Stomping along, the biker was aimless in his stride. The only thing that gripped his mind were Paulo and the corpses he left behind. His fury stirred quietly in his gut, clouding his vision from below. However, as he continued on, his vision became sharper, each step allowing his fire to cool and focus itself. There's no doubt that he still wanted Paulo dead, but as the haze left his mind, he quickly realized he needed a plan. Reckless anger would solve nothing.
Thinking back to his arrival, he recalled the locals' fear of Paulo. His presence made them freeze, his friendly words only frightened Ignacio more than it calmed him, and everyone cowered at the man's unpredictability. Why? Why was such a short, round man able to drive the locals nearly mad with fear? The biker then remembered what Ignacio said.
Look, there's people around here who would want you dead if they saw or even heard you. It could be anyone here.
Paulo's disdain for Slavs, his outburst of insults, and his haphazard murder of a woman and a child… it was obvious he was one of the people Ignacio was talking about. Based on all that had happened, though, Paulo hadn't just been targeting foreigners, but why wasn't anyone doing anything about that? Why did the locals let him have his way with them, dealing with only the aftermath? The biker could only think of one answer: Paulo might represent something larger.
As he pondered, a tinge of light illuminated the path in front of him, catching his attention. He looked back, spotting an open-top G-Wagen that repeatedly honked at him. The vehicle blitzed down the road, with nowhere to swerve out of the biker's way. Before it could hit him, though, the leathered man leapt into the air and over the car, landing like a cat. The biker turned around again, his waistcoat floating down to his calves. His eyes were locked on the car, which was headed towards the wall that he spotted earlier. This could be a lead.
He dashed ahead, running after the vehicle. The leathered man moved like a cheetah, pouncing on old fences and rocks that were scattered about the countryside. Getting closer to the wall, he made out an entry point that was installed into its front, fixed before a giant blast door. Two guards in green field caps and button-up shirts stood floodlit in front of the now-stalled car. To avoid being seen, he leapt into the forest on his right, slowing his movements down to creep through the trees. The biker managed to get close enough to the entrance to see the guards speaking to the people in the vehicle. One of them was the hatted man: Paulo.
Led me right to you, gaucho. Whatever trick you planned failed miserably.
One of the guards approached the driver's side of the car, where another man in a trench coat sat, this time without a hat. The man dug around in his pocket, and pulled out a tiny pamphlet that he gave to the guard. He opened the pamphlet, looked at it, and nodded. Paulo and the two others in the car did the same. The guard clicked his heels then, shooting out his right arm at an angle. This shocked the biker, who violently shook his head around.
Am I dreaming… Did that guy just–
Revving its engines now, the G-Wagen slowly drove forwards and through the gates. The biker regained focus, watching it as it disappeared behind the wall. The gates closed, and the guards returned to their original positions. The leathered man let out a sigh.
…Maybe I'll just pretend that I am.
His eyes scanned the scene as his mind thought of ways to get in. Barbed wire coiled around two steel rods that stretched along the top of the wall, most likely electric. There were no houses in the open field across the road, so he had no access to local help nearby, unless he sought to waste his time by running back to the bar. The biker was stumped; how could he get in without causing another scene?
After thinking for quite some time, it finally came to him. A mischievous grin formed on his face, and he began to snicker to himself with delight. Meanwhile, the guards continued to stand around the entry point, stiff as statues. Near the roof of the entry point, was a blocky camera that slowly turned about, the road in front of it being the apple of its eye. From the forest, then, came a visceral scream that sank the guards' hearts. Their skin turned pale, jumping at the sound. They instinctively raised their rifles up and looked around in a frenzy, turning on headlamps attached to their hats. The scream didn't just sound like a guttural cry to them, though, it sounded like a word had just been yelled. They had no time to dwell, as the bang of a gun directly followed the shout, pushing them to move out. Running from underneath the entry point's roof, they went several meters up the road to investigate.
While the spooked guards trembled and walked around, the leathered man dove out from the forest, rolling on the ground and falling onto his stomach. He swore under his breath, repeatedly kicking the ground as he got up. The biker glanced over, and saw the blocky camera on the ground. He smirked.
They must've thought I was a devil lurking around out there. You're good at abandoning your posts, Fritzi.
The biker tip-toed behind a pillar that supported the point's roof, only to be spotted by a guard in a tiny booth across the way. He scrambled outside and shouted at the biker.
"H-hey, hey! Wer zum Teufel bist du?! Halt!"
Equipping himself with a taser, the guard stood with authority now, although he tried his best to maintain distance from the leathered man.
"Komm nicht näher! Wenn du dich nicht ausweist oder gehst, bin ich gezwungen, dich zu überwältigen!"
The guard's eyes scanned the biker, noticing that he still had his gun in his hand–a golden Colt Python. He stepped back instinctively and faintly gasped.
"Well," the biker sneered, "I say it's 'opposite day'."
In a flash, the man flicked his wrist and shot from his hip, his reflexes so fast that the guard couldn't even respond in time. He now breathed lead from a hole in his throat. The other two guards spun around, seeing the biker come out from behind the pillar. Immediately, they dashed forward and shouted at him. His head jerked over to them and he bolted back behind the pillar before they could fire. The two slid to a stop, tensing up.
Silence fell now. The guards glanced at each other with both confusion and fear. What was that? How did he even run that fast? They couldn't let this distract them, though; they had to act. So, they continued running forward, this time towards the pillar. The two glanced at each other again, with one of them gesturing to the pillar's sides. The other nodded, and they both split to surround it. They charged, raising their rifles once more as they prepared to ambush the biker, but as soon as they encircled the pillar, the leathered man bolted out and charged into one of them, launching him into the door of the security booth. The other guard yelped, trying to fire at the leathered man, only to find himself firing at the booth instead. He shot wildly in every direction, desperate to end this as quickly as possible. To his dismay, however, he wouldn't be the one to finish things, as the biker came out from behind him and put him in a chokehold. He dropped his rifle, and clawed at the man's arm, gasping for air.
"Hey now, don't squirm, you're only going to make things more difficult!" The biker teased. "All you have to do is tell me a few things, that's all. Do you think you can do that, or would Uncle Göring give you a spanking if you did?"
The guard responded with only squeaks.
"Oh, sorry about that, you can't talk," the biker snickered. "Here, hold up two fingers if you want to speak."
He only continued to claw at the biker, prompting him to sigh and shake his head.
"'Duty calls', as they say."
With a quick squeeze, the biker crushed the neck of the guard, his eyes rolling back and his body going limp on the ground. The leathered man kicked the corpse to the side and walked over to the only guard left alive, his entire body paralyzed from his spine shattering. Kneeling, the biker gripped the guard's jackboot, and slid him from off of the door. He took off his hat, its brim between his fingers.
"How about you? Do you have anything to say?"
The guard could only move his dilated eyes. His jaw was wide open, and his skin was growing more pale by the second as he shook with pain. The biker tsked.
"You guys never make things easy."
He placed his revolver against the guard's forehead then, and blasted his brains out. The biker stood up, and looked at the blast door that stood before him; it was now or never. He quickly dragged his latest kill into the security booth, and closed the door. Throwing the guard's hat onto the booth's control panel, he dug in his pockets, and pulled out a hairband, trying to put his hair into a spiky bun with some trouble. The hair gel, as usual, fought him.
Come on you little bastard, this isn't the time…
Eventually, he managed to secure the bun and reached over to the guard's field cap. He ripped its headlamp off, and looking at the hat's front panel, his eyes were met with an embroidery of an angular eagle holding a wreathed swastika. He scowled at it.
Damn me for being right, yebat.
Although he was hesitant, he forced himself to put it on. Goosebumps formed on his skin as his stomach churned, his head tingling; his entire body fought against the hat. The biker proceeded to put on the rest of the guard's uniform with disdain, quickly scurrying back outside to throw each corpse into the field. He'll hopefully be out by morning, he thought.
He made his way back inside the security booth, checking the uniform's pockets for the guard's ID. It was still in his shirt's breast pocket, but the biker had doubts that he'd make it past any of the elites inside with it. Either way, he braced himself, and hit a button to open the blast door. Thunderous clanks rumbled from the door's hinges, slowly groaning as it opened. The biker then adjusted his hat, and marched in to see what was awaiting him on the other side.