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"Stand aside, woman." Bennett Dolarhyde Sr. demanded.
Kitty quickly scanned the room. A dozen Dolarhyde henchmen stood behind the patriarch on one side, and twice that number of Jacksons on the other. The Forresters removed themselves well in advance, hoping to avoid the crossfire that was sure to come. The Dolarhydes had the advantage of being properly armed, after ridding their guests of all traces of firearms prior to the party. However, the judge wasn't about to let this opportunity slide. Now that she saw the Dolarhydes for who they were, she was evermore determined to follow through. There were a couple of tables loosely arranged between the two parties, which could conveniently act as cover in the impending fight. Plus, there were a lot of guests around who weren't that all eager to take anyone's side.
"Don't you 'woman' me."
"I won't say it again, dammit!"
"Then forever hold your peace." Kitty declared firmly, choosing to stand with Little John. He, in turn, threw her a quick glance and nodded in acknowledgement. They were committed now.
She waited until the two squads of Aegis troopers covertly got up on the balconies overlooking the manor gardens. They'd broken through the outer defenses, dispatched the guards quickly and quietly before taking their positions. From up there, they had excellent vantage points. Open and clear fields of fire in and out, while the Dolarhydes were sitting ducks below. A textbook ambush and a perfect opportunity to showcase superior Dominion tactics.
"Judge, just say the word." The squad commander said, breaking radio silence.
"Boys, I want his fucking head!" Godfather screeched.
"Weapons free!" Kitty cried out, flipping a table to take cover. Once there, she pulled out a small Walther PPK that until then remained hidden in her ankle holster. Little John dropped the bloodied sack and hurled his heavy knife at Bennett, striking the enraged aristocrat in the chest and inflicting a deep wound that stained his prized white suit. He staggered backwards, screaming at his cronies to return fire. All at once, both sides started shooting. Rooks opened fire from the balconies, picking off Dolarhyde henchmen with ease while the guests scattered.
Screams mixed with deafening gunfire filled the air, replacing songs of mirth and joyful chatter. The peace of the celebration had been broken. Big Daddy and his boys joined the fight, not to assist the Dominion but to protect his vengeful grandson as Little John bolted from cover to personally kill every Dolarhyde man he could get his hands on. The Jackson patriarch busted some heads with his bare fists, showing that behind those aged arms was the strength of the timeless redwood. The railsplitter seized a fallen henchman's engraved pump-shotgun and a fistful of shells. Calmly, he reloaded his weapon and methodically blasted the knees out from under Bennett's legs when he tried to make a run for it.
Hearing the sound of skittering dog-feet on the bloodied tiles, John turned around in time to see Snowball charging at another henchman who was sneakily skulking behind the liquor fountain table. There was a loud crash as his hands wildly flailed, the dog pulled him down along with the table and its contents. The powerful smell of cocktails mixing together with blood assaulted John's nostrils. Snowball's fur became dark crimson as that same foul mixture found its way into his hide as the dog tore up the man's throat.
"G'damn, Snow." John chuckled, amused at the thought of them being both bloody and out for blood. "Ain't we a pair?"
Snowball panted, open-mouthed, in reply.
Godfather was crawling through the grass, trying to hide away in the hedgerows that lined his backyard. He left a trail of blood, viscera and bits of bone for the railsplitter to follow. John ignored the battle raging around him, too hollow with loss to feel anything but hate. He approached the dying patriarch, shotgun ready to do some blasting. He was a mess of a man, courtesy of the buckshot and the big knife still buried in his chest. No elegance for him there, as he leaned heavily against the marble railing. To Bennett's credit, he didn't beg for his life. Not like his son.
There was a grim acceptance plastered over his pale face, like he knew he had this one coming. It wouldn't save him, of course, nothing will. The bill that was due had come, and he would pay with his life.
"Now you feel on the outside what I feel on the inside." John said, casually pressing the barrel of the gun against Bennett's ruined knees. The aristocrat groaned painfully in response, causing John to dig in deeper with all the malice his grieving heart could muster. "Why? Why did you do it? She was... she was perfect."
Bennett grinned, spitting his last bit of defiance before the end. "Yes she was, and we enjoyed her... thoroughly."
A hideous vision of teeth tearing into skin, cutlery dividing flesh from bone, forbidden meat seared upon boiling oil, flashed through the unseeing gaze of the benumbed Little John. He could see them, rows upon rows of young innocent women hanging from meat hooks like butchered pigs. All of them, served up on silver platters to the monsters of Four Seasons. The vision ended when he squeezed the trigger and the recoil shook his entire arm. When his eyes cleared, John saw what used to be the face of the Dolarhyde patriarch. The buckshot tore it up into pieces and scattered it all over the grass, feeding the soil with the cursed blood of the cannibal.
When Snowball padded over to sniff at the twitching corpse, John snatched him by the neckerchief and dragged his whimpering ass away before he did something he'd regret.
"Stupid sumbitch." The man muttered.
The battle at the Dolarhyde manor gardens was over, but there were still a lot from the guilty party who had yet to receive their share of judgement. Kitty had the rooks round them up at the front yard, within the Condors' line of fire. She began separating the non-essential persons from the group, including the Forresters who survived the crossfire. The Jacksons were exempted from the lineup, seeing as how they were willing to stand against the Dolarhydes alongside the Dominion. The wounded were given stimpaks to keep them from bleeding out, while the dead were laid out in two little neat rows close to the west wall.
The captives from all the hidden cells beneath the manor grounds were patched up by the squad medics and loaded up into the transport bird. It was a grisly sight, to say the least. The poor victims suffered from burns, flayed and infected wounds, amputations and other injuries. Patching them up required an auto-doc, hence the need for transportation.
Soon, it was time for the guilty party to face trial. In all honesty, calling it a 'trial' would be a horrendous overstatement. The judge divided the groups, men on one side and women on the other. The children of the clans and families were locked up inside one of the manor rooms, under guard. There was no case to be heard on either side, no legal representation. It didn't even matter that they were considered beyond Dominion jurisdiction. The Dominion recognizes no other jurisdiction save for its own, and its system was as swift as it was brutal. As far as Kitty Reyncourt was concerned, they were doing Four Seasons a favor by destroying this den of depravity.
It didn't take long for the cowardly elitists to single out the most guilty among them, Chef De Gaulle, who was reportedly responsible for cooking the victims served up in their dark summits. This was done in hopes of escaping the death sentence, for the people of Four Seasons had grown accustomed to the Old World's style of justice, where even the vilest of criminals could strike a bargain with law enforcers. Even if it was a slim chance, a mad hope, they took it.
The trembling De Gaulle was brought forward, and as he knelt before Judge Reyncourt, the woman sneered at the elitists. "You don't seem to understand, so allow me to enlighten you. You all willingly participated in these despicable acts. The practice of cannibalism is, by Dominion law, punishable by death. It all ends here." Kitty motioned for the rooks to proceed. The soldiers took aim then shot all the men dead, including the chef. All that was left were the women, the Forresters and the Jacksons for the Dominion to handle. Robert Forrester and his sons were placed under arrest instead of being put to death, for the judge recognized his significance in the long run.
The women wailed at the loss of their menfolk, decrying the Dominion for what they saw as cold-blooded murder. They broke out of the line, trying to rush the rooks when a couple of the ill-fated men survived their execution, only to have the judge put one in the head for each of them.
"You fuckin' fascists!" A fancily clad spinster screeched.
"My little Ted, you kilt 'em! You g'damn murderers!" Another wailed.
Kitty shut them up with a chilling promise after giving them a quick sizing-up, "As for you, ladies, this is your lucky day. The Dominion offers you a second chance- reeducation and rehabilitation. Make no mistake, this chance is offered thanks to the sole purpose of your ability to propagate the next generation. That's more than you deserve. As for your little 'uns..."
The mothers among them held their breath.
Kitty glanced back at her men, "Nah, I think there's hope for them still, wouldn't you agree?"
As for Big Daddy and his boys, she let them go without a fuss after chalking them up as a non-threat to Dominion operations. Then, she announced that the city would be henceforth under Dominion control. Martial law was to be declared, and Salvación was to be placed under lockdown. Naturally, such a declaration didn't come without resistance.
"I knew yall was here to take over!" Big Daddy said, wagging a threatening finger at the judge. "I knew it!"
Kitty folded her hand over her gun and glowered at the patriarch, "Now now, let's not complicate things Mr. Jackson."
"I ain't doin' nothin' of the sort, lil' missy. Don't think that just because you helped take down a few bad eggs, you're entitled for the whole clutch. Four Seasons belongs to the people of Four Seasons!"
"A few bad eggs? This corruption runs deeper than you think. No, it's become quite clear that your people are incapable of governing yourselves. I think it's time for some new management around here."
Sensing the coming storm, the patriarch of the Jackson clan hastily retreated to Autumntown as he wished to avoid the war entirely. He took with him all the workers tied to the clan by blood or contract, and soon he was gone. In his wake, news of the massacre at Dolarhyde manor spread throughout Salvación. The local population was stirred into a vindictive frenzy.
Lily, one of the last living Dolarhydes, approached the judge. Her pretty blue dress was stained with the blood of her kinsmen, a proverbial mark of the evil vanquished in her ancestral home. Her eyes were red from her tears, but they were dry. She will mourn her family for the rest of her days, but she would breathe with relief, having been released from the Dolarhyde curse. "I don't speak for anyone save for myself, judge. What yall did today, it was a long time comin'. Whatever you got planned for the rest o' us, I reckon you won't get much resistance."
The other women looked away shamefully, one of them threw up. Fragile little things, the lot of them. Having grown accustomed to being cared for by the men of Salvación, they never learned to defend themselves. So they meekly allowed the rooks to lock them inside the manor until things were cleared up around the place.
"Good." The judge nodded, "Horrible business, I'm sorry for what you've gone through."
"No you're not." Lily replied, turning away so she could be with her fellows. She knew that the judge relished in the opportunity, and that she regretted nothing.
"You know this little altercation means war." Lt. Nobby Hynes said, watching the rooks divide themselves into teams so they could secure the manor from all four corners of the perimeter wall. A communications array had been set up close to the landing site, and help was said to be on its way. The transport bird carrying the wounded and the liberated captives was sent back to Camp Torchlight, while the other two Condors remained to provide air support for the ground teams. "It won't be long before they come for us."
"Nobby, I'm fucking counting on it."
Little John didn't go with the clan when they made for Autumntown. He went his own way out of Salvación despite the protests of Big Daddy Jackson, feeling the need to be by himself.
He carried the bloodied sack of human heads upon his back like a proverbial load of troubles, past the mobs and posses forming up in the streets of the canyon city. He slipped out of the gates and ventured into the wilderness with nobody but Snowball to watch his back. The long haul stretched for about a quarter of a mile, till John got to a spot so deserted that not even the critters of the Wasteland bothered to haunt.
There, he set down the sack and assembled a shovel from his pack. Under the heat of the noonday sun, he dug deep into the hard earth till his dry hands cracked and the blood from his cut finger stained the dusty soil. Normally, the average man would take five to ten hours to work the soil for a six foot grave. But for Little John, who had no purpose save for this final tribute to his lost love, he did it in two.
After resting for a bit, the man pulled the sack over to the edge of the grave and sighed wearily. He hesitated to open it, then mustered the courage to see the ordeal through.
He recognized some of them. They were fine ladies all, many a time threw him a furtive beckoning glance with their fluttering painted eyes. A passive unfeeling expression was frozen upon their faces, the kind that only the dead could make. Junior's handiwork could be seen in how perfectly preserved they were, even in that state. Rosalina, Sally, Leslie, Ruby, Amber, Violet and Whatshername. John tried to remember their names, something to put on their gravestone. They deserved that much at the very least when nobody else thought they were worth a damn. He placed each one respectfully inside the grave.
And then finally, there was Molly's head. John felt torn between covering the abominable thing she'd been reduced to, and giving those lips their final kiss. He paused before acting upon the latter of the two, he remembered the last thing those lips touched and felt his heart pound with renewed fury. Angrily, he tore out the antlers Junior fixed into her temples with his aching, bleeding hands. The grief he'd bottled up inside him was let loose in one agonized cry, which echoed through the empty wilderness.
Snowball sensed his master's distress, and he padded over to press his wet nose against John's neck.
"Heh, I cut that little pig's pecker off while he was still kickin'." John said to his dog, amazed at his own capacity for savagery. Once that primal need for vengeance took over, he was like an animal "I suppose them ladies be smilin' down on me for that bit o' theatrics."
He dusted off the stray strands on Molly's face and gently set it down among the others. Upon getting up, John filled up the grave and went to work on a large piece of wood to carve the names of the departed. As he worked, he found himself muttering to the air as though speaking to his girl. He knew it was pointless, he'd never hear her say in that lovely soft voice another comforting word, nor will he ever see her smile again. But he did it anyway, "You don't hurt no more, Molly. I know that... but you deserved better. Much much better."
When he finished, he stopped to reflect on that turbulent phase of his life. How easy he had it going, driving a rig through the desert and all those visits to the Nest. He though of how quickly it turned to shit, and how Four Seasons was soon to follow. Molly was gone, and with her his lust for living. He expected that the weight in his heart would be lifted after killing Junior and his thrice-damned family.
Alas, the weight was still there.
John held up his knife and stared murderously at the edge. There was just one other person directly responsible for Molly's death. "Reese was the one who sent you to the manor, just like all the other girls. I'll kill him for ya, darling. I promise you that."
He stayed near the grave for hours, baking under the sun's rays and sipping warm water from his canteen. At about four in the afternoon, Snowball sat upright and fixed his keen dog ears to the horizon. The whine and rumble of turbine engines, carried across the plains by the desert air, heralded the approach of Dominion vehicles. Mechanized infantry, onboard their Centaurs, drove in advance of heavy armored columns while Condors flew overhead.
Little John got up and followed Snowball as the dog ran up to bark at the approaching lead vehicle.
The driver pulled over to the side, allowing the rest of the convoy to drive forward without them. The commander popped the upper hatch and waved at Little John, apparently recognizing him from his stay at Camp Torchlight. "Hey there, waster! The hell are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?"
"Buried someone." John replied. "You?"
"Oh, prepping a mass grave." The commander said with a cold machine-like callousness that unnerved Little John, "Maybe. You good out here, need a ride?"
"No, I'll make my own way. Besides, I think I'll stick around long enough to see the fireworks."
"Oho, look at you! Someone did you dirty in the city? Itching for some payback?"
"Something like that."
The commander saluted him as thanks for his aid in mapping out Salvación, then signaled the driver to follow the convoy. They were going to have a battle on their hands soon, and he wasn't going to miss it.
The trouble started when the Dolarhyde manor was assaulted by a militia of Salvación loyalists and some distant relatives of the Dolarhyde clan. The former didn't take kindly to the announcement the Dominion put forward about martial law, and the latter was enraged at the brutal killing of their kinsmen. Four Seasons loyalties run deep, just like all old money towns in the West, and they weren't about to cede their liberties just yet.
Judge Reyncourt and Lieutenant Hynes bunkered up with the rest of the Aegis soldiers, consolidating their hold on the manor.
Snipers were put up on the roof and balconies, every corner of the estate covered. As for the main gate, a machinegun nest was set up in case of a breakthrough. Outside the manor walls, the mob started building up some barricades across every street that could be used as an exit. The folk of Salvación were all armed for the assault on the manor, but they lacked the drive to actually rush the Dominion guns and risk getting hosed down with a storm of lead. All the while, the armored columns were getting closer and closer to the canyon city.
As nighttime approached, some of the youths gathered enough courage to approach the main gate. Despite the warnings of the Aegis personnel, they demanded that the gate be opened and the families locked up inside the manor be released. The exchange grew heated rather quickly, then turned violent. Nobody knew who shot first, but it was clear who went down first. A young man, a local of about fourteen years of age, took a .306 round to the chest and toppled to the ground. He didn't carry a gun, but he had a molotov cocktail ready to throw.
"He's down." The spotter who identified the target confirmed the kill, "Two dozen foot-mobiles heading for the gate, no vehicles."
The sniper grunted, "It's the fucking boondocks here, of course there aren't any vehicles. Wasters are dumb as rocks, best they can do is a horse-drawn carriage like the one we saw back at base."
"Cryin' shame. That's what happens when you don't invest in R&D. Oh, looks like we got another one."
The pair watched the militiamen drag the corpse off the street and another youth fumble around with the makeshift fire-bomb. The sniper, looking to flex his marksmanship, fired a shot that shattered the bottle and set fire to the would-be flinger. Three men caught fire as the resulting explosion showered them with flammable liquid. They danced and rolled on the street screaming. It drew a sinister chuckle from the rooks as they found the sight rather comical.
"Bunch o' inbred hillbilly goat-fuckers. Don't they know who they're dealin' with now?" Said the sniper disparagingly, making a grab for his radio. "Lieutenant, know the ETA on our backup?"
"Negative on that, overwatch. Objective remains, hold fast."
"Roger, out." He sighed, "Get comfy, we're gonna be here a while."
The two Condors took off and circled around the airspace above the manor, frightening the mob into a wild dispersal and forcing the militia to take cover. The gunships drew most of the fire, some from small-arms even a few rockets. Because they were more armored than the average vertibird, the Condors shrugged off the explosions that would've otherwise knocked them out of the sky. They answered by turning their array of heavy weapons against the lesser-equipped populace. The staccato bursts of the autocannons drowned out the terrified screams of men and women being torn to pieces, while the jaundiced glow of their muzzle-flashes illuminated the stern grimace of the pilots pulling their triggers.
Pumped up by the carnage, the rooks taunted the mob.
"Want some? Get some!"
"Fuck with us? Huh?! Come on, more where that came from!"
On the manor roof, Kitty armed herself with a laser-rifle modified with an infrared scope and lens amplifier. She took up a spot where the snipers weren't posted and got to work. Every shot she took was powerful enough to go through solid brick or concrete, and since she was able to read targets behind cover thanks to the scope there was nowhere for the militiamen to hide. She identified targets clustered inside some of the buildings as unarmed civilians, given their silhouetted forms tucked securely beneath tables or hugging the walls. However, there were some with the telltale signs of carrying a weapon or two, so she killed them. One shot at a time.
"Enjoying yourself, judge?" Nobby said on the radio.
"Of course!" Kitty replied, "We're making history here!"
Just like before, the militia regathered their courage and started poking at the Dominion's defenses. They started to get smarter, using blind sides along the walls to sneak some bundles of dynamite so they could get in without having to deal with the machinegun nest. A minute later, they were scrambling back as the fuses were lit.
Kitty felt the entire manor shake, so she ducked down. There was a big hole in the wall when the dust cleared, and through it came a dozen desperados armed with crude homemade automatic rifles. The judge marveled at the recklessness of the Four Seasoners, wondering how quickly they forgot about the Condors circling overhead. The gunship making a pass on their end made short work of the men and drove the survivors back into the shadows. In quick response, Nobby ordered one of the sniper teams to relocate in the direction of the breach to hold off anyone else brazen enough to try and rush through it.
"Just a little bit longer, boys. Come dawn, this'll all be over."
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