucille came to a stop, not sure how to proceed. They had found him, sure, but something was not right. They still did not know quite why he was out here, nor were they sure how he would react upon spotting them.

"Wolfy!" Revy called instinctively then. The assassin turned to them slowly, his eyes opening with realisation once he saw them. The top of his hair, which had always been longer than the rest, was no longer gelled upwards, now hanging over his forehead. His mouth and nose were also covered by a black breathing mask. It was the same one he had been wearing during his final confrontation with Sif, though Lucille did not know that. Lucille took a few steps forward.

"You look like you've been through the ringer," she told him with a smile she had no way of knowing if he reciprocated or not.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, his voice made deeper and more abrasive by the filter of the mask. Revy was a few feet further back than Lucille, a strange expression of what might have been disgust on her face. She could not rip her eyes from the assassin. They all began looking around them erratically at the sound of feet thundering on the ground. There couldn't have been more than four men heading towards them. Wolf cracked his knuckles and started towards the source of the noise. "Oh, you girls are about to see something special." Before Lucille could get a shot in, the assassin had engaged the first of the men to appear. The unassuming terrorist was disarmed and killed with his own gun in seconds. The second man had his neck snapped by Wolf. The third was violently beaten against the wall of the adjacent hut, blood leaking from the gaping wound in the back of his head. Lucille raised her Steyr, ready to take down the fourth and final attacker, but she was too slow. Once Wolf had grabbed the man, she could not risk hitting him, despite how much she thought it might knock some sense into him. He threw the man to the ground before disarming him, proceeding to grab him by the jaw and plant his knee into his back. What followed was a sickening crunch as the terrorist's head was almost torn from his body. Wolf did not even acknowledge the bewildered expressions of the two women, instead taking his Desert Eagle in one hand and looking around him for any signs of trouble. There were none. The village had been effectively wiped out.

"What the fuck was that?!" Revy asked, walking forward until she was between Lucille and the assassin. Wolf turned and frowned at her.

"What?!" he asked. "Why do you give a shit what I just did?"

"It's not just them, Wolf," Lucille told him. "The other villages? The camps? You're just taking hordes of these people out like it's nothing."

"So what?" he retorted. "They're junkies. Hopped up, racist, genocidal freaks who don't deserve to live. I'm doing them a fucking service by wiping them out. I'm doing everyone a service." Revy grunted derisively before her expression became sour. She frowned at him, her eyes flashing wickedly for a moment.

"Do you realise how much you remind me of Kane right now?" she asked him. He almost recoiled at that comparison. But they had no time to argue. A truck pulled up at the far end of the village, several armed men in the back. Lucille cocked her rifle and took cover from them behind one of the ruined huts.

"You two get inside somewhere and sort this shit out," she ordered them. "I'll hold them off."