The Trini Gang

Fourth Act – The magnificent seven

If you want to fight the Trini Gang, as I imagine that’s why you are getting me drunk and filling my pockets, you have to bear in mind a couple of things: first, I really hope for your own good that you keep what you have promised, and second, you will have to wipe out the guys one by one, as you won’t have the balls to do it all at once even if you had two dozen men. And wipe that stupid smile from your face, asshole, I’m serious. You wouldn’t do it.

I am going to tell you another story while you order another bottle of Cienfuegos. Some ten moons ago we left for Gleamingtowers, because one of our snitches had given us the exact location of a drugstore. The usual drugstores in Gleamingtowers have nothing of value inside them, so it is not worth risking your life with that winged beasts and security measures all around, unless you are in the area for other reasons and find one. But we went looking for that drugstore more than happily, because our necks were at risk in Scrapbridge. Do you know what they say about women living together for a long time, that they create this kind of weird empathy that makes them synchronize their periods and all that shit? Well, believe me, man, that’s completely true. And you don’t know what a pain in the ass can be to have a dozen women with combat training always in the mood and with their bodies asking for trouble. So we got orders to go looking for this drugstore to get sanitary napkins, tampons, and all that women stuff, so me and the guys just did it. Well, “Goatee” Xavier did reply at first, but he got his ass beaten up the second later, so the rest of us learnt the lesson right away. All of us except The Son of a Bitch, of course, no one would dare to ask him to go looking for some slit towels.

So after several days on the road we came to Gleamingtowers, not without our ration of troubles, of course, but facing some landsharks was nothing compared to the pack of hounds that was waiting for us at home if we failed.

We went into the city through secondary streets, taking indirect routes, and apart from a couple of beasts and some automatic turrets, we had no troubles. The hard part came later. One of the streets had this huge sinkhole that cut it in half, so we had no option left but to use a main avenue, so we were spotted by these ugly flying creatures, these highjackers as they call them now. “Bugslayer” Mcconaughey was the first one to see them, as usual. This guy is a natural born hunter, the only mercenary La Trini has ever seen any potential in. It costs a bunch of bullets more than any of us, and he follows the Mercenary Contract, but the guy is really worth it all. He took out one of those beasts with his axe, opening its ribcage to the waist. Meanwhile Jeremías “El Monicaco”, who always goes around jumping and doing stunts like 20 feet before us, had found a subway station and we went quickly inside it without even realizing that we were getting in the mongrelmorph’s den. Jason “The Mad Stallion” sealed off the entrance with a couple of big blows and left us isolated down there. This fellow is dumber than biting your own nuts, but has these arms thick as your thighs. He also has this company for placing poles and fences… but people just give him a couple of shells to keep him busy, but once I did the maths and if he had saved it all, in six or seven moons he would have enough to build that greenhouse he always talk about to grow tomacco. The Farmer Stallion, can you believe that?Well then, so, we were more lost than a mutard child on father’s day. We had to proceed through the subway tunnels, lucky us that the always provident Bug Hunter had a light source in his backpack and we could make it through the dark.

“Two Shots” Marko took point with his shotgun, and we are talking about a real psycho here. Plenty of times I had to bring him back to the real world with my boot, because as soon as he sees blood he starts making drawings with it. He paints the dead bodies with it and starts to talk to them, in some languages that he says he is the only one to know. He also hears voices and talks alone. It’s bad mojo to go with him through a dark tunnel below the surface, believe me. And I am the crazy one…

We then started to hear this mumbling, and I knew what it was at once, because I had heard it hundreds of times before. Addlers, lots, lots and lots of addlers, all rumbling that goddamned litany of them. “The Wall” got in the middle with his huge shield and tried to nail his metal leg to the ground, but it was concrete, not soil, so The Stallion had to hold his back while the big man took the full heat of the first wave. Goatee and “Chains” Israel started to fire arrows like if there was no tomorrow, and they started to count their casualties in loud voice as they always do. Each one of them is cockier than the other and they are always competing with each other, but sometimes this rivalry is of great benefit for the group. I’ll be damned if they didn’t kill at least eighteen addlers between both of them. Looking at your face I can tell that you know Chains, and yes, he is the one that invented The Chain that you have heard talking about, and yes, it is true and I have seen it myself. That bastard shoots arrows to non-lethal parts of the body, and they get through, for example, one of your hands and hit the person behind you. I have seen him making a 4 guys “chain”, all nailed with arrows to the rest of them. Then Xavier got offended and made a 5 guys chain and called it “The Spike”, but no one gave him any credit.

Well, the fact is that we managed to make our way among that herd of addlers, until the Monicaco found a service hatch and we went through it while The Wall contained them. We found ourselves then locked in a room 90 feet below the streets, with dozens of addlers banging at the door. It was a matter of time, we were going to die in a quest to get tampons for a bunch of crazy-ass bitches. Then I realized that we were surrounded by propane bottles. The Stallion and The Wall got in front of the door, gelt the valves, opened the door and set the whole thing on fire. Two home-made flamethrowers operated by two giants, burning everything in their paths like dry leaves. The rest of us just killed the few addlers that escaped the flames and got near the brutes. We made it to the next station, break through the metal fence and go up the stairs back to the surface again.

That day we wasted more addlers than anyone have ever seen in his fucking life, in a tunnel, without firearms, and with zero casualties. Believe me, dude, those bastards are tough and resourceful. When we got out, there was a drugstore right across the street. When we got back to Scrapbridge the days of bloody slits have long passed by, and we got beaten up for taking so long. I think it took us longer to decide what type of sanitary napkins to take than to get out of that fucking subway tunnel.