A/N: My apologies for the lack of updates recently, and for the massive edit I did in the previous chapter - long story short, I swapped the drivers around, from Gat to Pierce, and I believe I changed the car model from his Stilheto to Gat's Hammerhead. Just a minor change. I just felt it'd be better for the overall story, as you'll see from the way the chapter unfolds. And I apologize in advance, as this chapter is going to be something of a cliff-hanger... No spoilers here :P Enjoy!
It'd been about an hour or two after Gat'd asked Shaundi to take out that hoe, and during that time him and Pierce'd had a rather heated discussion. It seems Pierce didn't appreciate being cock-blocked, and Gat didn't appreciate him being a little bitch via questioning his decision. Pierce'd grumbled something about Gat being a macho-bravado twat, to which Gat turned upon him and snapped;
"Excuse me?"
Other than his knife, he was scarcely armed. Unlike Pierce, whom never went anywhere without at least a pistol.
Regardless, Pierce was getting sick of this. "Yo, Gat. What the fuck's your problem? Why you beefin' with a brother for getting' laid?"
To which Gat responded via holding up a hand in a warding off gesture. "Listen, man. I really don't give a fuck where you stick your scrawny dick." Pierce opened his mouth to retort but Gat continued; "Besides, that chick was way outta your league."
Pierce glared at him, then sighed, softening. "Y'know, I get it. You lost your girl, and trust me, I feel for ya."
Gat narrowed his eyes, jabbing a finger at Pierce. "Don't. You have no fucking right bringing her up." He replied icily, stepping back and continued pacing.
Pierce spread his arms, palms splayed. "What the fuck is your problem with me, Gat?"
He would've replied with a dismissive "go fuck yourself" if he hadn't been cut off by a deafening explosion. A cluster of Saints emerged from the rec rooms, one of them removing his headphones and shouting;
"What was that?" Looking between Pierce and Gat for direction.
The two of them shrugged, before hastily scrambling for the guns kept in the Boss' weapon cache, hidden within the office adjacent to the main atrium. There wasn't much to go around, but thankfully most of the Saints had the sense of mind to bring their own guns, much like Pierce had. Unfortunately this meant Gat was stuck with a lousy pistol, one that was infamous for jamming easily. He begrudgingly tucked it into his back pocket, for now. It looked like he'd be using his lucky knife – the same one he'd used to take the upper hand, after being shot by Green all those years ago.
Another explosion followed, this one rocking the hideout to its' core. Gat grinned, keen to lead the charge.
Pierce gripped his arm. "Woah, wait. You're not going out there with just those, are you?" He asked.
Gat rolled his eyes. "Yes, mom." He snapped, barging past to catch up with the rest of the Saints.
Pierce shifted from foot to foot. "You think we should call in the Boss?" He asked.
"Nah, there'd be no fun." He shrugged, waving Pierce off.
"What about Shaundi?" Pierce asked.
"Girl can hold her own. She'll be fine." Gat said, then paused. "Since when did you give a shit about her anyway?" He asked.
Pierce hissed. "The hell I do. I'm just thinking about back-up, man. What if we get swamped?" He asked.
Gat shrugged again, smirked as he rounded the corner to the elevator. "Then we go out in style." He said, as he pushed the button on the elevator.
A few seconds later, the doors slid open, and as he looked down, he sprung away, upon registering the single grenade in the middle.
"Move!" He yelled, ducking and covering, just as it exploded, sending metal shrapnel slicing through the air.
Luckily Gat had mostly shielded Pierce from the bang, yet both of their ears were still ringing. It was a miracle neither of them had lost a limb.
"Looks like the elevator's out of use." Pierce grumbled, helping Gat up.
Gat winced, probing his lower back and noticed a chunk of metal embedded in the soft flesh. He tried straightening up, yet that only caused it to tear deeper.
"Holy shit, Gat.. You needa sit out, man."
Gat merely shoved him back. "Fuck that. I ain't gonna sit on my ass and wait for them to come to me." He staggered past, trooping up the stairs, despite the agony that surged up and down his spine, rattling through his body.
A handful of Masako had already broken through the line it seemed, as some came stomping down the steps, rifles at the ready. Pierce aimed at the guy's chest, spraying half a clip of bullets, until the soldier fell over.
"Aim for the head! You're wasting bullets like that." Gat hollered from the bottom of the steps as Pierce continued to clear a path.
"Would you quit complainin' and hurry the fuck up? I can only hold them off for so long!" He called back.
Gat staggered up the steps, grunting and grumbled "Bitch, bitch, bitch."
Pierce managed to usher Gat into the garage next door, throwing the bolt behind the steel doors, buying them some time against the next wave of attackers. Gat propped himself up against one of the many cars on standby. Sometimes he felt like a spy being in here, with the metal-plated walls and cold stone floor, everything meticulously polished. He squinted through the gaps in the garage door and managed to see his Hammerhead parked on the next block over. All across his field of vision, were criss-crossing projectiles slicing through the air. There game a bright flash, followed by a thunderous explosion that was so powerful it smacked against the steel shutters, throwing up spittles of dirt and gravel. Gat recoiled, rubbing his eyes from the brightness.
Pierce began fitting a fresh clip into his SMG, barely glancing at Gat. "That'll teach you for being an asshole." He replied, smirking.
Gat's eyes narrowed on Pierce, sizing him up. "Shut up and gimme your gun." Gat demanded, reaching out to snatch the SMG, but found he could barely lift it without wincing. Like fuck he'd show weakness around the cocky lil son-ova-bitch.
Pierce clutched his weapon closer to his chest. "Hell, no way, man. Can you even aim straight with that thing lodged inside you?" He replied.
Gat was tempted to both roll his eyes and draw his gun.
"Wait. Gat, how good is your aim?" Pierce asked. Gat blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation.
A loud thud sounded on the metal door and he shrugged. "You kidding? I'm like the Jet Lee of firearms. Why?" He asked.
Pierce nodded over to a set of rusted spiral staircases set into the corner of the room. Usually it was hidden well behind workbenches and steel sheets, seeing as it was abit of an eyesore - at least in comparison to the rest of the room. Carlos had insisted they keep it around in case of emergencies. This seemed like as good as any.
"Get to the roof. Maybe you can pick some of them off." Pierce added, helping Gat, as he tried to haul himself off the bonnet of a gorgeous Voxel. Pierce wasn't certain what was most disarming; the fact that Gat was listening to him, or trusting Pierce in the first place to come up with a plan.
"Why, what you gunna do?" Gat asked, wincing as he say up, eyeing Pierce suspiciously. Gat checked how much ammo he had on the pistol – not much.
"I'll go meet the Boss, see if we can round up ourselves a crew and get her the hell outta this town." Pierce replied.
Gat's eyes darkened; he growled. "She told me there was no way our luck would last this long – guess she was right." Gat grunted, then nodded back. "I wouldn't be surprised if our little friend, Dex went and sent us these bastards, personally. Maybe as a warning."
Gat leveled his eyes at Pierce. Could it be possible his little Ultor spy had betrayed them? Or maybe Pierce had managed to cut a deal with Dex at some point... Or maybe this whole time, Pierce'd been working undercover. Like Troy had done. Before Pierce could respond, the grating sound of helicopter blades filled the air, silencing them both. Every second they spent dallying was another second wasted. Pierce helped Gat to his feet, leading him up to the roof, exchanging his SMG with Gat, whom was keen to make himself useful in defending his boys.
Another gust of wind swept over the building, spraying dust and gravel in his face. Gat staggered across the roof, taking cover behind a large air ventilation unit. He glanced down, and instantly he recognized the hapless foot-soldiers as the Masako – Ultor's finest, decked out in Kevlar armor, riot helmets and rifles. He grunted, watching a single helicopter swoop down, inches off the tarmac, as the men began pouring out, and clashing with a wave of purple-clad Saints. Gat felt his throat clench. There was no doubt about it – the Saints were easily outnumbered by this lot. He narrowed his eyes, his vision fixed on a speckle of dark spots looming in the distance. No. It couldn't be, could it? More? It looked like a whole swarm of them, combing the skies.
Pierce had drawn a similar conclusion, after having scrambled back down, peeking through the shutters. His entire body almost seized up with fear, until he remembered that he had a job to do, and began shaking the tension from his fingertips, exhaling until he was calm. He gripped his weapon tighter, squeezed his eyes shut, and banished all thoughts of failure from his mind, allowing an otherworldly calm to settle over him.
Gat was only vaguely aware of movement around him, as a handful of other Saints had had the sense to flee to the roof top before him. Including a stubby, scruffy little kid called Oscar, with thick framed glasses, and a face smudged with dirt. He was scuttling about, trying to keep low, with a wooden crate strapped to his back. Gat overheard the clattering of beer bottles, and it was only when he looked up that he spotted a pair of his boys carrying bundles of the bottles, stuffed with rags. He smiled to himself, proud of his mates. Oscar dumped the crate, shuffling up beside Gat, just as eager to blow these motherfuckers up.
Oscar gave an unnervingly large, full-toothed grin. "Can't wait to see these lovelies put to good use." He said, softly giggling to himself. Gat arched an eyebrow, then leaned over, taking a peek inside the crate. Instantly, he recognized the black and yellow symbol upon the bundles of fireworks – the Ronin Dragon.
Gat chuckled and gave Oscar's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Brother, I like the way you think."
Oscar had been setting up a stand, fitting a slender rocket onto the rusted wire frame. He began to take aim. It was a miracle he could see a damn thing, with his hoodie so tightly wrapped around his large-set shaven head. He rolled his shoulders forward, his big green eyes darting about, scanning the streets, waiting for the right moment, and the right angle. He licked his lips like a snake. His movements were jittery, his hands shaking as he prepared to take out an approaching Masako van as it careened down the back roads of Shivington.
Gat glanced passed Oscar, and saw that the other two were lined up beside him, preparing a large batch of Molotov cocktails. Gat beamed with pride, bringing his weapon up and ready, and began raining down a hail of bullets at the invading Masako, taking out a large chunk of the first wave. The screech of car tires set his teeth on edge. Oscar sat up, shuffled closer as the van thundered down the alley, that lead to the blood-stained parking lot just outside the hideout. All it took was a single spark. The rocket went spiraling out from beneath his grasp, an array of color, light and a shrill shrieking noise, until the rocket hit its' target dead on. Gat snapped his head towards the other two. "C'mon! Just throw the damn liquor!" He bellowed.
They fumbled but made up for it with their aim, sending the bottles crashing down upon the advancing Masako. The fire set up a brief barrier between the two front lines, allowing for some breathing room. The same couldn't be said for Pierce.
Pierce could hear the bangs and shouts on the other side of the door, snapping his eyes open, as he drew in a deep, steadying breathe, before throwing the bolt back, and kicking the door open. He scanned the dark dank hallway, checking it was clear, his pistol at the ready. He rounded the corner, his shoulders prickling in anticipation. He gulped, getting into position behind the main door that lead back into the church room. Something tickled his nostrils – the smell of smoke and ash stung his eyes, and suddenly he was gripped with pure terror. Before he could think too hard on it, he squashed his fear and jerked the flea-bitten door open.
His eyes were assaulted by a bright light. Flashbag! Damnit. He shielded his eyes, jumping clear, his ears ringing. He managed to duck behind the nearest pew, feeling the shaking of the wood seep into his bones, as each bullet splintered the wood even further, sending shards flying, getting caught in his doo rag. Pierce managed to blink away the dust, long enough to get a glimpse of the impressive line-up of Masako. He sighed, positioning himself under cover, pressed up against the pew.
No way was he getting' smoked.
One by one, Pierce managed to take them out, springing towards him in groups of three. Pierce had plenty of practice – he often timed himself for how long it'd take him to reload. Suffice it to say, he was faster than the rest of them. Perhaps even faster than the Boss, even if his aim was mediocre at best. He could see a second wave inching their way behind the first. He clenched his teeth shut, focusing on taking out each soldier as fast as possible, ignoring the pang in his chest to see each one go down. After the fourteenth soldier, there came an alarming click as he pulled the trigger.
"Shit!" He hissed, scrambling out from his spot, leaping for cover behind the pew adjacent to his. He winced, as a bullet grazed his forearm, drawing blood. He had to get to the door, but it was already filling with more and more Masako. He was doomed.
Gat and Oscar were doing everything they could to keep the Masako at bay. Oscar was anxious, being very sparing with his fireworks, unlike Gat, whom was happy to lay into the approaching soldiers.
Without looking up from the slaughter, Gat yelled; "Why don't you just blow up the entrance? They're getting in! Blow them the fuck away, already!"
Oscar seemed conflicted. "I know! But, I can't just go firing at our own building! It'd be like shooting yourself in the foot – literally!" He said, miming a building collapsing, followed by a fireball-sound affect. Gat gaped at him, unable to hide his minor disgust at this crude representation – he shook it off, conceding that it would be a dumbass move.
"We need to flush them out!" Gat replied. "Any ideas?"
Oscar shrugged, before one of the Molotov-making Saints pointed to an alleyway on the opposite side of the parking lot. He recognized it as Shaundi's van, and he wanted to fist-pump the air in triumph, until he noticed the smoke and flames billowing out from the car.
Pierce felt shivers run up and down his spine, the gunfire rattling his teeth. His options were narrowing; soon he'd have no choice at all. Either he'd need backup, or he'd have to try and wrestle a gun from one of the soldiers and hope he didn't get pumped through with more holes than a sponge. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself in a happier time – back when him and his sister, play fighting with sticks in the park. Surely, it couldn't be that hard. He'd seen Gat do it a bunch of times in a fight. But then again, Pierce wasn't nearly as strong as Gat. Fast, yes. Powerful, no. Maybe, if he managed to sneak behind the pews, and jump one of them, or trip them, maybe he could snag a rifle from them. He glanced around for the nearest unsuspecting target. Maybe he could jack one from one of the bodies. Assuming he didn't get caught in the line of fire. He was running out of options, and it didn't look like he was going to last much longer on his own – the pew he was using for cover was quickly disintegrating.
He swallowed a rising slither of bile, lunged across the space, snatching up the handle of one of the rifles. He yelped as a bullet punched through his shoulder, splattering blood up his face. He recoiled behind the pew, his arm shaking from the shock as he checked the ammo on his new weapon. He wondered if he could even grip it with his latest injury. He could feel tears bead in his eyes, but he bit his lip and pushed it from his mind. He was a soldier too, damnit. He swiveled back up onto his knees, and in short quick bursts managed to fell sweep his gun across the room, ducking as soon as one of the Masako began tweaking their aim to just the right position. He let out a gust of air, his pulse thumping like crazy through his adrenalin fueled haze. His shoulder sizzled in pain, agonizing throbs protesting as he hefted his weapon again, and was surprised to see the Masako already dispersing. He wanted to cheer, and scream all sorts of taunts at them, until he realized that someone else was fighting their way through. He felt like throwing the gun down, running out and dancing for joy, but he knew better – it could very well be even more of a war zone out there. He helped clear out the rest of the room, before rising on stiff legs. Once the door was clear, he realized just who had come to his aid. His jaw nearly hit the floor.
"Shaundi?"
She grinned and gave his shoulder a playful punch, not realizing it was the one that'd been shot. Pierce winced, but she seemed unaware.
"O c'mon, Pierce. Don't look so shocked. Couldn't let you boys have all the fun, huh?" Her smiled faded when she realized how bloodied and haggard he looked. "You look like you been through hell," she cooed, guiding him outside.
It was so surreal. The quietness, after all the chaos from the explosions, and gunfire. And the stillness. There was a monstrous puddle that carpeted the front entrance, as well as a handful of upturned police cars, and shredded remains of Masako vans. Shaundi grimaced as the blood seeped into sneakers, trying her best to step around the puddle. Pierce tried to not trip over the corpses that littered the parking lot.
Meanwhile Oscar and the other two Saints began helping Gat down from the roof, making use of the awning over the theater entrance. Gat and Shaundi slapped palms, before she gasped at the chunk of metal sticking out of his side.
"Uh, Gat, that really does not look healthy." She said. Gat waved her off, and Pierce added;
"I told the motherfucker that, but he ain't ever listen."
Gat narrowed his eyes at them, glancing between the two of them. "Look, if I say I'm fine, I'm fine." He then pointed upwards. "I think our main concern should be those assholes comin' and bombing the shit outta us." He slurred. He felt an odd wave of dizziness sweep over him.
"Why're they coming after us again? I thought the Boss made that deal with Gryphon, right, Pierce?" She asked.
Pierce shrugged. "Don't look at me. I wasn't there when that shit went down. I'm only goin' off what the Boss told me." Pierce and Shaundi exchanged looks. All of a sudden, Shaundi, Pierce, Oscar and the other Saints' eyes were all on Gat.
He blinked. "What?" He snapped. Pierce went toe to toe with Gat, squaring up to him.
"Well, maybe the bitch told you something about that deal she didn't tell us, huh? You bein' her favorite." Pierce challenged.
Gat's eyes lit with amusement, giving him a dangerous bad-boy smirk, before shoving Pierce back. "Like shit she did. And don't you talk about the Boss like that, ya dickless douche. I earned my place here, way before you did." He growled, shifting on his unsteady feet.
Shaundi managed to wedge herself between the two, before anything could escalate "Look," she began. " This is stupid. It's probably a different branch of Ultor. Like that Mexican one, Pierce was talking about." She said.
"Yeah?" Pierce began, voice dripping with sarcasm. "And how d'you think those bastards figured out where we was, or what our plans were, huh?"
"Someone probably tipped them off," one of the Molotov-wielding Saints added.
There came a long pause, everyone avoiding each other's gaze, as the fight went out of each of them, leaving a chilling tenseness amongst them.
Finally, Shaundi broke the silence. "I guess the question is, who."
"If it indeed, is them." Oscar added.
Shaundi peeked up at Pierce, whom began rubbing his temples, trying to ease the frustration away. He got it; no one trusted him. After all, he was the one with the mysterious contact - but there was no way he was gunna get Lex wrapped in this anymore than she already was. He'd promised her. Nonetheless, their lack of trust was a huge insult to all the work he'd been doing, how he'd busted his nuts for these ungrateful bastards. He could feel anger and disgust broil inside of him. They could all take the piss, and point to him when the chips were down – he'd prove them wrong. He was just as dedicated to his crew as any of them. He'd show them.
There came a distant shrill sound, and before Pierce could register what was happening, Gat had tackled him and Shaundi, crashing behind a dumpster. The ground shook, cracking all around as a fireball rose up near the entrance, tossing any remaining vehicles in the air like confetti, twisting and singing the metal as smoke filled the air, hailing down chunks of debris. Pierce managed to clamp his hands over his ears, as the deafening tremors rattled around inside his skull. Shaundi let out a shriek, her teeth clenched shut, a trickle of blood descending from each ear. Gat winced and shakily tried to stand up. Oscar was behind them, the sleeves of his hoodie coated in flames as he ran 'round, trying to pat them out. There were no signs of the other two – Pierce cursed. All that flammable liquid tied around their waist must've gone up quickly, as was evident by their burning bodies, that convulsed , before slumping to ground, roasting alive. They'd died in the arms of the Saint's hideout. Pierce's cheeks were wet with tears, and it wasn't until Gat slapped him that the rest of his senses came into focus. Gat was trying to tell him. About his ride. And how he knew for a fact, that the trunk was overflowing with weapons, from brass knuckles, to RPGs. Plenty to fend off these motherfuckers. Thrusting Gat's keys into his palm and telling him to go. Shaundi taking Gat's arm and helping him up. Gat waved him off
"Go!" He yelled.
Pierce managed to regain his composure, hoisting himself onto his feet, then turning and stumbling over to where Gat's car sat, 'round the corner. Pierce clutched the rifle close to him, the ringing in his ears gradually fading. He could feel a shadow creep over him, and he glanced up at the hulking helicopter. He sprinted full pelt to the nearest cover, sandwiching himself between a pair of buildings. His heart pounded, chest rising and falling as he regained his breath. His legs ached, his kneecaps felt like they were going to burst, as he slumped against the wall, hoping the shadows would keep him hidden. He idly wondered if the missiles on that helicopter were heat-seeking, as he shuffled deeper. Gat had said that his Hammerhead was parked a block away, and in peeking down the alleyway, he managed to spot the gleaming blue hood, with the gold spinners. Pierce didn't know whether to smile or roll his eyes – typical over-compensatory Gat.
Pierce fumbled for the keys, which was hard given how his pockets were slick with blood. He groaned, wiping his keys on the passenger's seat, then shoved them into the ignition. His head was still reeling from the toxins. He cursed under his breathe, as he stamped on the accelerator, and began speeding through the mid-afternoon traffic, zig-zagging between the lanes.
Any of Pierce's earlier dizziness was hammered out, as he and a pair of Saints he'd picked up, managed to liberate some deadly-looking rifles from the corpses of dead Masako. Pierce admired their practicality. Even though they both couldn't stop boasting about it, and kept pestering Pierce with questions, like why was he bleeding, where were they going, when were they going to kill Dex, who was going to Mexico, ect. It was a relief when he did pick the Boss up, as her presence alone was enough to get them to quieten down. He reckoned their rush was fading, or possibly they were more focused on fending off the choppers, as Pierce tried to shake them off their tail. It was such a thrill, the wind on his face, the smell of sweat and fear, as well as the rapid beat of his own heart. Between the crashes, and bright flashes as missiles rained down around them, blasting apart nearby cars, Pierce somehow managed to keep his eyes fixed on the road.
The Boss flipped her phone shut "Tobias'll meet us at the dock with his chopper." She said, shoving her phone away.
She glanced back to make sure the others weren't harmed – they both seemed ecstatic, checking for any pursing helicopters, and firing at any that happened to enter their field of vision. The Boss wondered if perhaps that might just be giving themselves away. then turned back to Pierce. "What about the others?"
"They know." Pierce began, throat parched. "Shaundi and Gat are gunna be taking care of shit whilst we're gone." He replied. He omitted the part about Gat being down for the count – he didn't want the Boss to know that the pair of them had fucked up and let their guard down.
"Huh. Well, that's something." The Boss grumbled.
She narrowed her eyes, in thought. "So, this informant of yours." She began. "Can you get ahold of her at all?"
Pierce gulped - his mind was still in a haze, the image of those poor kids, burning up filled his head. "What?" He slurred.
"The bitch, Pierce." The Boss growled impatiently, leaning over and keeping her voice low. "We're going to need all the information we can get on that spineless git."
Pierce felt a small smile spread across his lips – if she'd said this days ago before Lexi had appeared, he wouldn't have minded her calling his sister a bitch. Instead, he felt strangely defensive of her.
"First of all, she's not a bitch." He said firmly.
"Whatever, man." She replied, then glanced over at him. "Just make sure you guys get the city locked down whilst I'm gone. I don't wanna come back and find our city in shambles, again."
Pierce gave a jerk of the wheel, skidding as the car game to a halt outside the fish processing plant. "You ain't goin' out there on you own." He snapped as she stepped outta the car.
She then pivoted and gestured for the two in the back to follow. She gave a quick scan of the sky, blatantly ignoring Pierce's protests as she and her helpers been extracting the weapons from the trunk of Gat's car. They began to stroll down the dock, Pierce keeping pace until he eventually blocked her path – a ballsy move given how she was armed to the teeth.
"Listen. You just gotta consider all possibilities. If you get smoked, who's gunna call the shots, huh? Tweedle Derp and Tweedle Dingus?" He said, gesturing to the pair behind her.
One of them gaped and leveled her rifle at him, but the Boss waved her off.
She sighed. "He's got a point." Said the Boss.
They all stiffened, glancing back down the way they'd come, as a barrage of sirens began to fill the air. The Boss turned to face the street, watching as a wave of police cars and Masako vans rounded the corner and came barreling towards them. It was like a tsunami of metal and flashing lights. The four of them tensed, weapons at the ready, but it was clear that just the four of them and they would surely be overwhelmed by this army, as their manpower was limited. The Boss finally found her voice, and manage to get out one harsh epithet through her rigidly clenched teeth;
"Shit."