He chose a pair of pistols, a pair of assault rifles and several ammunition clips. “I survived the Unification Wars, I will survive this,” he said to himself.
“I’m sorry Hoff,” He mumbled as he cocked the assault rifle. He tossed the guns he’d picked into a bag, hoisted the bag over his shoulder and shut the door to the vault. He keyed in the code, and the lock in the door slammed like the gavel that sentenced his fate.
As Warrens walked home that night, he noticed it was a sunny evening. The light became a relentless stream of gold yet dusk began to show her shy silhouette on the horizon. He smelled grilling meat in the air as people prepared their dinner. A few echoes of gunfire rippled through the streets, but Johannesburg wasn’t being ravaged by the civil war. At least, not yet. Warrens looked around. An encompassing void surrounded the neighborhood that still basked in the afternoon light.
The quiet before the storm.
There were four men standing in front of his apartment building. All of them in dark suits and sunglasses.
Sentries on the lookout.
Warrens got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was suspicious of these strangers who were dressed far too nicely for the neighborhood.
Then Warrens felt his heart fall into his gut.
A man walked outside and escorted an elderly woman towards their parked speeder.
“GRANDMA!” Warrens screamed as he tore a rifle out of his bag. One of the men behind her slid a black bag over her head, and threw her into the speeder. Two men hopped in while the other two drew their pistols and opened fire on Warrens.
Warrens fired a volley of bullets at the first man, who went down while the second recoiled from the spray of blood.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” A man screamed, breaking the chain of conflict. “There is no need for violence here, not when a grandmomy be in danger,” A slight, impish man said as he stood up from the back of the speeder. His accent was a thick African one. Incapable of saying the letter “R”, his words always expressed the “ah” sound instead.
“Come now, lay down your gun, or grandmommy die. Is that what you want Mista Wahhens?” Warrens was used to his name being butchered throughout Africa, but there was a slithering element to this man’s voice which made him feel like he was dealing with the traitorous angel Lucifer. Warrens threw down his rifle and let the blood-spattered goon come up and tie a zip tie around his wrists.
The goon escorted Warrens to the speeder and eased him inside.
“Come! Make room for our guest! Get this bug outta the way!” The impish man ordered. They pushed another person whose head was covered with a bag to the other side of the car. The man under the bag gave a stifled groan, and held his covered head down in despair.
Warrens looked around. They were packed like sardines inside the speeder. There was the driver, a man in the passenger seat, and a man on each side of him. Across from him was the impish man with Gladys on one side and a man with a black bag over his head on the other.
The imp pulled the black bag off of the man next to him. It was DeBoer, who sported a bruised face and a bloody nose. He jerked around in panic, his eyes adjusting to the blazing sun outside.
“Are you alright?” Warrens asked.
“Is this him?” The imp asked as he pointed at Warrens with his pistol.
“Deebs, are you alright?” Warrens pressed.
“You shut up!” The imp snarled. Warrens got a good look inside his mouth. Two rows of filed, dagger-like teeth, enhancing his devilish image. “Is it him? I won’t ask again.”
“Sean don’t - “
Warrens was cut off by the pistol’s hollow eye glaring at him. There was a hesitation in the imp’s eyes, but there was a darkness there. This man had not only killed before, he enjoyed it. He savored every kill. Warrens stayed silent.
“Yeah, it’s him,” DeBoer said. There was a defeated look in his eyes. His face begged for Warrens’ forgiveness. Warrens could see that DeBoer endured unimaginable tortures, and would never hate him for giving up his secrets to a bloodthirsty enemy.
“Good,” The imp said as he rolled down the car window. “No more use for you,” he said as he shot DeBoer through the side of his head. Gladys shrieked, while the imp opened the car door and dumped DeBoer’s body out into the street. Warrens felt more bile swirl in his stomach. He wanted to vomit but he couldn't give in. Gladys kept screaming, but the imp wrapped his arm around her and put his hand over her mouth.
“Quiet now, or I make you quiet,” the imp said. Warrens prepared to lunge himself at the cretin.
“Relax Mista Wahhens, she is safe for now. It is you we need,” the imp said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Iboee, Mista Wahhens and I am one of your biggest fans.”
Warrens felt guilt and adrenaline flood his bloodstream. A venomous rage welled within, a volcano on the verge of eruption.
“You’re lucky I don’t kill all of you for what you’ve done,” Warrens spat.
“You are in no position to threaten me Wahhens,” Iboee replied. “Just calm down and we’ll get through this without any trouble.”
Warrens fought to calm the storm within. Lashing out would only get his grandmother killed, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen. He closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and braced himself for the long fight ahead.
“Who do you work for Iboee?” He asked.
“I work for the great Diallo. Our informant back there tells us you can make weapons. Great weapons. We need them to help Diallo secure his kingdom,” Iboee explained. His accent made him hard to understand and he spoke at a snail’s pace.
“Leave my grandmother out of this. I’ll do anything you want, but please leave her out,” Warrens pleaded.
“Don’t beg boy. Makes you look weak. Besides you is a son of Africa. This is your fight too,” Iboee said to Warrens as they watched street gangs fight outside.
“My grandmother and I are from the American Provinces. I only moved to Africa for my job.”
“All black men are sons of Africa. The women her daughters. White men steal Africa’s sons and daughters and sell them as slaves.”
“Like what you’re doing now?” Warrens asked.
Iboee gave his trademark impish grin. “Black enslave white, white enslave black, and sometimes black enslave black. It is the way of life in Africa. The strong conquer the weak. Diallo the strongest amongst us, he will give Africa life again,” Iboee said.
“By bringing death millions?” Warrens hissed.
“Like you can talk merchant of death. You Mista Wahhens known as a spirit of death here in Africa. You bring death to all you gaze upon. You bring death to Diallo’s enemies now. If you don’t I dismember your grandmommy right in front of you. Piece by piece am I clear?” Iboee asked as he brandished a machete along Gladys’ neck.
“Yes, very clear,” Warrens replied.
“Then welcome to the African Continental Government! Ooy-aayy!” Iboee shouted in celebration.
Warrens watched out the window. Pillars of smoke rose on the edge of the horizon. There was violence everywhere. Soldiers hacked limbs off of villagers with machetes. Houses burned while soldiers screamed in celebration of another village taken. Men seized innocent women, pinned them to the ground and raped them in broad daylight. Seven year olds held assault rifles and fired on other children. Bodies and limbs lied everywhere. Alleyways and roads were blocked off by oil barrels and gateways made of human intestines.
Warrens looked to the floor. He couldn’t take the torment outside. His family believed that there was honor in war.
Brotherhood.
Valor.
Duty to one’s home.
War was hell, but there was no honor in such tribal butchery. Even if the skies split and blood rained down it wouldn't quench the thirst of this ancient bloodlust.
The speeder closed in on the city of Pretoria, home of the Trans-African Railway, a railroad that extended almost 9,000 miles North to South through Africa. It was one of Enai Kharakoum�
��s pet projects to “unify” the continent. The railway was built under the premise of increasing trade, but it instead became his own personal means of travel throughout Africa. If Diallo had managed to seize this railroad, he would have an unmatched edge to transport men and materialé throughout the continent.
“Ah! The Trans-African Railroad! Quite glorious wouldn’t you say Mista Wahhens?” Iboee asked.
“Yeah, it’s a knockout,” Warrens replied without enthusiasm. He thought it was a good sign that the railway still looked like a means of luxury transport rather than a converted military railroad.
The speeders pulled up and parked just behind the caboose of an electromagnetic bullet train. Warrens felt another round of bile slosh around in his stomach as the car came to a stop. The speeder had stopped on the edge of the Serengeti, a golden ecosystem kept in perfect balance. Despite all the centuries, no one could ever tame this wilderness.
“Now you get to prove yourself Mista Wahhens,” Iboee said as he climbed out of the speeder and pulled Gladys out with him. Warrens was escorted out and his handcuffs removed. Why would the captors risk releasing him? The trunk of the speeder popped open and Iboee pointed inside.
“What is this?” Warrens asked.
“That’s what you’re here to do. Figure it out,” Iboee ordered as he pointed inside the truck.
Warrens saw the remains of an armor gauntlet scattered in the trunk. Next to the arm was an energy cell for propulsion used on speeders. There were two worn out rifles scored with carbon. Finally there were two boxes of tools sitting towards the back of the trunk next to a glass case with an orb inside of it.
“A’ight. Now we need proof that you is as good as they say Mista Wahhens. Take those parts and make me an arm which can fire some bolts. Should be easy for you,” Iboee said. Warrens looked at the pieces and tried to figure out how he could use them together.
“And just so you don’t get any funny ideas Mista Wahhens,” Iboee warned, he pulled out his machete and held the edge right next to Gladys’ neck. She squealed as the blade dragged across her skin, and a thin trickle of blood leaked down her neck. “There be much more if you do anything stupid.”
Warrens peered inside of the trunk. “Iboee, what is this?” He asked as he pulled out the case which held the metal sphere. The metal appeared to vibrate, a constant shimmer rippling across the silvery surface.
“Ahh! Even bettah! Make that into a weapon!”
“I...I don’t even know what this is!” Warrens stuttered.
“You better try, or Grandmommy bleed!” Iboee snarled as he pressed his machete to Gladys’ neck.
“Jackson!” Gladys cried.
“Iboee wait!” Warrens howled. “Where did this come from?”
“We dug it up. Found it in dem Isotope-26 mines. Workers say it be the weapon of a Kibuka,” Iboee said, as though that explained everything.
“What does it do?”
“Said to be the weapon of the Gods! You here to figure out how to wield it!”
“I don’t know what this is...how can I turn it into a weapon if…”
“If you cannot give Diallo the weapon of Kibuka, then you useless! Your grandma be the first to go!”
“Iboee wait!” Warrens shouted. “Wait. I’ll...I’ll try…” He said as he opened the cover of the glass case. Something about this sphere unnerved Iboee, Warrens could see it in his eyes. He lifted the sphere out and held the vibrating metal in his hands. The metal pulsated, as if it had a heart.
“How am I supposed to wield-” Warrens asked as he felt the sphere become weightless. He recoiled in terror, dropping the glass case while the sphere melted like mercury through his fingers.
“What did you do?” Iboee screamed.
“I don’t know I-”
“Figure it out! Now!” Iboee howled. The metal collected back into a sphere right before it crashed onto the ground. It lied like a vibrating ball bearing on the ground, creating tremors which made the sand all around it dance in an erratic pattern.
“Pick it up! Now!” Iboee screamed. He kept digging the machete into Gladys, and Warrens gave her an agonized stare. Tears glided down Gladys’ cheeks.
Warrens reached down and grabbed the sphere, the vibration rattling across his fingers and up his back.
“Stop stalling!” Iboee hissed.
“Iboee. Relax. There’s nothing I can do with this unless I have the chance to analyze and inspect this...whatever this metal is,” Warrens said.
“Then your grandmommy -”
“Iboee. If you cut my grandmother one more time, I won’t help you build the weapon you want. Let her go, and I will build you a weapon of incomprehensible destruction. Diallo will have Africa in the palm of his hand by the time I’m done.” Warrens said. An air of confidence swelled in his being, and bought some time to figure a way out.
“Fine. Have her,” Iboee said as he shoved Gladys into Warrens’ arms.
“It’s okay Grandma, you’re safe now,” Warrens said.
“Jackson, why did you promise my life for millions of others?” Gladys whispered as she wept.
Warrens felt ice flow through his veins. His stare hardened on Iboee. “I’ll need a workshop. Not some cheapskate tool shed where you store the acetylene tanks. I need a lab to test and to experiment. I have never seen a metal like this before.”
“How dare you make demands from me!” Iboee snarled.
“You wanted a weapon out of this, a weapon of the gods right? Then I need the proper tools!” Warrens snapped as he held out the vibrating sphere. Iboee eyed the sphere, and his lip curled up into a sneer.
“Git into the railcar,” Iboee ordered.
Under the leering, beady eyes of Iboee and his guards, Warrens studied the sphere. At times as he passed the sphere back and forth in his hands, it would ‘melt,’ pass through his fingers and reform wherever it landed. He noted in the back of his mind the mercurial properties of this melting orb. He wondered if he was handling a ball of mercury, which would explain why Iboee and his men dare not touch the substance.
“Why does it do that?” Iboee asked.
“I don’t know. I need to experiment with it,” Warrens replied, lost in thought. Iboee referred to this as a weapon, but there was nothing inherently dangerous about it in Warrens’ mind.
“We approach our first stop in the provinces of Zimbabwe. I need to check on our factories. You help us here Mista Wahhens, make our shields stronger.”
“Pardon?”
“The Dutch boy say you can make shields resist the shieldbreaker rounds. Teach my workers to do the same,” Iboee commanded.
Iboee’s guards escorted Warrens across the factory floor. His gaze froze as he saw girls as young as seven operating volatile Lepton Forges which churned out armor plates, ammunition and even assault rifles at such a dizzying pace. Warrens calculated they could manufacture as much in a week as what any Core factory could produce in three months at the height of the Unification Wars.
There was a trade off for such furious churning of war machines. Warrens inspected the quality of the armor plates and the rifles. They were slipshod at best. The weapons couldn’t possibly handle the dramatic differences in climate throughout Africa. Therefore, it was better for the factories to produce vast quantity over high quality. Produce a lot of older, cheaper models rather than the fewer, more expensive designs which could last the duration of the war.
“Impressive yeah?” Iboee asked. “Diallo’s empire make more weapons than any other! With you here Mista Wahhens, we will be unstoppable!”
“How many factories does Diallo have like this one?” Warrens asked.
“Twenty at least. All up the Trans-African railroad. Our enemies will be buried beneath steel while we conquer all we see!”
“Dear God,” Gladys gasped under her breath. “Those poor children…” She reached out as though she wanted to help, but Iboee waved his pistol at her, signaling to keep her distance.
Warrens looked around and reali
zed that this factory wasn’t much different than Beckwell. His office was cleaner, and their machines sturdier, but at the root they were the same. This wasn’t a legacy he wanted. He wanted justice, not slaughter.
“Where is a place I can work on this?” Warrens asked as he held out the orb in his hand.
“In da back,” Iboee said with a nod of his head.
Warrens rolled up the filthy sleeves of his dress shirt, ignited a blowtorch and covered his face with a mask. The orb vibrated with such intensity that all of the tools nearby rattled against the workbench. He took the blow torch and held it against the sphere. The torch breathed its flame against the shimmering metal. A red glow simmered at the mouth of the torch, then spread through the middle and across the surface. The entire sphere became a small, twinkling star until it popped and spread into an orange pool of molten metal. The table and floor sizzled from the searing heat.
“Damn it!” Warrens screamed as he jumped back to avoid the spilling molten metal. It pooled and collected back into a sphere on the floor. Warrens held his hand just over the metal, it was still fiery hot to the touch. He put his briefcase on the ruined table, pulled out a notebook and opened to a blank page. Inside he wrote:
Experimentation Log Day 1
Substance: Unknown
A sphere of unknown metal and origin has come into my possession. My captors are scared of whatever this substance may be. Tested how to break by applying heat to the sphere. Sphere melted, but not due to heat. It has a habit of ‘melting’ at random intervals into a mercurial-like substance. Still managed to retain molten-level heat temperatures. Due to lack of carbon scores and burning of the metal, I believe that most of the impurities have already been burned out. My new sphere won’t rust.
Warrens put the orb on the table to test when the orb would ‘melt.’ He grabbed a hammer, struck the orb on the table, and grunted in frustration as he felt a wave of pain shoot up his arm. The orb held completely intact without so much as a dent. Warrens grabbed his pencil:
Horsemen United: Horsemen Origins Books 1-5 Page 15
