The last song of the ancestors

The dawn on Chrome Hill was covered in silence and dew. The labyrinthine cancer called the slum. One that even Jorge Luis Borges would get lost in, who wouldn't? The sun shone its bright rays through the alleys. A pinkish-red halo, an eyewitness to everyday life.

The morning dew began to evaporate and the cobwebs began to decompose. Pigeons scampered up and down the streetlamps full of clandestine connections. The rustle of their wings struck fear into the hearts that were beating wildly. There was a general feeling of unease. Death whispered seductively.

Entrenched, the forces of Central Command awaited their enemies. Their fingers rubbed anxiously against the trigger. No one wanted to be there. What choice did they have? In the slum, you die of everything except boredom. There's always a hypo-modern tragedy played out live, distributed by the hegemonic media in every home.

Spin Bomb and Akachi were in the first line of improvised infantry.

The swordsmith was wearing gray camouflage pants with several pockets from waist to shin. The sleeveless dark leather cropped top gave her the freedom of movement she needed to launch her explosives. Part of her curly hair was braided into a tiara. She wore boots with no laces.

With his clothes torn from the previous fight, Akachi wore a white tank top with the Olodum symbol printed on the front. Dark denim shorts with a frayed hem would help him with mobility. The wooden leather sneakers belonged to Spin Bomb's older brother, but they served him well as his new footwear.

"They're coming."

Suddenly, behind the startled duo, Lord Nobody appeared. Spin Bomb's heart almost spat out. The young woman swallowed and screamed:

"FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"Mr. Nobody, please don't arrive so suddenly. We can't be scared to death before we fight."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Thank you!"

"The guy stole my artificer's sword⁈ Where's the Criminal Court when you need it? You old son of a bitch!"

"Spin Bomb, he's gone. No, wait, look over there."

A helicopter flew over them. It started machine-gunning. The entrenched men sneaked behind the barricades. In the distance, the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard. A cacophony of minor marching also became audible. They looked over the barricades.

The troops of the Fourth Estate were advancing. Lined up and with guns pointed at their opponents. A shock battalion of a hundred men, with two lines of advance. The first with protective shields, and the second with light artillery, armed with 12-gauge pump-action bull-pup shotguns.

In the middle of the first shots, the militiamen threw tear bombs. Some managed to throw them over the barricades before they exploded. Others were hit by fragments of the bombs. Their hands were cut off and their faces hit hard.

Their comrades dragged them away, pouring a solution of water and vinegar on their faces to reduce the effect of the gas. The traffickers covered their faces with back masks and visors made of soda bottles and wire.

"Lead these sons of bitches, boys."

Spin Bomb fired up his portable torch, lit the wicks and launched several fireworks at the militiamen. They reached a speed of sixty kilometers per hour. They could knock someone out if they hit them in the head. Their trajectory was irregular and they would explode at any moment.

While their opponents tried to hit them with the explosive artifacts that snaked through the air emitting sparks, those from Chrome returned fire. This didn't intimidate the Fourth Estate troops. They continued to advance with speed. Spin Bomb felt something vibrate around her waist. Someone called her on the radio communicator, she answered angrily.

"Hey, bro!"

"Spin Bomb, it's Yasini. The helicopters and bipedal tanks are giving close artillery fire. Isn't it about time we lit the fuses?"

"Fire away, Yasini! Guys, light the fuses and fall back. We've gotten minutes, don't fall behind or you'll turn into greaves."

On the other side of the barricades, Ata's twin took the lead. He had heard Spin Bomb's squeaky voice. Chekandino was out of his mind. His brother had offered combat drugs to the militiamen, but he didn't settle for one, he took three consecutive doses in the early hours of the morning. He was teetering between an overdose that would implode his bloodstream and a fit of rage.

"Is that you, you pyrotechnic whore? I'm going to get you, Spin Bomb. I'm going to fuck you up. I'm going to kill you!"

"Fuck you, asshole. Come on, people, leave those militiaman’s there."

Everyone started running. Chekandino, with his new cybertechs, didn't even run, he trotted like an animal. He jumped over obstacles like a parkour practitioner. The militiamen who had fallen behind looked at each other. The crazed sociopath stopped at the barricade made of cars and shouted:

"Forward, you bunch of faggots!"

Chrome Hill's first line of defense set off in the direction of the second. However, a boy tried to provide cover for his companions. When he tried to unlock his gun, he got in the way and shot himself in the foot. He fell to the ground. He groaned in pain.

Spin Bomb and the medium stopped running. If Chekandino caught him, it would be the end of him. Fenyang came up behind Akachi and said:

"Look, bro's down. Go and give your partner a hand."

"I got it!"

Chekandino prepared his shotgun. He aimed at the young man's forehead. The movie of death played on the big screen of his consciousness. The credits didn't roll. With extreme speed, Akachi saved the boy. With the fainted teenager on his lap, Akachi ran in the opposite direction to the militiaman.

Under shotgun fire, the artisan and Adisa's son fled. Their opponents came after them. Chekandino ordered his men to advance. He would take the pair's lives into his own hands. Firing several shots with his shotgun and boosted by the combat drugs, Ata's brother showed no signs of tiring.

His muscles stiffened, his veins popped out of his skin. His appearance became more monstrous with every passing minute. The new cyberware on his arms and legs sent discharges through his joints. They indicated a future rejection due to a build-up of endorphins. They were overloading the psychomotor system.

The trio fled down a series of alleys. The escape routes were shortened from there. Spin Bomb and Akachi looked at each other. The madman was on their tail. The medium thought about handing the teenager over to the artisan to carry and him facing Ata's brother. Suddenly, someone called out from a nearby alley, startling them.

"Hey, you guys, bring Chekandino over here?"

"Mr. Nobody? I think that's a terrible idea."

"Don't worry, I'll do an exclusive interview with him, huhuhu."

They walked down the alley. The man in the suit gave way. Chekandino followed close behind. The smoke bomb fell on him. He fired at the end of the alley in an attempt to hit someone. His eyes watered. He tried to push the gray smoke away with his cybernetic hands, to no avail.

Something jumped out behind him. The militiaman turned around, but it was too late. He'd been caught with a net. The string, covered in cobbler's glue and iron filings, had embedded itself in his flesh. Mr. Nobody took the shotgun from his hand. He shot him in the stomach. Chekandino fell to the ground. He threw up his breakfast.

The captured man stirred. He tried to escape from the net. Mr. Nobody kicked the militiaman in the face with the toe of his shoe. His nose broke, spurting blood like a fountain. Ata's twin clutched his face with his hands to stop the bleeding. Blood ran down his metal fingers.

"You… snif-snif… son of a bitch!"

"Oh, you poor son of a bitch. I hate having to deal with little shits like you, Chekandino. You're like that turd in the public toilet that nobody wants to flush. Even so, you'll play your part in this plot. Every war needs a scapegoat for diversion."

"Ata… snif… save me…"

Chekandino tried to run, but the man in the suit stepped on the net, preventing him from reaching the shotgun. The cerol threads were getting into his flesh, which increased the size of both wounds. In some places, you could already see the white of the cartilage.

"Ata won't come to save you. You've been brought up the wrong way, like a boy brought up by his grandmother. Your twin brother overprotected you to the point where you couldn't be a man in a time of need."

"ATA, HELP!"

"Do you like hypnotherapy? It might help you, Chekandino."

The militiaman burst into tears. Mr. Nobody took out an old silver coin from his jacket pocket. With his right hand, he spun the coin between the fingers of his right hand. The prisoner tried to aim in another direction. The other pulled out a pistol in his left hand and pointed the barrel at his victim's temple.

"Don't worry, Chekandino. It won't hurt… at least, not me."

"Ata… snif-snif… come and get me… snif… my little brother."