Send to Kill

The New Guys—a name whispered among the townsfolk of Akkerstad—had a darker origin. It all began in Mexico with Marco Lopez, the eldest of seven children, who grew up in a neighborhood rife with gangs. Following in his father’s footsteps, Marco joined the Cartel, leveraging the legacy of his family. His great-grandfather was a gifted businessman, a trait that seemed to run in the Lopez bloodline. Unfortunately, the family legacy took a darker turn with his grandfather, who initiated the gangster lifestyle, a tradition passed down to Marco and his father.

Marco quickly made a name for himself, becoming a beloved figure within the Cartel. His business acumen allowed him to amass wealth through drug sales, and he eventually approached the Cartel boss with a bold proposal: to establish his own gang in a foreign country. With the blessing of the Cartel, Marco moved to South Africa, bringing along his brothers and nephews to forge what would become the biggest gang on the continent. Though Marco was still a Cartel member, he operated his own faction in Akkerstad, where he remained shrouded in secrecy, earning the moniker “The New Guys” from the community.

When The New Guys arrived in Akkerstad, they did so with violent intent. Bodies of both Zulus and corrupt police began littering the streets, establishing a tense peace marked by fear. Marco’s younger brother, Antonio Lopez, managed the ground operations, ingratiating himself into the community while running the drug trade much like Marco had in Mexico. He lived a seemingly normal life, waking up every morning, dressing well, and driving around in a rotation of luxury cars, all while maintaining the façade of a working man.

One day, as Antonio’s driver, Steve, maneuvered through the streets, he initiated a conversation.

“Antonio, you ever heard of the Angel of Death? They say he wears a UFO mask,” Steve said, glancing at Antonio.

Just then, they paused at a red traffic light.

“You mean like that guy over there?” Steve pointed.

Antonio turned to see a figure weaving between cars, brandishing a shotgun and wearing a UFO alien mask. In a flash, Antonio ducked down, but Steve wasn’t as lucky. The masked man fired through the windscreen, striking Steve.

The Angel of Death approached the passenger side, pulling a blade from his pocket. He struck Antonio in the face with the butt of his gun, blood streaming from his nose. With a swift motion, the masked man cut open Antonio’s shirt, exposing his stomach, then sliced him open, letting his intestines spill out.

As the flames engulfed Antonio, lit by petrol the masked man poured over his exposed insides, a chilling message was carved into Antonio’s chest: an “R,” the symbol of Ruthless, an indication that his death was a message to their enemies.

When the masked figure vanished into the shadows, horrified onlookers rushed to help. But it was too late; Antonio had succumbed to his injuries.

Meanwhile, Antonio’s older brother, Marcelino, seethed with rage. He called the police to report the incident in Sterlington Park, but when the police arrived, they were ambushed. Four SUVs surrounded their vehicle, setting the police bakkie ablaze, incinerating four officers in front of a stunned crowd.

War had erupted in Akkerstad between The New Guys and the police, and among the chaos, Sibu found himself reveling in the violence. He laughed heartily, shaking with glee as he and his friend Jabu discussed the unfolding events.

“Your friend seems to be doing well, huh?” Jabu remarked, grinning.

“Yeah, but I can’t fully trust him. What if he double-crosses me?” Sibu replied, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.

“I think you should pay him more,” Jabu suggested.

“That’s another problem. He doesn’t seem to care about money; he just wants to kill for fun. And honestly? That works for me,” Sibu admitted, a dark satisfaction in his tone.

“Feels like he was sent from above,” Jabu chuckled.

Their banter was interrupted when Jabu glanced up at the bar counter in Sibu’s house. He froze, his eyes wide with shock. “Jesus Christ! What the fuck?!” he shouted, nearly falling from his chair.

Sibu turned, his heart racing. They both stared at the Angel of Death, who had materialized in their midst.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Sibu asked, breathless.

“I’ve been here longer than you can imagine, big boss. I’m here for the money,” the masked figure replied, his voice cold and unyielding.

“Jabu, check the safe. There’s a million in there; give it to our friend,” Sibu ordered.

“One million?” Jabu echoed, surprised.

“Just give him the money!” Sibu snapped.

The Angel of Death scoffed. “You guys are pathetic.”

“So, what’s next?” Sibu asked, a wry smile playing on his lips.

“Stupid idiot, you made me a list. You still ask what’s next? Who do you think is next? Surely you remember what you wrote, or did you think I was joking?” the masked man retorted.

“The older brother and his informers, then the boss’s family, and him, himself,” Sibu replied, still grinning.

Jabu handed the money to the masked man, but Sibu’s curiosity got the better of him. “How about you take off the mask for a change?”

The Angel of Death leaned closer, his voice dripping with menace. “How about I fuck you with a large cucumber in your ass?”

With that, the atmosphere thickened, tension crackling in the air as the stakes of their deadly game escalated.