Spectre of the Sinner - Chapter 7 part 2: A day in a rabid dog’s life of exquisite violence and debauchery

Startled by the sudden noise, I hurriedly reached for the stun gun in my holster and aimed at the glass-wearing objective. Opaque plastic strings shot out from the muzzle of the gun-shaped device, carrying a square-shaped payload into the lad’s body.

“Argh!”

A pained yelp arose from the lips of the hit protestor figure as he clutched his chest and fell to the ground.

Seeing that one of their fellow coconspirators had fallen, the thugs quickly unholstered their puny arse pistols, hoping to pump lead into my body.

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

Of course, our side was no slouch in a handguns drawing contest either, as the dry sound of gunfire reverberated in the air, bringing down the squad of armed hoodlums to the earth.

“[Jagdfalke One One] to all units! Shots fired, I repeat, shots fired!”

Panic-filled screams from the onlookers at the sight of the dead dropping to the ground like a bunch of flies got swatted away.

The chaos soon spread like a raging wildfire, scattering the previously gung-ho demonstrators like a frightened swarm of bees.

Diehard mobs started to congregate upon hearing the gunshots, their hands already twirling their despicable arsenal of rioting projectiles, ready to fan the flame of turmoil at a moment’s notice.

The anti-riot police also joined in the party of mayhem as they hurriedly donned their dark-colored gear, forming rows of well-armed and well-armored bastions of stability against the vortex of incoming violence.

The personnel from the few daring news stations that had the gall to cover this march also scrambled with their pathetic tails tucked behind, only to turn around and capture the live footage of the unfolding whirlpool of ugly hysteria.

Bang!

Surprised, I swiftly unholstered my service pistol and…

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

In a fit of blind panic, I let my Ruger 57 bark in the direction of the unpleasant clattering sound.

A fleeing white figure suddenly stopped dead in its tracks.

Their figure then slowly collapsed onto the ground like a marionette puppet that got its strings cut, its face planted into an abandoned placard.

Even from afar, I could tell that red stains of blood had already seeped out of the increasingly cold body, and soon, the white shirt was dyed with the dreadful color of death. Their hand weakly tried to reach forward in search of help, only to pathetically plop down onto the hard concrete.

“That fucking murderer!”

“Murderer!”

“Justice for the innocent!”

“Get that fucking plainclothes dog!”

Chilling roars erupted from those potty mouth holes as they started to hurl their makeshift projectiles in our direction, igniting the firestorm of rage and havoc.

“Hurry up boys, we don’t have the luxury to dilly dally forever in this fucking damned place,” a thick croaky voice cut through the chaotic air of unrest, yanking my attention back to the task force.

The commanding officer of this crew of plainclothes operatives, an austere-looking man in his mid-forties, then lightly leaned close to my ears as we scurried our arse toward the extraction point, his poker face briefly betraying a hint of dissatisfaction.

“We will have a long talk later once we’re back, Captain [Pompeo],” whispering in his memorable Aussie accent, the man sent me a sharp glare before leaving my side, not leaving me a chance to voice my protests.

“Damn it, our exit path is fucking blocked!”

An unspeakably despicable sight unfolded before the collective eyes of the anti-terror squad, causing everyone to involuntarily halt their steps accordingly.

Utilizing a deviously executed pincer maneuver, those damned mobs blocked our escape path as they engaged in a vicious brawl against elements of the anti-riot cops. Thus, the revolting orchestra of noise and violence erupted in earnest, sandwiching this task force in an unenviable position.

Throat-tearing screams from the hordes of violent rabbles.

The whooshing sound of high-pressure water hoses.

The plastic sound of police batons being frantically struck against the agitated crowd of rioting plebians.

“If only a certain fucker didn’t fucking jump his gun,” an annoyed grumbling slithered into my ears as the crew hurriedly took cover in the shadow of a convenience store.

Resentment-filled gazes started to bore through my being as the tension draped over the huddling space, forcing my eyes to avert away from them awkwardly. Then, after a short moment, my eyes stumbled upon a somewhat familiar-looking hooded figure, whose head was being lightly pinned down by [Wallace].

The next moment I knew it, a punch was already on its merry way to that damn rebel figure.

Pow!

“Why the fucking hell do you keep on causing trouble for us, you fucking piece of low-life shit!”

Knocking the cuffed insurgent away from my squad mate’s custody, the target fell face-first into the hard floor.

“Stop being a fucking pain in my arse already,” I continued pouring a torrential rain of punches and kicks onto that disgusting piece of filth after shaking off those bothersome hands of my fellow combat buddies away, “that’s why you and your kind are the worst of all! Good for nothing goody two shoes that instead of properly living their lives being productive members of society, instead choose to be fucking scummy rebels!”

“Fucking enough already, Captain [Pompeo]!”

Suddenly, my shoulders were grabbed, and in my vision, an angry red face roared at me.

“Hey stop it…”

With my back cornered into the convenience store’s glass wall, the rugged-faced officer sternly growled in a low rumble into my face.

“We’re here to snatch and grab him to have him interrogated for his ties, not to do a fucking public execution! Stop it already, Captain [Pompeo]. Your unnecessarily cruel actions so far are detrimental to this operation’s success. Hereby…”

As I listened to that man’s pointless rambling, what could be called a flash of idea popped into my mind.

Then, I found myself mustering strength in my arms to push the annoyance in the shape of my superior officer backward, I let out a retaliatory snarl at him as I hurriedly fixed the wrinkles on my shirt.

“Shut your fucking filthy flapping mouth, old man [Shepherd],” ignoring the bewildered stares from the rest of the squad in the distance, I silently reached for the stun gun while glaring straight into that pair of blueish gray eyes, “from this moment onwards, due to being incapacitated by enemy’s vicious assault, you will pass the command of this operation to me, who’s next in the chain of command.”

“Hey, fucking shut…”