Look, man, let me tell you something right now. For three fuckin' years, the whole fuckin' world outside this valley was eatin’ itself alive, you know? You open a fuckin' window, and boom—smells like burning rubber, dead bastards, and whatever cheap-ass diesel those local warlords were dumpin' into their trucks. Entire cities, gone! Turned to straight fuckin' dust by cocksuckers with too much ammo and zero fuckin' brains. Did I give a shit? Fuck no, homie! Not my fight. I had a sweet little setup, understand me? Middle of nowhere, zero people, zero bullshit. I fixed my tools, drank my coffee, kept my fuckin' head down, and minded my own fuckin' business. That’s the secret right there! Stay out of the fire, or you’re gonna get burned, sah-vess? Then these fuckin' fools show up at my gate. I’m sitting at the workbench, oiling a gun part, trying to have a peaceful fuckin' Tuesday, and I hear it—crunch, crunch, crunch on the gravel. Not normal footsteps, bro. Heavy boots. Three or four guys, walking like they think they’re the baddest motherfuckers in the valley. "We know you're in there, big man!" some loudmouth prick yells from the dirt. "Time to pay your tax!" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, man. I swear to God, I tried. I spent three fuckin' years hiding from these maniacs, trying to be a peaceful guy, trying NOT to do what I do. Then the cocksuckers kicked my front door off the fuckin' hinges. Splinters everywhere, dust flyin’—three ugly, sloppy motherfuckers burst into my spot with shotguns and tactical gear like they own the block. Lead guy starts screaming, "Hit the deck, bitch!" Listen to me... I didn't even think, bro. The second that shotgun barrel pointed at my chest, my body just went on autopilot. I grabbed the rag in my hand, wrapped it around his barrel, and yanked that shit down hard! BOOM! He shot his own fuckin' floorboards! Before this idiot could even blink, I drove my forearm straight through his throat. CRACK! Fool went down choking on his own pipe, man! Guy number two comes at me with a big-ass hunting knife—amateur hour, homie! I stepped right into his space, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it until the fuckin' bone popped out of his jacket like a twig! BAM! Smashed his head right off the corner of my iron workbench. Sleep tight, bitch! Third guy’s backing up, shitting his pants, trying to raise an AR. I picked up the first guy’s 12-gauge off the floor, racked that motherfucker with one hand like a boss, and put a slug right through his fuckin' chest! BOOM! Silence, bro. Just smoke, burnt powder, and three dead pricks bleeding all over my clean floor. I stood there in the haze, waiting for my heart to pound, waiting to get scared. Nothing, man. No shaking, no adrenaline—just a cold, quiet feeling. I looked down at my hands, then at the bodies. Órale... I was terrified of getting dragged into this war for three fuckin' years. I thought I was trying to save my own skin. But standing there, looking at these three dead fools, the real truth finally hit me... I wasn't hiding from the war, bro. The war was hiding from me.

The Dust and the Iron