Look at this fuckin' mess, man. Just look at this absolute fucking shit!
I’m standing in the middle of my front room, steam practically blowing out of my fuckin' ears, staring at three dead fools leaking dark, nasty grease all over my clean-ass concrete floor. Three fuckin' years, bro! Three whole fucking years of me eating cold beans out of a can, keeping my mouth shut, not driving into town, not making a single fuckin' peep, all so I wouldn't have to deal with the world's fucking bullshit! I built this cabin with my own two fucking hands, man! I hauled every single sheet of drywall, laid down every plank, fixed up the iron workbench... and these low-life, limp-dick cocksuckers come in here, kick my fucking door off its hinges, and ruin my whole fuckin' vibe!
Fuck!
Now I gotta do goddamn chores, homie! I gotta drag three two-hundred-pound sacks of fucking trash out to the ditch, mop up a fucking gallon of blood, and fix a whole ass door frame on a fucking Tuesday afternoon! I was supposed to be oiling my tools and enjoying the quiet, bro! Now my whole fucking day is ruined because some half-ass, dick-sucking militia captain thought he was gonna draft me into his nickel-and-dimed, small-time fucking war!
I kicked the lead guy’s shoulder hard as fuck, flipping him over just so I could yank my rag out from under his heavy-ass chest.
"Stupid motherfucker!" I spat, shaking my head, pissed off out of my mind. "Couldn't just walk past the fuckin' gate, huh? Had to come up the hill and act like a tough guy, you bitch!"
The anger wasn't even the scared kind, homie. It was that hot, sharp, rage-inducing bullshit you feel when some asshole keys your ride or ruins your work, multiplied by a thousand. Deep down under that furious noise? Something cold, ugly, and lethal was waking the fuck up. A beast I buried a long-ass time ago was sitting up in its cage, cracking its fuckin' knuckles, ready to tear flesh.
I stooped down and aggressively ripped open their tactical vests. Cheap gear, fake-ass plates, zero fucking discipline. But in the lead guy’s radio pouch, I snatched what I wanted: a heavy-duty handheld radio, buzzing with static.
I grabbed the prick by his collar and dragged his useless fuckin' body toward the doorway, slamming him outside onto the dirt like a trash bag full of wet shit. One by one, I hauled all three of those motherfuckers out. Grab, drag, dump. Simple fuckin' math, bro. By the time I wiped down the workbench, my hands weren't shaking at all. They were rock solid, itching to wrap around a barrel and put a bullet in somebody's forehead.
I picked up the radio, clicked the side button, and slammed it against my mouth.
Pzzzt. "Eagle One, this is Captain Cruz. Report on the recruit at the ridge. Over."
The voice on the other end was raspy, arrogant, sounding like some wannabe cartel dickhead who thought a stolen humvee and fifty cracked-out gunmen made him the king of the world. Cruz. I knew that fuckin' name. The local piece-of-shit warlord running the blockade, robbing people, burning down farms, acting like a god just because nobody was around to put a bullet through his fuckin' teeth.
I pressed the talk button, letting out a long, murderous breath.
"Hey, Cruz," I said, my voice dead, cold, and dripping with raw fucking malice. "Your three little bitches just ruined my front door. And my fuckin' floorboards."
A long-ass pause on the radio. Pzzzt. "Who the fuck is this? Where the fuck is Vance?"
"Vance is lying in my dirt with a broken neck, sabes?" I snapped, leaning against the shattered frame, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Listen to me real fuckin' closely, you miserable cocksucker. I spent three fuckin' years minding my own business up here. I didn't give a fuck about your blockade, I didn't give a fuck about your pathetic war, and I sure as shit didn't give a fuck about you. All you had to do was leave me the fuck alone!"
"You think you're funny, big man?" Cruz growled, spitting through the speaker. "I'll send twenty guys up that hill right fucking now to burn your little shack to the ground—"
"Send 'em!" I screamed into the mic, laughing a dark, unhinged laugh. "Send all twenty of those dead-men-walking, homie! Matter of fact, bring your own bitch ass up here! Because I ain't waiting on my porch no more, Cruz! I tried being nice! I tried being the quiet guy! But now? Now I'm coming down that hill, I'm gonna find your bitch ass, and I'm gonna show you personally why you should've just let me fucking be!"
I didn't even wait for the bastard to answer. I slammed the radio against the wooden railing, smashing it into a hundred fuckin' pieces.
Órah-lay... the quiet life was dead and buried, bro. They wanted a fucking war? They brought it right to the one motherfucker in this whole godforsaken wasteland who was born to burn it all down.
I turned around, marched over to the back corner of the cabin, ripped up the floorboards with my bare hands, and glared down at the black iron trunk I locked away three years ago. Time to dig out the heavy fucking metal.