Chapter Two - Flawed Perfect Logic

As I slowly regained consciousness, a heavy sense of confusion enveloped me. I blinked several times, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Everything felt disoriented and hazy. My head throbbed with pain, and I reached up to touch my face, only to find my hand coming away with streaks of blood.

"What the hell?"

Staring at my bloodied hand, the memories of the chaotic events on the mountain road rushed back to me. The ambush, the gunfire, and the van careening off the cliffside all flooded my mind in a disorienting whirlwind.

With a groan, I shook off the haze in my mind and forced myself to sit up. As I did I realized I was in the back of the van. Ignoring the pain in my head, I managed to stand, swaying unsteadily as I moved toward the front of the van.

I reached the driver's seat where I found Andy slumped over the steering wheel, fortunately unconscious but not dead. I called out his name, but there was no response. I reached out and gave Andy a firm slap on the cheek, hoping to rouse him from his unconscious state. "Andy! Wake up!" I shouted, quickly going from a slap to a whole punch.

Andy's eyes fluttered open as he groaned, his head spinning from the sudden awakening. "Huh? What happened?" he mumbled, disoriented.

I sighed with a mixture of relief and frustration. "How many times are you going to ask that damn question?" I scolded. But before he could react, I added, "We fell down the cliffside, and we survived. Somehow."

Andy's expression shifted as he began to recall the events leading up to our current predicament. The urgency of our situation slowly dawned on him, and he struggled to regain his composure.

"We need to get out of this van," I tell, urging him to go first as the car was flipped in a way that we could only make an escape through his side of the door. It took some effort, but Andy eventually managed to climb out of the van. I followed suit, after of course, retrieving a handgun from the glove box and grabbing a grenade that had been lying around.

"I'm surprised we survived that.”

"Yeah," I replied, my gaze fixed on the battered vehicle.

But before I could add, "Me too," a sudden burst of gunfire erupted, and we quickly realized that the men who had set up the roadblock were descending the cliffside, firing at us as they climbed down the mountain side on foot.

There were at least twenty heavily armed men, and the moment I registered the threat, I spun on my heel and bolted. “Move!” I barked at Andy, barely needing to say it—he was already on my heels. Together, we sprinted away from the van, the sharp crack of gunfire chasing us down.

For a brief, desperate stretch, we managed to outpace them. The whizzing bullets faded, replaced by the pounding of our footsteps and the ragged sound of our breathing. A fragile sliver of hope crept in—only to be shattered by the distant, unmistakable roar of rotor blades cutting through the air.

“Fucking hell, a helicopter now? What’s next, a goddamn tank?” Andy’s voice was laced with frustration, but beneath it, a deeper dread seeped through.

The rhythmic thumping of the approaching aircraft grew louder, drowning out everything else. Andy let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to die, man,” he admitted, his voice carrying a quiet, unsettling resignation.

"Neither do I," I replied. “So do as I do. Keep running!”.

I yanked my phone from my pocket, desperate to make a call—any call—for help or direction. But the moment I glanced at the screen, my heart sank. No signal.

“Shit, shit, shit! This isn’t some goddamn movie, damn it—this is real life! How the hell is there no signal at a time like this? It’s the 34th century! What kind of bullshit—”

My outburst died in my throat as the approaching rotors grew louder, their steady thumping rattling my chest. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to focus, scrambling to think of a way out. But my mind was a blank slate, and the helicopter was closing in fast.

It was in that moment, as I exchanged a glance with the gloomy Andy, that I made a decision. I handed the handgun to him, and he looked at me with puppy eyes, silently asking, "What do we do?"

"We split up," I declared. Andy, dense as he tended to be, understood what I meant. With a gloomy and dreadful expression on his face, he nodded, accepting the gun.

"If I get killed, avenge me," I requested, my voice filled with a sense of finality, only to realize I was acting as “they” were. “I guess I’m like them in that regard.” I muttered to myself. “But who cares. If you survive avenge. Kill everyone with the surname Gustav and Denouveau.”

Despite being tasked with a suicidal request Andy nodded solemnly. "If I get killed and you survive, take care of my family."

"Just that? Okay, Imma raised your children as if they were mine, count on me for that," I replied, taking his words as a farewell.

At that moment, we didn't waste any time. We sprinted in opposite directions, hoping that by splitting up, we might have a better chance of surviving this deadly pursuit.

I ran and ran, without looking back, hoping that somehow I would get to do that thing I promised Andy. But no, instead of getting fainter and fainter the sound of the approaching helicopter grew louder and more menacing with each passing second, suggesting that it’s chosen a target: me.

“Give me a damn break,” I muttered, coming to a reluctant stop and turning to face the inevitable. Overhead, the massive shadow of the helicopter swallowed the ground beneath me, its presence heavy and suffocating. A bitter laugh escaped me. “This isn’t fair.”

Hopelessness barely had time to settle before the sky erupted with gunfire. A fresh salvo tore through the air, kicking up dirt and debris around me. The bastards weren’t even hesitating—just gunning me down like some pest to be wiped out.

I cursed under my breath, heart hammering as I realized my mistake. I should have kept the damn gun.

I ran as if my life depended on it—because it did. Bullets screamed past me, too close, too many. And then, one didn’t just whistle by—it struck.

A searing, unbearable agony exploded through me as my left arm was torn away, severed in an instant. I barely registered my own scream before my legs buckled, sending me crashing to the ground. Blood poured from the stump, hot and relentless, soaking the dirt beneath me. My vision blurred with tears as I writhed in agony, every movement sending fresh waves of torment through my shattered nerves.

I tried to rise, but the pain was a merciless force, dragging me back down. My body refused to obey. My mind teetered on the edge of despair. Somewhere in that abyss of suffering, a thought crept in—I wanted it to end. I wanted the helicopter above to finish the job. To put me out of my misery.

But it didn’t.

It hovered, its rotor blades cutting through the air with a deafening roar, its presence looming over me like a predator savoring the kill.

“What the hell?” I rasped, my voice raw with pain and fury. “Aren’t you motherfuckers supposed to go after Andy too? Or is it just me you want dead? Is it that?!”

No answer came. Just the endless whir of the blades. Just the unbearable silence of my impending doom.

With a shaking hand, I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against cold metal. A pin. Without hesitation, I pulled it free and tossed it aside, leaving behind the object it had belonged to. I was dead anyway. I wasn’t going to allow these bastards to easily bury in a random ditch. I’d have them pick my minced piece before they can do that.

Then, as if the universe refused to grant me even the mercy of a swift death, headlights pierced through the dust and darkness. One after another, Cadillacs screeched to a stop, surrounding me like vultures descending on a corpse. Doors flew open. Men poured out, weapons raised, aimed, ready.

I lay there, bleeding, broken, helpless.

And then I noticed how they were dressed.

My stomach twisted. It wasn’t just the Blackcrowns. The Avian Vipers were here too. Both groups—rivals, sworn enemies—stood together, united in one goal.

To capture me. Or kill me.

And I had no idea why.

"Weren't you motherfuckers enemies?" I cursed, my words laden with frustration and disbelief.

In my absolute low, a man emerged from one of the Cadillacs, his silhouette all too familiar. "Hassan," the man greeted with his usual smile.

I was speechless for a moment then a feeble "Sir?!" came out.

My voice was trembling with uncertainty, my mind reeling as I tried to make sense of the situation.

I admit that in that moment, it was less about it being something hard to figure out and more about me being unable to accept the situation as it presented itself.

"Sir, can you please explain to me what's going on?" I pleaded, desperately seeking some clarity in the midst of this chaos.

The man, the one whom I had tried to contact earlier, the one who had given me the mission, regarded me with a calm and calculated gaze. "Do I really have to?" he replied, his tone eerily composed.

"Did you sell me out?" I asked, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and betrayal.µ

"Selling you out, huh?" he mused, his smile never wavering. "I don't really like that term. I didn't sell you out, you did."

"What?" I mumbled, thoroughly confused.

"You sold yourself out, son," he said, approaching me slowly. "You did the moment you signed up for this mission. No, actually, before that. You signed up the moment you suggested what you’re going to do."

I was left speechless, my mind racing to grasp the implications of his words.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "It was a brilliant idea, perhaps a little too brilliant for normally built people. You can't just expect people to react the way you do things. Some people, while they may see the logic behind it, can't bring themselves to quantify life, especially when it comes to loved ones. So they're bitter, so they go after revenge." He crouched down beside me. "You stepped forward to act as the equalizer for their conflict. But did you really think that these people would let their loved ones' killers live just because it somehow makes sense on paper?"

As I heard the words coming from his mouth, I was forced to realize the flaws in my logic.

"They can't," he continued, his voice soft but filled with a certain finality. "Which is why the moment your back was turned, another deal was struck between our dear clients. Consider this an alliance against a greater evil."

“Greater evil… Me?”

“Yes. You.”

I was left stunned, unable to find any other words but utter, "You sold me out..."

To which he replied, "As I said, I don't really like that term."

"I don't care. You should have helped me." I protested, my voice laced with bitterness. “I was loyal.”

"You sure were, to a fault, I would even say," he mused, his gaze distant. "I doubt anyone in the organization would be as loyal as you are. If only you had dedicated even a sliver of your loyalty to some religion, perhaps there would be a chance you'd be going to a better place after all of this."

"I'm not..." I began to protest, but the man calmly raised an eyebrow.

"You're not?" he countered. "Aren't you the one pooling in your own blood? Do you not see it's happening, or is it simply that you don't believe in such things as hell?"

In that moment, a weak laugh escaped my lips, strained and filled with pain. "No, it isn’t that."

"What is it, then?" he inquired curiously.

"I'm dying, that's for sure," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper, "but not alone."

With what little strength I had left, I shifted, feeling the hard, cold weight beneath me—the grenade. My last resort. My final act of defiance.

I had unpinned it earlier, planning to take at least one or two of those Avian Viper or Blackcrowns bastards down with me. But fate, or perhaps something crueler, had handed me an opportunity far better than that. If I was going to die, at least I'd take someone who truly deserved it with me.

Summoning what remained of my will, I shifted ever so slightly.

Boom.

The world erupted in fire and sound.

For a moment, I wasn’t even sure if I had done it, if the explosion was real or just my mind breaking apart. Had I taken him down with me? Had I succeeded?

“So long as I managed to do so, it was worth it,” I murmured, though my voice barely carried beyond my own fading awareness. But in the haze of pain and smoke, I couldn’t even confirm if I had succeeded in that final desperate act.

If one could even call it thinking, a final thought flickered through my mind:

“What an anticlimactic death. I guess, at least it ends here.”

But it didn’t. Unfortunately, it didn’t.