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This chapter is...Well, you'll see!

Note: Violence ahead. If you decide to keep reading, don't blame me for your anguish. Or blame me, that works too, but realize it was mostly your own fault :P

Chapter VII - Sao Paolo in Red

The Gecko Company lion, commander of his unit, laid prone in the rubble they were using as cover, swiping an arm over his eyes.

"Fuck, Gavin, did you have to make it FLASH like that?"

The sable-furred otter behind him shook his head as he held an MP-5 over the rubble and emptied its clip in the general direction of Shield and Rangefinder teams.

"Sorry, Collin. Didn't realize they'd throw it back out at us!"

Inside the building, Arlen ignored the rain of dust and chatter of automatic gunfire while moving up, AR-15 against his shoulder as he used the lip of the building to play a cover angle against the double-crossers below.

"Sato! Sato, you okay?"

The silver wolf was coughing and laid out on his back thanks to the ablated effects of explosion shockwave he'd narrowly saved them from. He raised a paw slightly and waved Arlen off, while raising his UMP to belch ammunition at the enemy, un-aimed thanks to the flash burns on his retinas. Sato spat out a bit of blood, which rolled down his pale-furred chin, as he kicked himself back from the edge of the wall so he could get up to a crouch without getting shot.

As Arlen was trying to find a good angle for sharp-shooting, Buck's voice came through the radio system on the operation-wide channel, gravelly from the dust he'd inhaled.

"Sword team, what's your fucking game?"

The grizzled veteran stag was crouched and firing, straight-backed and eyes darting, noting movement in the buildings behind and around Sword team. His rifle continued to bark, doing its damnedest to keep the four mercenaries from returning accurate fire.

Collin, the lion, grinned and responded with the radio as he was raising his M-60 in preparation to return pinning fire.

"We wanted the bounty to ourselves. Plus, we get a bonus for acing you chuckle fucks. All three Goza field units'll be dead by the end of the day, and we'll be the big dogs!"

The stag snarled and belched out the last of his drum, ducking behind the concrete wall for cover while ditching the spent canister and going for another from his utility vest.

The capybara, knocked flat in the blast wave, coughed a mouthful of dust and flecks of blood, and spoke in a clearly terrified, cracked voice.

"Get me outta the chair! I know a way out of the favela!"

"Shield team, watch the fucking rooftops!"

As he yelled it out, the M-60 opened fire, with its deadly basso chatter heralding incoming rounds that started tearing the front of the building to chunks, blasting shards of concrete and plaster every which way.

On the second floor, Tamra rolled on the floor, vomiting again as the staccato blasts hammered around the inside of her injured skull like marbles in a clothes drier. She clasped her paws to her head and curled up, the hogtie having come undone when Sato cut the bomb away. Her boots skittered against the floor, the only clothing she had left, as she pushed herself by pure panic instinct towards the stairs.

Arlen couldn't wait for a pause in the fire, identifying the weapon by its distinctive sound. Instead, he stayed out of sight of the ground, scanning the building tops.

"Fuck, INCOMING!"

The black tiger shouldered his rifle, far too busy to recall the irony of his previous internal monologue as he sighted through the ACOG's magnification and put two rounds into the head of a scruffy-looking fur dressed in rags who'd popped over the building lip with an RPG-7 on his shoulder.

The mangy creature's skull exploded like an overripe melon hit with a sledge hammer, and it dropped behind the lip. A blurring shape fired almost straight up, corkscrewing a contrail of expended fuel smoke with the horrible whistle Arlen always associated with the thought "fuck get down!"

A shadow passed for the briefest of instants over Arlen's back, which was all it took to have Sato spinning and firing up through the shoddy, rusted iron ceiling, while thanking whoever might be listening that his eyes had cleared enough to see it. Powerful .45 caliber ammunition shredded through the corrugated roofing as if it weren't there, and someone above them screamed out in agony before thudding down on the roof and rolling off.

A hand-grenade rolled through a small hole in the ceiling, dropped by the killed assailant, and hadn't even reached the floor before the nimble warrior lashed out the extended stock on his weapon and smashed it out the window like a baseball.

The little metal ball detonated with a WHOMF over the street as Arlen turned and fired four more shots onto targets in the building behind the well-shielded 'Sword' team, killing three more scraggly furs who'd brought AK-47's to the windows. Then he jerked, grunting as a stray 7.62 round hit the trauma plate in his tactical vest, knocking him back in a stumble from the window, to be followed by dozens of others that erupted with all the accuracy one expected of untrained men with the Russian Icon, spitting forth from the surrounding buildings.

"Fuck! Cap, we gotta get outta here!"

"I know that, Arlen! Keep firing! Sato, look for a route!"

The stag, by main strength alone, lifted his rifle left-pawed and fired it off in the direction of the suddenly multiplying attackers, while his other paw drew a wicked combat knife and slashed the binds on their former target's wrists.

"Get yourself free, you stupid motherfucker. If you try to cross me, I will cut you from dick to gizzard and spend my last seconds EATING YOUR FUCKING HEART!"

The capybara squealed and sobbed, and the ammonia and fear scent of terror piss filled the stag's nostrils, if anything making him more angry as he turned his head, steadying his rifle with both paws, and started stitching fire through the windows of the buildings being used by the ambushers.

Meanwhile, Sato was up and patting the back walls of the room he and Arlen were in. Finding a soft spot, he started to tear away the crumbling plaster and powdering concrete low along the rear wall, until he could see through.

"Captain, this building is attached to another just like it on the back. I'm going to blow the wall up here, we can move that direction and perhaps outrun them. I do not know how complete the ambush is, however."

Buck shook his head, ducking down again as Sword team was finally starting to stick their weapons up with eyes to aim them.

"Watch yourselves, and fucking do it! As for you. Get up there and get ready to guide us. We get out of this alive, so do you, get it?"

The capy nodded his head frantically, tearing off the blindfold and breaking for the stairs in a run as Buck sprayed more ammunition out the window, this time without aiming, to cover his move.

"Rangefinder one, this is Rangefinder two. Do you copy? Come on, man..."

The two pilots, Rangefinders two and three respectively, sat in the sweltering heat of the mostly powered-down chopper, on top of a small parking structure in the calm bustle of the city miles outside the favela.

Rangefinder two, a tall and skinny mouse, turned to his copilot and sighed.

"Let's get her in the air and go take a look. Sounds like they've lost radio signal, and I have a bad feeling."

Rangefinder three rolled his eyes and sat back in the copilot's seat, folding up his Hustler magazine and tossing it into the small chopper's passenger compartment.

"Great. You do know we pay for the fuel out of our mission budget right? This is eating our bonus because those stupid assholes can't get a radio working."

The mouse shrugged and started flipping switches, the pre-flight checks long since largely done.

"At least it'll be cooler up there once we're moving. Get your binoculars, too, maybe we you can spot some naked sunbathers or something." He said it with a roll of his eyes at the always-horny lapine in the seat next to him.

The mouse jolted suddenly, in surprise, as a shape moved into the way of the sunlight just outside his canopy door, and knocked with the butt of a pistol.

He was about to grab for his sidearm when the pistol's barrel came down level with his eye and spat a round that penetrated canopy glass, flight helmet, and his skull just above the eye.

Rangefinder three was faster, snatching his Colt M1911 and turning it on the second assailant that'd just moved up to his side of the chopper, blowing the window out as he put three in the burly black-furred canid's chest. Heat and pain exploded up his back as he kicked the door open and rolled forward, not fast enough to avoid taking a bullet from the fur who'd just killed his partner.

Gasping from the shock of even the short fall from the chopper's cockpit to the parking structure roof, the lapine rolled to his side and fired from a prone position, up past the landing gear and into the right knee of the other canid attacker. The fur barked out and hopped twice before falling down straight backwards.

With a snarl of rage, the lapine fired three more shots, one into the inner thigh and two into the groin of the canid, ignoring the bursts of blood blown free by the powerful rounds tearing the creature apart as he tried to get back up...And found he couldn't, pain and dizziness washing over him until he slid back down to the roof and regained his bearings with a stiff shake of his head.

His left shoulder and most of his back were warm, wet...Ignoring that for now, he scanned the rooftop for more enemies while instinct had him slapping in another clip. Big green eyes noted the slumped form of their sentry, a local mercenary they'd hired after landing, by the roof access ladder. The poor dog's head was blown open in the back. A glance confirmed that their attackers had been using suppressers. Inside the canopy and their stuffy, sound-deadening helmets, they hadn't heard a thing.

Fuck.

Rolling over, he managed to reach the landing gear, progressively more-clumsy fingers dropping his pistol so he could pull himself up, agonizingly slowly and even more agonizingly painful, until he was slumped over the copilot seat. His paw reached out, as his vision went blurry for a second, and grabbed the radio set. His left arm wasn't moving right, he noted, too weak to help pull him into the cockpit.

"Rangefinder one...Chopper is...Rangefinder two is KIA. I'm too wounded to fly. I repeat, chopper isn't coming. S...Sorry boss."

He dropped the radio handset and flailed with his right paw for the cockpit handle a moment, before finding it and grabbing on to lift himself. As soon as he was upright, blackness swirled through his vision, blood rushing out of his head...Then he blinked and managed to cling to consciousness by sheer will alone, leaning back into the vinyl seat of the chopper's copilot chair.

The lapine fumbled at the flight harness, pulling it on laboriously over both arms before cinching it down as tightly as he could...The only way he had to apply pressure to the clearly serious wound in his back. The pain made him black out again, and this time he could only barely struggle his way up long enough to take the radio set.

Numb fingers turned the dial to a local emergency band that was already filled with chatter...Something about explosions in the Rocinha.

Fuck...My vision's going red...This is bad...

He looked over at his partner, noting the mouse had been already belted in. His head was slumped to one side, the inside of the face plate of his helmet painted red and globby.

Goddamnit...Fred, I'm sorry...I got him, though...

The lapine raised his paw, and spoke into the handset in flawless Portuguese.

"This is Rene Pileau...I have been shit and need medical help. I am in a helicopter on top of a parking garage..." He read off an address he'd written down on a notepad, still hanging from a clip on the cockpit wall.

A few seconds passed, as he struggled to remain conscious.

"We are on our way, Mr. Pileau," crackled through the radio band...Right before a much more important contact.

"Rangefinder three, I say again, I copy. Get yourself outta there if you can, meet us at fallback Zulu if you're able! Buck out!"

He winced, hearing the chatter of machine gun fire and what sounded like a swarm of bees wielding chainsaws in the background before the radio cut out.

So much for a clean op. Fuck.

The redness in his vision was draining to black. Rene turned his head and pulled off the helmet with the last bit of his strength, looking to the west over Sao Paolo. The setting sun was filtering red through the smog, making the city look like it was bathed in scarlet.

Heh...Going to have to paint this if I get home. Call it 'Sao Paolo in Red.'

"Blasting in three!"

One. Two. Click click BOOM!

The back of the second floor disintegrated as Sato's shaped charge blew it to bits. Bits were still falling loose of the wall as Sato and the capybara darted through into a mirror-image of the room they'd just left, minus most of the bullet holes. Arlen kept up his deadly-accurate fire, slaying three more favela dwellers who were trying to put bullets in his friends' backs.

"Captain, this is Sato. We have our exit, please hurry."

Buck grunted, flinging a grenade out the window and dumping the last of his ammo as he backed in a crouch, up the stairs. Arlen kept shooting, rapidly running out of rounds in his third clip. He drew his pistol, firing that next, not having time to reload as his friends moved. The very distinctive thud of bullets hitting armor told him a few shots had gotten through, but he didn't have the time to worry, and had heard no scream of pain.

Buck utterly ignored the two rounds that struck his trauma plate, though they jerked him forward and nearly blew the wind entirely out of him.

Not my first time at the rodeo, you cherry motherfuckers. The stag grinned as he pushed through the hole, coughing but moving anyway.

"You," the captain gasped out to the capy. "Our chopper's down. What's the best way out?"

The special grenade Buck had thrown exploded down on the street with a hiss like a hundred snakes on fire, and blew white phosphorous and choking white smoke all over.

One of Sword team's riflemen screamed as a bit of the stuff splattered across his face, rolling and thrashing as his battle buddy pulled out a knife, gulped, and went to work saving him. Meanwhile, Sword one and two kept up fire, not realizing their quarry was already moving.

The capybara responded, wincing at the noises and screaming.

"River. I know a guy!"

Arlen slung the rifle around his shoulder and turned to run, nearly tripping over Tamra. Her eyes were half-open, dazed, one arm flung out to the side and bloody from a bit of shrapnel that'd caught her. The puddle of vomit, and caked goop on her head told him what he needed to know.

Cursing incoherently under his breath, he holstered the pistol and gingerly lifted her, hoping he was lucky enough not to worsen her injury as he put her in a fireman's carry over his shoulder. A sudden warmth on the back of his pants told him she'd vomited again.

Shit. Shit shit shit. That's one hell of a concussion.

The capybara wasted no time, jumping down the stairs ahead of them three at a time, and the mercenaries followed, Sato in front with Buck and Arlen behind scanning the street as they ran.

Moments after the rodent darted out of the front door and into an alleyway, they were right on his tail, and bullets were starting to patter around them as other denizens of the favela came to their windows and started taking shots with whatever they had handy.

"Holy shit cap! The whole town's out for blood!"

"Shitbirds probably paid off whatever drug lord runs this place! I hope they like my present." The captain smirked nastily as he ducked behind an old Dumpster. The capybara, ducked low in a run, kept right on going, as Arlen moved up past the stag while digging through his tactical bag over his shoulder.

Sato was jogging to keep up with the capybara, and grabbed him, jerking the rodent back into the alleyway as a spray of 7.62 rounds narrowly missed him.

"Watch the windows, please. You are no use to us dead."

The capy squeaked and leaned against the silver wolf, panting and eyes wide, mind whirling as he tried to figure another route.

Sato pulled out the mirror again, extended the stick attached to it, and looked around the corner...Right into a fortified nest. The place was its own block in the favela, a minor miracle given the built-upon built-upon nature of the whole zone. It was also sand-bagged up, fortified, and evidently full of furs with guns.

Which was evidenced by a hail of fire responding to his mirror's catching of the sun, blowing it to shreds and tearing it out of his paw entirely. The wolf grimaced, and shook his stinging paw.

"Is there any other way around?"

The capybara whimpered, tears running down his muzzle as he turned to look at the wolf.

"N-no...! Not without...Without doubling back and getting up top...No cover up there!"

Sato frowned slightly.

"Captain, there is a fortification up ahead of us."

Arlen responded by drawing out a worn-looking old device from his bag with a fat grin. It was the only thing his father had ever given him, other than beatings and some empty beer bottles with scavenged bows on them one Christmas.

"I got this. Get ready to move fast, got it?"

Sato blinked at the strange-looking thing in Arlen's paws. Then laughed, once, crisply. The Captain tilted his head, and barked out a laugh too, from the belly.

"What the hell, why not?"

Arlen's grin had a manic glint Sato recognized, even if he wasn't entirely sure he'd guessed right on what the odd short shotgun-looking weapon was. It was a glint that told him something ridiculous was about to happen. So, he bowed and swept a paw low, like some kind of maitre d' at a fine restaurant, and moved to give Arlen the front position as the tiger handed off his unconscious passenger to the smaller wolf.

Okay. Fuck you old man, you were a useless piece of shit. But thanks for this weapon, told you I'd use it well.

The black tiger bolted from the alleyway, turning as he ran, using his natural and clothed camouflage to delay the enemy opening fire by the second or two he needed. His paws flew, firing, cocking, firing again, until four 40mm grenades were in the air before the first one landed.

The volume of fire from the building opened intensely, spraying the ground all around him, as Arlen outran the enemy's untrained skills and dove behind a cement-filled dumpster being used as a retaining wall for a city block of tin shacks. On the street, four high-explosive grenades tore into the fortified building and detonated, his accurate arcing fire having taken out both of the concrete pillars holding up the front half of the structure.

For a moment, fire continued, hitting nothing but cement, dirt, and Dumpster. Then, propane cylinders for the petty drug lord's cooking stoves lit off as the front of the building started to collapse, sparking badly-run electrical wires.

Sato shielded his and the capybara's eyes half a second too late, as the whole structure started blowing apart, falling down, or blasting upwards in repeated "krump krump" noises of propane cylinders going up.

Panting from exhilaration, Arlen reached his friends again, already reloading the devilish little weapon.

"Where in fuck did you get a China Lake, Blacktiger?"

Arlen's breathless grin lit up at Buck's impressed voice, something he wasn't used to hearing often.

"Dad was a UDT diver in 'Nam. They made him one for some kind of special ops shit, and he gave it to me when I turned 18."

He stuffed the device into a tactical loop on his backpack. It wasn't time to worry about authorities really anyway, or what they thought about repeating grenade launchers the length of a sawed-off shotgun.

Sato hefted Tamra and Arlen put her back over his shoulder, as Buck gave a couple of nods.

"Remind me to buy him a drink sometime."

"Too late, cap. He died years ago."

"Damn shame. Keep moving, we've got a ways to go."

The capybara was shaking his head as he looked out into the street. At a light push from the silver wolf behind him, the rodent bolted from cover again.

"This way to the river!"

Sword team had only paused firing for a second or so when the phosphorous grenade went off, and so loud was the fire from all around them, so much echo from the concrete building facades, that they hadn't realized there was no return fire for well over five minutes.

"Hold fire, hold fire!" The lion listened as the chattering of weapons from his own men died down, though the favela gang kept on blasting away until he finally got aggravated enough, stood up, and waved them off with both arms.

The silence was total, other than the ringing in his ears. Collin made a hand sign to his men, and the two who could still fight got up, moving to cover him as he advanced up the street, trying to get a look into the fragged building in front of them. He stepped carefully over a few still-sizzling patches of white-hot phosphorous, and growled at what he saw.

"When the FUCK did they get away? HOW?! GODDAMNIT!"

The burly lion kicked a stone in fury, ignoring it as it clattered off the wall.

"Sandy, get in there and check it out while Gavin and I check out back."

The big burly cat shouldered his rifle, nodded, and walked right into the building.

By sheer instinct, the lion reacted to the "click" he hadn't even quite registered consciously, diving down and taking the slender otter demolitionist with him. Sandy didn't even have the chance to scream, as the claymore Captain Buck had hidden in the rubble reduced his lower body to a heap of bloody meat and sent shrapnel tearing through the damaged building hard enough that the whole thing started to groan.

Ignoring his dead squadmate, the lion dragged his stunned specialist back, and grabbed his radio set.

"Mission command, this is Black one. Black four is dead, Black three is out of commission, Black two and I are in pursuit. They got out of the trap, follow the sounds of gunfire!"

A soft, lightly Russian-accented voice came through the radio in response.

"I will have them momentarily. Return to rendezvous and get out. The favela is about to decide most foreigners are targets. Your little friends just killed one of the drug lords who feeds these people."

"Oh great."

The lion shook Gavin.

"Wake up! We're pulling out!"

"Okay, around this corner we go down the hill as fast as we can. River is at the bottom, my boat friend should be waiting for us."

The capybara zipped out of cover again, around the corner, as the mercenaries heard and then followed. The street here was long, winding, and descending towards the brackish brown waters bordering the outside edge of the Rocinha. Beyond lay a few further suburbs, then stands of jungle trees and better cover, and the chance of finding a better exit from the area.

The rodent made it about forty feet before skidding to a stop with a cry half of fear and half of frustration. It took about three more seconds for Arlen and Sato to catch up, and see that their path was blocked by a mob. Dozens, maybe hundreds of locals were coming up the street, brandishing all manner of weapons.

Buck raised a brow, panting more than he should as he got there, and looked down at his ammo belt.

"Goddamnit. Find a way around, capybara!"

"My name is Carlo-"

The rodent's introduction was cut off. Arlen glanced at him to see what was wrong, and realized all he could see out of his left eye was redness. While his paw went up to rub it, he noted in a suddenly detached way that the rodent's head was just...Gone. His neck was a ragged heap of flesh, and Sato had either dyed his fur in the blink of an eye or was covered in strawberry jam.

Buck broke the instant that could have dragged on and gotten them killed by grabbing them both and shoving them towards an alleyway, letting out a bellow.

"SNIPER!"

The captain shifted his stance suddenly, and darted back into the street, then into the alleyway behind them as the wolf and tiger took off at a terrified run.

Hm. Their leader is good.

In a garden box on a fourth floor balcony, the ghillie-clad female looked like a heap of garbage with bits of weeds on it. Not so different from any trash heap in the favela. Below her, the teeming mob broke into a charge, seeing the fleeing enemies as prey.

She let off another shot, and frowned in disappointment as it missed the jinking stag, the 30-06 round blowing a rather sizable hole in the street.

She considered her options, as she reached up to re-focus the little gun camera she always kept up there, grinning at the video she was hoping to get out of it. Watching a head disintegrate into pink mist was always a nice end to the day.

Should really withdraw. Hot and shitty here, and I have a date tonight.

A date with Mr. Gecko. He'd come to Sao Paolo himself, to get blow-by-blow reports on what he'd planned as the death of the heir of his primary rival, the head of Goza Securities. With a frown, she realized that death had not yet been obtained. Sato Goza needed to die, or her job here would go un-paid. Worse, it would go un-completed.

Arlen had taken the lead even carrying Tamra's extra weight, being the least blast or impact-shocked of the four, tearing down the side street they'd moved onto and hoping to get ahead of the huge and likely unwieldy mob.

Behind and to their right, they could hear the reports of wild gunfire, the tramping of feet, the yelling of hundreds of angry voices. Then, ahead of them, glistening like a tepid putrid-brown messiah, Arlen sighted the river and poured on speed as the other two worked to keep up.

Behind him, Buck was starting to flag. Wetness was running down his back from where one of those 7.62's had blown in his trauma plate earlier. His breath was harder than it ought to be, and he cursed himself up and down for being slow and old, then pushed for more inner oo-rah as he looked forward at the two younger troopers in front of him.

Mine to protect. Goddamnit, old man, keep going.

Arlen stormed around the corner and slammed right into a pair of scraggly-toothed capybaras with ak-47's running the opposite way. Not missing a beat, he shoulder-checked one of them right off the street-side dock and into the river, then grabbed the one still in front of him by the shirt, coiled his powerful tigrish muscles, and hurled him bodily into another group of hostiles coming up behind him. He had to drop Tamra, with no time to grimace as she made a moan of protest and held her head while crouched on the ground naked but for her boots and vomit coating.

Sato came around the corner then, leading with a thrown knife that took one of their opponents in the left eye, dropping him like a sack of rotten potatoes as he zipped past Arlen and leapt straight into the staggered group, slashing a throat with a smooth motion as he rolled and came up behind them to start cutting.

Seeing four more hostiles running up the street with rifles leveled, Arlen bellowed out a roar of fury. They were at the damn river, and now it was starting to look like they'd be cut off!

The powerful black tiger lowered his shoulder and football-rushed, slamming two opponents out of the way like a freight train taking out Vespa scooters, one hurtling into the river, and the other bouncing his head off the conrete wall to their left.

Buck came around the corner, panting and staggering, just in time to catch the backspray from a smoke-belching river raft. Spitting water that tasted like shit smelled, he glared down and saw a burro in a long-sleeve, sweat-stained green shirt and cargo pants grin buck-toothedly and fire a double-barrel sawed off shotgun into the gathering riot of enemies just past the group Arlen and Sato were slaughtering. The buck shot scattered and riddled half a dozen of them, who fell back yelling or fired their rifles wildly into the air.

"Get een mang! Chu wannu die here?!"

Buck blinked, startled by, of all things, a Mexican accent from the boat driver. Who was steering the little diesel engine with his HOOF while reloading the shotgun and slowing down.

Must have cut throttle right behind us. He's good with that thing, shit.

Buck couldn't help the other two much, and he knew it. Joining that brawl would just be getting in the way. So, he grabbed Tamra, shouldered her, and stumbled into the raft as the burro fired again, leaning around his back to do so as the stag laid the wounded calico cat down on the floor of the thing.

"Where ees Carlo?"

"Dead. Tried to get him out alive. Sniper got him."

The burro looked at him blandly...Then grinned buck-toothedly again, shrugged, laughed, and fired again.

"Oh well. Fuck that guy mang. Never liked heem anyway! Okay chu two, get een!"

Arlen glanced back at the voice, then turned back just in time to catch a bayonet in the chin. The strike was off-balance with limited power, but still narrowly missed a killing hit, slicing his chin open to the top of his throat.

Roaring and bleeding, Arlen grabbed the rifle by the barrel and drove it straight back, breaking the rat's cheek and giving him a second to turn the rifle and blast the rodent's guts out all over the ground.

"Sato! Get in the boat!"

Sato dove to the side, landing in the raft in a roll that brought him right back up as he scrambled for a weapon that was still loaded.

Arlen turned the rifle on the confused group who'd been buck-shotted half to bits, and unloaded the entire AK-47's banana clip into their midst while walking sideways. He hopped onto the boat while throwing the rifle in the river and going for his AR again, finally hoping to reload it.

The boat roared to life as the burro kicked the engine up to its full strength, and lurched upwards at the front as it powered away from the landing and towards the first stands of jungle.

Sato turned towards Arlen and gave him a grin, a thumbs-up, and then a concerned expression.

"Arl, your chin, let me l-"

Sato had stepped towards him to render aid. His paw was outstretched, covered in various furs' blood. Arlen realized his vision had frozen. Time had stopped for an instant. He saw the red dot of a laser sight in the center of Sato's chest, and started to rise to intercept it with his own back, when time caught up again.

With a bang, their engine jolted up higher, nearly capsizing the boat with a lurch as they cornered. Sato collapsed to the deck in a spray of pink as bullets tore into his right knee, upper leg, and gut, without even a scream.

Buck jerked forward, low, to render aid, as Arlen whirled and opened fire, peppering everything behind the raft in a blind rage as tears filled his eyes, unable to feel the terrible hot burning in his shoulder.