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5.

"Get out."

No sooner did the words come out of Gonzalez's mouth that the doctor scrammed. He had been asked to perform the autopsy of Andres Rojas. Being a person engrossed in his profession, he paid almost no attention to the outside world. So it was no surprise that he did not know who Rojas or Gonzalez actually were. But the gun that Gonzalez brandished in his hand as he stormed into the autopsy room and ordered the doctor to leave did the talking.

Gonzalez shut the door, bolted it and walked slowly to Rojas' body. The man who had given him a second shot at life, the man who had made Gonzalez who he was - dead. It had been extremely difficult for him to soak it in, but he knew he would, with time.

And with the body of his perpetrator lying in front of him. In a pool of blood. Lifeless.

Gonzalez had been shocked when he heard of how Rojas was murdered. He had set out for an important drug deal, so important the Rojas himself had to be physically present. Everything had been alright.

That was until he walked into the meeting room.

It was a very formal exchange; only the two heads of the parties involved were present. They carried no arms inside, and no foot soldiers were allowed to witness the meeting. The room itself was dark, but air-conditioned and comfortable. So it surprised everyone when they walked inside half an hour after the meeting was scheduled to get over to see two dead bodies and an open window.

The henchmen of both the gangs had broken down the door when they felt that the meeting was taking too much time. Their suspicion was strengthened when they heard no sound. They walked in to see Andres Rojas and Luis Fernando, the leader of the other gang, dead. Except Rojas' state was much more appalling.

His arms had been broken, he had been knifed, and he was bleeding in quite a few places. But what shocked them all was the way he had been killed. It was through tear gas.

And it was not that the murderer had thrown tear gas in through the window and skipped away merrily. He had fed the tear gas to Rojas. Rather, stuffed the tear gas grenade into Rojas' mouth and then skipped away. Merrily. Fernando had just been shot.

The imploding tear gas ensured that Rojas died slowly. And painfully. He had been tortured, and then made to die. The killer was clearly maniacal.

The shocked henchmen pulled their leaders out and took them to their respective hideouts. One of them called Gonzalez, who was in London at that time, and he caught the earliest flight back to Colombia. He now stared at Rojas' body in the autopsy room.

Gonzalez wanted to see for himself whether what his gang members said was true. He had his doubts. But they were about to be cleared. He flipped Rojas' body over.

What he saw almost made him collapse.

There were knife carvings, intricate ones, all over Rojas' back. Across his back, in increased font, were written four words.

WY AMERYKI POLUDNIOWEJ SWINIE

Gonzalez had spent some time in Europe, so he knew European languages. This one was Polish.

Its English translation : You South American swine.

Below that, above his hip, was written another word.

DOOM

There were two irregular shapes, placed north-west - south-east to each other. An arrow that bore its origin in the north-east figure pointed to the south-west one. Another symbol was a face - a circle, with two dots for eyes, a dot for a nose, two ears, and a sad expression. There were a few, small vertical lines drawn between the nose and the lips, possibly indicating a mustache.

Gonzalez sat down heavily. He was shaken. Never in his life had he seen anything like this. Rojas' body had been used as a canvas by the murderer. Such brutality was unheard of, even in the Colombian underworld.

This was one of the reasons that convinced Gonzalez that the killer was not from a rival gang. The second being that no Colombian would call another one a South American swine. It just made no sense.

Gonzalez yanked out his cigarette packet, pulled one out and lit it. As he smoked, he tried to think. South American swine. Who would call Rojas a South American swine? A foreigner, maybe, but who? As far as Gonzalez knew, Rojas had no foreign enemies. He was on good terms with drug dealers from many countries. In fact, Rojas was the one that most people were afraid of, not the opposite. And doom. What did he mean by doom? In which context was he using that word?

Gonzalez's head started to ache. He stubbed his cigarette and picked up Rojas' body. Slinging it over his shoulder, he called one of his men and asked him to keep the car waiting. He went out of the room. The doctor was still there. He had a petrified expression on his face. When he saw Gonzalez walk away with the body, his eyes grew wide, and he turned pale. Gonzalez pushed a bundle of notes into his hand and raised a finger to his lips.

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Extremely sorry about the length of the chapter. Today was just one of those days for me when you feel down in the dumps, and can do absolutely nothing. I still spent a good amount of time thinking about the story, but I did not get time to write much. Rest assured, the next chapter (and the ones after that, too) are going to be nice and long. Your support requested.

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Apologies, once again. Please do not lose faith in me. I will be back - stronger and better.