12 Badoets
Thingful

The sound of gunfire echoed among the rows of abandoned empty shophouses. The slums are still in the center of the city, which has been abandoned long enough. Some stray cats seemed to run around hearing foreign sounds in a place that was used to silence.

Fresh blood splashed along with the throwing of the firearm. Two humans fell down on the uneven road. Mr. Wito gasped for breath holding his bullet-pierced shoulder. He managed to raise a fist right at the face of the male with the dragon stick. Even in a short time, Mr. Wito also managed to snatch 50 thousand old money from the hands of his opponent.

"Sweety!" The male with the dragon's staff spat. The corner of his lips smelled of rancid with a thick liquid that felt like rusty iron.

The firearm belonging to the male stick dragon was thrown quite far away. He snorted annoyedly realizing his shot had not managed to punch a hole in Pak Wito's chest.

"Among all the clowns I've ever met, you're the most troublesome. But it feels interesting, because all this time no one can give a fight. All were just old grandfathers who were about to meet their end. There is no challenge and satisfaction to finish them off" said the dragon-sticked man.

"Shameful. Even to fight an elderly you use a firearm. Wear a negligee if your guts and mentality are only this limited" mocked Mr. Wito.

Honestly, at this time Mr. Wito has difficulty regulating the breath. Joints and bones all over his body seemed to be about to fall out all. It is natural considering the age that is no longer young. Power that is not prime, as well as a gaping wound on the chest.

Mr. Wito observed the old money he had managed to snatch. The serial number he's been looking for all this time. Unmistakably, the money belonged to Sumiran who was hidden inside a safe in 91.

"I'll finish you off and after that, I'll derail your son's candidacy. Look and cry from Hell, Old Man. Ha ha ha," the laughter of the male dragon-stick broke out. Along with the sound of the rain that returned down in the form of fine grains.

Mr. Wito stood up again. With a wounded right shoulder he can still mount the horses. With a quick and sudden movement he twisted his body and floated a kick towards the opponent. The male with the dragon cane had covered his face using his elbow. But Pak Wito's kick is very strong to be able to push the male stick dragon.

The attack still continued, Mr. Wito swung his fist right into the open heart of the dragon-stick man. Instantly Mak Surti's son fell into the asphalt. His mouth spewed out a pitch-white liquid.

Mr. Wito stumbled, about to pick up a firearm lying on the grass. But from behind, a shot from the end of the iron stick managed to injure Pak Wito's calf. The old man groaned and dropped his body onto the wet asphalt road.

"Satanic child!" aspat Pak Wito. His calf muscles were torn out giving off a thick red liquid.

The male with the dragon staff tried to stand with a stupefied breath. There was a bitter sensation he felt at the base of the tongue. While the sky is raging, pouring rain water with a lot.

The male with the dragon stick stood in front of Mr. Wito who was still lying in pain. He swung a fist towards Pak Wito's face with all his might. Several times a crushing blow hit the eyelids, making the elderly's netra swelled with a blackish purple color.

"Huh huh hah, I'll torture you to the fullest of my heart." The male with the dragon staff gasped for breath.

"Your mom's still lucky I'll send her back home. I could throw it into the sea if I wanted to. I still have a heart, but I can't believe this generosity has brought me to you" continued Mr. Wito. There was a wry smile seen among the teeth that had fallen out from the blow.

"In this world there is a law called the sow of grandfather peyot. What you plant, you will harvest. Even if you throw it away or hide it, the wheel of fate will always have its own way of revealing your rottenness!" The male with the dragon staff sighed. Her eyes are red. He cried along with the rain that flowed all over his head. The anger struck with thunder in the night sky.

The burly hand clasped tightly onto the tipped iron stick. Without warning, Mak Surti's son threw his wand right on the left shoulder of Pak Wito until it penetrated and stuck tightly on the asphalt. Mr. Wito groaned bitterly. The unbearable pain. Both of his shoulders are now paralyzed, unable to move.

Mak Surti's son smirked in satisfaction. Her fur dripped with soaked wet hair covering a part of the face. Round eyes look shiny in the darkness of the night. The man then stepped up, limping to the edge of the road. Picking up a firearm lying on the wet grass.

"Grandfather peyot, don't die just yet. I still have one bullet I set up for you. Let us enjoy the fruits of the past. My life is a mess, and your death is terrible. Impasse right?" Mak Surti's son chuckled. The sound of his laughter sounded hoarse.

"Ahhh arghh. Hold still. Please forgive me" said Mr. Wito. This time his arrogance and guts had collapsed. However, he did not want to die in the current state of grief. Deep down he wanted to see his son at the peak of his success. Mr. Wito wriggled, the old body that was still quite sturdy was fixated on the earth.

Mak Surti's son was standing right above Mr. Wito's head. His body covered the rain that hit Mr. Wito's face. They met in silence for a moment.

"The time has come, sir. Time for vengeance. Gather with your Clown comrades in hell. I'll catch up later" said Anak Mak Surti. The next instant came the sound of a weapon explosion that resounded among the specks of rain.

At the same time, Adi was riding his motorbike matic wearing a poncho raincoat that had holes in the chest. The sound of a gun exploding him. He stopped the motor, and rushed in a directional spin. The streets are very quiet. Moreover, the road that Adi passed through was indeed abandoned territory. Lots of perforated asphalt. But the fastest route to get to the clinic where Tarji is treated.

Adi turned into the abandoned shophouse area. The walls of the colorful shophouse were beautiful when the construction was first, but now full of moss with dim lighting. Cold air blew Adi's nape, giving him goosebumps.

From a distance, two cars were seen on the left and right edges of the road. Not far from there, it was seen someone standing firmly in the middle of the road and under his feet lay another figure with a stick that stuck on the upper body.

Adi motor light leads right on the face of Anak Mak Surti. The man laughed softly. Her white hair was soaked covering part of the face.

"Cop call! I've already killed people*h!" anak Mak Surti's orders are relaxed.

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