Vaccinated - A Continuation

[Ro20316]

Brad doesnt want to tell Scott his motheris dead but sooner or later he will have to. They are in danger and if Miguel doesnt reach the Hermanos outside teh prison then more people will suffer

[ploder4]

Jake wants his "toys" but death is too much for him.  I have to read the previous story to know if Jake had killed or nearly killed one of his "toys" before.  

[mmvmgo2011]

~~SIXTY-NINE~~

“We have to get word out.”

It was well past 5pm, and there was no sign of the lockdown letting up any time soon. The Hermanos on the outside would be looking to collect.

“But how, ese? Everything is locked down, even the guards are separated until they can be interviewed by the pigs. The last time we were locked down for three days.”

“THREE DAYS?!” Fuck. Jake didn’t know how, but they had to get Miguel’s orders out, and fast.

***

Scott was up and walking around. Brad was concerned he might have concussion, or internal injuries or bleeding, but there was nothing he could do about that right now.

They were exposed. Diego was almost certainly further away than Hermano reinforcements, so they’d need to bunker down. But where? How?

***

“No fucking signal!”

“Same. FUCK!”

“That puto! How the fuck did he manage to bend steel like that?”

The puto hulk had trapped them in their vehicle and created a Faraday Cage - whether inadvertently, by pure luck, or by design - an enclosure of metal that prevented RF signals from penetrating into the interior. By wrapping them in the metal of the vehicle, the mobile network signal could not penetrate into what remained of the vehicle’s interior, rendering their phones useless. They had no way to call for reinforcements, although their fallback team would automatically activate when they failed to check in.

The Hermanos put the organised in organised crime. They had developed smart, ruthlessly effective procedures over the years, constantly honing and refining their methods. It was one reason their reputation was so well deserved. If they were after you, they almost invariably got their target, one way or another.

One of the most effective methods they’d developed is the automatic deployment of backup teams. Each team was required to check in with their designated handlers at predetermined intervals, which changed depending upon the job. If they failed to check in on time, the handler would automatically dispatch a backup team - presuming that the primary team had failed. The secondary team would also need to check in, and so on. Each team would be more deadly than the last - more experienced, more ruthless, more heavily armed - so that even if you defeated those that were after you, you only had a deadlier threat on its way, and on and on, until they caught their prey. The prey has to win every time, the predator, only once.

***

Cruiser or personal vehicle?

He finally decided on cruiser. He could use lights and sirens to bypass lights and get through traffic more easily, shaving precious minutes off his travel time.

Brad had sent him their GPS location, which he entered into the cruiser’s navigation. ETA 1 hour. That didn’t factor in Diego driving. He aimed to make it in less than half that time.

As he pulled out, he dialled Assad.

“Assad.”

“Cap, I got a call from Brad, the Hermanos are after him. Well, not him, Scott, actually. But Brad’s with him, thankfully.”

“The Hermanos?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m off to assist. They’ve been rammed off the road, and their vehicle is totalled.”

“Backup?”

“No, no backup. Brad is, understandably, paranoid. The Hermanos have their fingers in pies everywhere. He’s worried if we bring them in, the Hermanos will get to them. The fewer people that know, the better. Remember what happened last time the Hermanos were after one of our “guests”?”

Remember he did. They’d found the prisoner, who was in a cell alone, not in the shared drunk tank, symbolically crucified against the bunk, his arms outstretched and tied to the bed rails, his neck snapped. There were several investigations - including from Professional Standards Command, the division of police that polices the police - but there were no leads, no clue as to how the perpetrator got access to the prisoner and who he was. All of the officers on duty at the time, including Diego and Assad, were cleared, in-station footage clearing them and providing an alibi for the established time of death. The same footage provided no clear view of the perpetrator, and no one reported seeing anyone out of the ordinary or out of place. It was a mystery to this day, and it still vexed Assad, as the station’s commander, that one of his own was almost certainly dirty, on the Hermano’s take.

Despite Assad’s feelings, it was a similar story at most precincts. The Hermanos were a large organisation, very well funded, and very well connected. Generally, they did not fear law enforcement.

“You don’t have to remind me. I still sweat on that one. It was one reason why I couldn’t trust anyone else with the mysterious log entry and what I knew about Brad and Jake, and had to send you into the unknown on your own.”

“Yeah, well, you can understand Brad’s reluctance to get us involved. It would’ve been good to have them looked over by a paramedic, at least, but Brad wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Where are they?”

“About 20 minutes outside of the city limits. 10 Diego-driving-minutes.”

Despite everything, Assad laughed, “Be careful out there. Driving and once you get there. Where exactly is there, anyway?”

Diego’s hackles rose. Why did Assad want to know their precise location? If he didn’t know better… no, it couldn’t possibly be. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - believe that Assad was dirty, on the take.

“I’m not sure,” he lied, “he only gave me general directions, and said I’d know when I got there.”

“You should’ve taken the chopper.”

He’d considered it, but then they’d have to file flight plans, get the pilot involved, air traffic control… too many people, too many opportunities for the Hermanos to intercept and learn of their location. He’d trade speed of arrival with the risk that he’d be leading Hermanos straight to them.

“I considered it, but that would involve too many people - the pilot, air traffic control, flight prep crews… too risky.”

“Good point. Drive safe, and check in once you’ve got them, and you’re safe.”

“Will do.”

Maybe, he thought, maybe not.

As the call terminated, Assad brought up the GPS locations of the station’s cruisers, and tagged Diego’s cruiser, the screen zooming in and scrolling along in real-time as Diego sped to help Brad and Scott.

[mmvmgo2011]

On 6/16/2023 at 5:16 PM, ploder4 said:

Jake wants his "toys" but death is too much for him.  I have to read the previous story to know if Jake had killed or nearly killed one of his "toys" before.  

He didn't kill, or nearly kill - but he had no issue torturing, and inflicting pretty vicious pain - both the old-fashioned way, and using his ability.

So far, he's been pretty tame - only using it to teach Galloway a well-deserved lesson... whether it stays that way... especially once he learns of what the Hermanos have done/are doing to his family - is he going to snap and revert to his old ways?

[ploder4]

1 hour ago, mmvmgo2011 said:

He didn't kill, or nearly kill - but he had no issue torturing, and inflicting pretty vicious pain - both the old-fashioned way, and using his ability.

So far, he's been pretty tame - only using it to teach Galloway a well-deserved lesson... whether it stays that way... especially once he learns of what the Hermanos have done/are doing to his family - is he going to snap and revert to his old ways?

Or worse?  The only reason is I'm concerned based on his penchant for torture, he might take it a step further or might go too far without realizing it.

[mmvmgo2011]

~~SEVENTY~~

He heard them well before he saw them. Motorbikes. He couldn’t be sure exactly how many, but it was more than three or four, more like six, maybe seven. They sounded like dirt bikes, manoeuvrable, as opposed to cruisers or choppers. So unlikely to be bikies on a cruise.

“Scott, I’m going to move the car up against that tree. I want you to sit between the car and the tree, ensuring your back is up against the trunk and no matter what happens, don’t come out until I tell you. No. Matter. What. Understood? Your back is super glued to that trunk.”  Scott nodded, gravely.

Brad pushed the still upside-down car over on its side, and slid it over to a large eucalyptus tree growing nearby - not the hardest of woods, but beggars can’t be choosers. He lined up the engine - the densest part, most resistant to bullets - with the tree’s trunk, giving Scott maximum protection. He couldn’t do much about the fuel and oil - if a fire broke out, well, he’d have to deal with it then.

Despite his rising fear and anxiety, Scott marvelled at how easily Brad manipulated the vehicle. Sure, he didn’t need to lift it, but he had pushed it over like it was a domino, and he’d dragged it to the tree like it was a sled, weighing nothing.

Brad pulled weapons from the boot, giving Scott an automatic machine gun. “This one is much more powerful. When you fire, make sure the stock is held firm against your shoulder, otherwise the recoil will give you a hell of a bruise at best, or dislocate your shoulder or worse. There’s really no aiming - there’s so much recoil that bullets will just fly out - it’s more a spray and pray weapon. Point it in the general direction, pull the trigger gently, and what you’re aiming at should disappear. Try and avoid me being anywhere near where you are pointing if you can. But if it comes down to it - if you have to - don’t be afraid to shoot even if I’m in the way. Try and conserve ammo, firing in short bursts. Don’t hold down the trigger, wasting bullets.”

He showed Scott how to change magazines, so he could reload, but they hadn’t had a chance to practice any shooting, so it was definitely spray and pray.

“Use the car to stabilise the weapon, that’ll help with general aim. Again, aim for the middle of the chest - the biggest target. If you hit them anywhere, they’ll go down. They may not stay down, but leave that to me. Whatever you do - STAY DOWN - don’t give them a target. If a fire breaks out in the engine or the fuel tank, move to the other end of the vehicle, but don’t panic - cars, even on fire, generally don’t explode like in the movies.”

Scott was trying to take it all in, while trying to stem his rising panic, as he heard the bikes too, now, getting closer.

“We’re going to have to hold them off until Diego gets here, which we might not be able to do. They probably won’t kill you straight off - if they’re using you as leverage - so they’ll want to take you alive. If you get taken, and you get the chance to make some sort of video or a call - you need to come up with some sort of code, to give clues as to where they’ve taken you, which way you went, how long it took to get to where they’ve taken you - those sorts of things. It’ll help narrow down our search.”

Scott nodded along, as he took shelter between the tree and the car.

“I’ll go down fighting, but if they do happen to capture me, they’ll no doubt use me against you. Don’t listen to anything they say. And if they threaten to kill me if you don’t surrender, just let them kill me. They’ll do it anyway.”

Scott could not believe how matter of fact Brad was when speaking of his own potential death. He was just giving Scott instructions, as if he was given him driving directions or something, and not contemplating his torture and death at the hands of brutal criminals.

“And, if I’m killed… tell Jake I love him. Tell Amber I love her. It’s been an honour to be your Jake while he’s been unable to, and I'm sorry I failed you.”

And with that, he ran off, not waiting for a response. Scott couldn’t count how many weapons he was carrying.

***

Jason was still numb. He felt nothing, thought nothing. The only thing going through his mind was the image of Maria, his beautiful, loving Maria, blown away. The image replayed in his mind over and over. And, now, they were after Scott, too.

***

“Felipe, or Galloway, maybe Ignacio… they will help us.”

“Maybe, ese,” his tone sounded dubious, unconvinced, “but they’re locked down with the rest of us… or, isolated from us, anyway.”

“So we need to get one of them here.”

“Jake, even if we can get one of the guards here… I’m not ratting out any Hermano on the outside.”

“You’re not ratting out anyone, Miguel. You’re just giving a message to a friend… that’s it. That’s all the guard needs to know. A message to a friend.”

“A message to a friend…?”

“Yeah, that’s all. No one needs to know who they are, or what they are.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Miguel broke out into a grin.

Jake was confused. “Well, we still need to get word to–”

“Leave that to me,” Miguel said. He whistled, a loud, sharp sound. And waited. A moment later, there was a response, the same sound echoed back by… someone.

Miguel then made a series of whistles, the sound loud and echoing and carrying through the cells and corridors. Ingenious, thought Jake. They’ve worked out a way to communicate even while in lockdown! Incredible… necessity really was the mother of invention.

After a few minutes, a faint whistle echoed through the cell.

“The message is as far as the edge of the prison, though not sure how long it will take to spread further.”

Jake stood and hugged Miguel, “Thanks, mate. Much appreciated.”

“Of course, ese. We had a deal. Now, how much do you appreciate it?” he asked, as he knelt, and reached into Jake’s briefs. Jake laughed, everything was arse backwards in this place. Since when does the one showing appreciation not get on their knees?

***

Brad clamped down on Jake’s subconscious in his brain, hard. The very last thing he needed right now is the distraction of Jake getting his rocks off.

He shimmied up to the crest of a nearby curve on his belly, and raised his binoculars, careful to avoid any reflections from the rapidly setting sun. Fuck. He was right, off in the distance, seven riders, each heavily armed. He set the weapon’s tripod, and began setting himself for the shots.

It was difficult. That was an understatement. They were currently over 3,000m (~3,280yds) away, closer to 4,000m (~4,374yds), but closing fast. The furthest recorded sniper kill might be over 3,500m, but Brad had a few points going against him. He was no expert sniper. He was good, but 3,500+m? No, no way. And that record breaking sniper was not an active target, no doubt had time to line up, check the wind, slow his breathing and heart rate… Brad’s heart was racing, his blood pressure spiking, adrenaline peaking… none of which were ideal for an ultra-long distance kill. And the pressure. He had to reduce those numbers down. Seven to one and a bit… he wasn’t yet sure what Scott counted for, but it certainly wasn’t one, and this wasn’t a movie. Those were killer odds. Be killed odds. (Of course, Brad was significantly greater than one, himself, but the more even the odds, the better.)

He would aim for the last member in the convoy, hopefully he’ll be able to pick off three or four of them before they realised they were being targeted and dispersed.

Breathe, Brad. Relax. He wished he had the ability to alter his subconscious like Jake and HIM and Amber - he could then slow his heart right down, drop his BP and breathing. But he had to do it the hard way.

He checked the wind, and looked through the scope. He was thankful for mostly straight Australian rural highways, so they were basically coming straight toward him, which made factoring their movement much easier.

Deep breath in, hold… he gently squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, quickly dispersing in the mostly empty landscape. A moment later, the rider dropped off the back of his bike, the bike continuing on for a few more moments. Number seven down.

He quickly re-set for number six.

***

Miguel’s whistle-message was simple. Enrique was dead. Robertson was off, immediately.

The guard currently manning the prison entrance was a Hermano, and understood the whistle ‘language’ - it was more like audible shorthand - and he knew that the Robertson mission - that’s how they were thought of within the organisation - the mission would still be operating under Enrique’s orders, and it was probably too late already to prevent any deaths. So the sooner the new instructions went out, the better. But this fucking lockdown. His phone was confiscated, along with everyone else’s, by the pigs investigating. His face screwed up at the thought of the pigs.

He whistled back, "Ack EOP." Acknowledged, edge of prison.

He needed to get to his phone.

[mmvmgo2011]

1 hour ago, ploder4 said:

Or worse?  The only reason is I'm concerned based on his penchant for torture, he might take it a step further or might go too far without realizing it.

At this point, I can't promise there won't be anything like that, or worse.

For example, if Scott is harmed, or worse, I could very easily imagine Jake snapping like Carrie at the prom, and basically destroying the entire prison and then some.

If you want, I can give you a heads up if there's any darker stuff in future. PM me and I can PM you to let you know - same for anyone else reading that might want a bit of a warning.

[Ro20316]

Im loving we are getting to know more about the characters outside the TRIO. Brad is an enigma now. He has a complete different life and now we are getting to know a bit of it.

The Hermanos are not just some gang they are a huge cartel and Jake made a deal to change them and stregnth them. He doesnt know the extent of Their organization. This is crazy, things will get crazier unless he makes Miguel forget but Jake and  is kinda dumb sometimes and will forget something. The Hermanos situation is a Two blades sword.

Could Assad be an hermano? That would certainly be a twist but i dont think so if he were he would have made a deal with Jake to boost him not only him but for some Hermanos as well.

[Ro20316]

On 6/16/2023 at 3:16 AM, ploder4 said:

Jake wants his "toys" but death is too much for him.  I have to read the previous story to know if Jake had killed or nearly killed one of his "toys" before.  

He doesnt kill at least not yet but he loves to inflict pain and dominate others. remember what he did to those that tried to rape Amber and her friends. He tortured them and changed them and later he went berserk and he raped them ina way, trying to take on their free will to be only serviced him

[mmvmgo2011]

~~SEVENTY-ONE~~

Scott heard the shot ring out, a sharp crack echoing across the countryside. He hoped it was Brad doing the shooting - it sounded close, but he had no experience with weapons or shooting, so he couldn’t be sure. He was tempted to take a peek, but Brad’s words of warning came back to him - super glued to the tree trunk. So he sat, waiting.

A few moments later, another sharp crack. It had to be Brad, that sounded pretty close. He heard Brad curse, but it didn’t sound like he was hurt. Must’ve missed. A moment later, another crack, another curse.

***

Brad swore. He missed. Again.

Breathe, Brad, focus, he berated himself. As they were coming closer, the shots were getting easier. The counter to that, they were getting closer… the pressure was mounting. One out of three. ‘Most decorated, deadliest soldier’, my arse, he thought.

He steadied himself, checking the wind, which had picked up, and took a deep breath. Hold it…

Meanwhile, Jake’s sex was slowly intruding further into his mind - a very, VERY unwelcome distraction right about now; he still hadn’t learnt how to silence Jake’s subconscious in his head completely, he could sort of dull it for a while, but that wore off over time, especially when Jake’s subconscious was exploding with ecstasy.

…squeeze the trigger gently.

The shot rang out, a moment later, the sixth Hermano’s helmet exploded in a mist of red, just as Jake was exploding in his head, his orgasm peaking. Brad’s erection hardened painfully - partly through the influence of Jake in his head, but mainly it was the arousal, the adrenaline of the kill. The fact that he was playing God with another’s life, snuffing it out before they were even aware of what was happening. It was not the same as a close combat kill, of course, that was a different kind of arousal, more primal, more visceral. This arousal was more on a cerebral level. It was not a sick form of arousal, either. It was not as though he actively sought out kills, like some psychotic serial killer, getting aroused by the mere anticipation, the act of the kill itself enough to send him over the edge.

He ached to adjust his painful erection, but dared not move so much, disturbing his set up. He checked the breeze, which had shifted direction, made the tiny aiming adjustment necessary, and held his breath. CRACK! Another Hermano was no more, his head more hole than head.

They were much closer now, almost too close. He had time for one more shot before they’d be too close and he’d need to switch weapons. He checked the wind, took a breath and steadied…

The remaining riders - all four of them - suddenly fanned out, zig-zagging and doing their utmost to avoid his shots. That was it, he’d picked off three of them, now they were onto him. Better four after them, than seven, but he’d hoped to be able to take out one or two more.

Three dead from five shots. I’m better than that, he thought, but he’d take it, considering the circumstances.

He shimmied back from the crest, before running back to the vehicle to prepare for the next phase of the assault.

***

Assad would have to have words with Diego upon his return. 230+km/h (~143mph)? That was just reckless and irresponsible, even with his vehicle training.

It occurred to Assad that the Hermano, or Hermanos, that had infiltrated his station might use the cruiser’s GPS position. He dialled Diego’s mobile, avoiding the use of the radio.

“Diego, turn off the cruiser’s GPS.”

“Yes, I’ve been following you. Slow down a bit, will you? It won’t help anyone if you crash before you get there.”

“No, I’m not writing you up, hah. But just be more careful, please. I need my right hand man.” And, besides, he thought, it would be a shame to lose a hot fucker like you.

Assad’s screen shifted back to a global overview of all cruisers, popping up a message that the location of the tagged cruiser was not available.

“It’s just refreshed and you’re now offline.”

“I should have thought of that earlier… but at least it’s off now.”

“Keep me posted. Bye.”

***

Diego wasn’t far. Five minutes, tops. He’d made incredible time, utilising every bit of his vehicle handling training as the cruiser bounced all over the uneven, poorly maintained roads barely capable of safely carrying cars at 110km/hr (~68mph), the state speed limit.

He slowed down, slightly, double checking his weapons. He needed an update on the situation. He called the number Brad had called from… a burner, clearly.

“I’m about 5 away. What’s the sitch?”

“Shit. Four left? Nice shooting, though.”

“Come on, mate, don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ll let you prep, it’ll be 3 vs 4 soon… we’ll get you out of there.”

Brad was impressive, he thought. He wondered where he learned to shoot like that. Diego didn’t think he could make those sniper shots. Come to think of it, where did Brad get a high-powered sniper weapon? This wasn’t the US of A… weapons like that just didn’t exist in civilian populations in Australia. Not that he would do anything about it if it was hot. He didn’t know why, but he felt like he could trust Brad. The way he’d handled the Jake situation and telling him and Assad - and, even though he’d given Brad a hard time for questioning him after their recent hospital visit, he knew he was concerned for his friend and for them all, so his heart was in the right place.

He passed three motorbikes, in much better shape than their riders by the looks of things. He slowed down. He was close.

As he approached a crest in the road, his GPS indicated that he’d arrived. He slowed right down, inching the cruiser almost at idle over the summit, wanting to maintain the element of surprise.

He saw another bike off the road, but could not see its rider. Three bikes buzzed around a vehicle propped up on its side up against a tree. As the cruiser inched closer, he realised it wasn’t propped against the tree, it was used to shield Scott. Smart. Another car off to the side of the road looked crumpled initially, but on a second look, Diego realised the body was purposefully bent, presumably to trap the occupants. Smart, again. Smart and humane. He only killed when he needed to.

He stopped the cruiser, and exited it, the bikes hadn’t noticed him yet. He checked his handgun, and grabbed the high powered rifle and shotgun and extra ammo.

***

Brad was hiding in the thick brush along the side of the road, the same thickets that had hidden the Hermano’s car before ramming them.

One of the Hermanos made the fatal mistake of trying to rush Brad on his motorbike, Brad’s outstretched arm crushing the Hermano’s sternum, killing him instantly. He’d used the body to shield himself from the hail of bullets the other three fired his way as they realised their brother was no more.

But they were after Scott, not Brad, so they let him go, focussing their efforts on Scott. Brad was just about to storm from his hiding place when he saw Diego’s cruiser silently inch over the crest of the hill. Smart, not giving them warning of his approach.

He watched Diego exit the vehicle, but he didn’t take cover or look for shelter. Instead, Diego seemed to casually walk over to where Scott was and the Hermanos were circling, trying to evaluate the situation and working out how they would extricate Scott without harming him.

***

Diego casually walked towards the three Hermanos circling their motorbikes around Scott’s location.

It didn’t take long for one of them to see him, peeling away from the others, sliding his bike sideways and skidding to a stop just centimetres from Diego. To his credit, he didn’t flinch.

The Hermano lifted his visor. “Took you long enough, ese.”

***

Realisation hit Brad like a freight train going full-tilt. DIEGO WAS A GOD-DAMNED MOTHER-FUCKING HERMANO!

Brad did not enrage easily, but his anger was white hot, a supernova. He was also cursing himself, realising he’d almost certainly sealed their fate. First, he’d failed to notice and avoid the ramming and, now, he’d brought the Hermanos right to them, and the one person he thought he could trust, thought was his friend, was a treacherous cunt. FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCK.