《PMC Bermuda: A LitRPG Survival War》 Prologue : Blood, Oil, Slavery and War The wasteland stretched for miles, a broken land of cracked earth and forgotten ruins, bathed in the eerie glow of a dying sun. The air was thick with the acrid stench of crude oil and burnt chemicals. This was the true world¡ªbeyond the cold metal walls of the Citadel. Poppy fields, vast and crimson, painted the landscape like spilled blood. They swayed in the dry wind, their delicate petals concealing a brutal reality. In the distance, crude processing facilities churned¡ªturning raw opium into heroin, morphine, and high-grade painkillers. Nearby, rows of cannabis fields provided ganja and THC extracts, while hidden underground labs refined stimulants and synthetic drugs for the Republic¡¯s endless hunger. Workers, some enslaved, others simply too broken to resist, toiled under the watchful eyes of armed enforcers. The Mutation Republic, twisted by their own unnatural biology, consumed these substances in obscene amounts¡ªnot for pleasure, but for survival. Their bodies, warped by generations of radiation and genetic decay, required constant sedation just to function. And where there was need, there was profit. Beyond the drug fields, ten towering oil rigs loomed over the horizon, skeletal giants pumping thick black gold from the earth¡¯s dying veins. Armored trucks trailed between them, transporting crude oil to refineries controlled by the only force in the wasteland more ruthless than the Republic. PMC Bermuda. On a rusted shipping container overlooking the poppy fields, Darius "Brimstone" Kova sat, boots kicked up on a crate, eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his Personal Development Device (P.D.D.). The numbers blinked back at him in cold digital precision. He smirked. A hundred million credits. Enough to buy a hundred lives. Or take a thousand. Around him, nine others stood, watching the fields like predators eyeing their prey. These were the warlords of PMC Bermuda, each with their own domain, their own blood-soaked specialty.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Together, they controlled the wasteland¡¯s black market empire¡ªguns, drugs, oil, and flesh. Unlike Phoenix Corp, which served the Citadel¡¯s interests, Bermuda answered to no one. They didn¡¯t take orders. They gave them. And they had crossed lines no one else dared to. A low rumble echoed across the fields. A convoy approached. Darius flicked his P.D.D. shut, standing. He already knew what this was. Another delivery, another deal. Bermuda supplied everyone¡ªMutation Republic warlords, rogue PMCs, even corrupt Citadel officials looking for off-the-books stims and oil. As the trucks rolled in, an explosion shattered the quiet. A fireball erupted in the distance, consuming one of the processing plants. The radio on Darius¡¯s hip crackled. "Boss! Incoming! It¡¯s the Republic¡ªthey¡¯re raiding the fields!" Darius¡¯s smirk widened into a grin. "Let them come." Lana, her glocks already drawn, chuckled. "Guess they didn¡¯t like our last shipment." Hector pumped his shotgun. "Then we¡¯ll send ¡®em another. With a few extra holes." The sky darkened as a swarm of Republic fighters surged across the fields, armed and desperate. Mutants¡ªraging, drug-fueled monsters, driven by pain and addiction. Darius pulled his M4A1 to his shoulder. This was the law of the wasteland. The strong ruled. The weak served. And PMC Bermuda was about to remind everyone who owned this war. Chapter 1 - Flesh, Blood and Profit The air was thick with the acrid scent of poppies, coca fields and diesel fumes. The endless fields stretched for miles, their blood-red flowers swaying under a polluted sky. Near the edge of this narcotic paradise, crude processing facilities churned¡ªtransforming raw material into cocaine, heroin, ganja, and pain relievers. These were essential to the Mutation Republic, whose twisted bodies required massive doses just to dull their endless suffering. Beyond the fields, ten towering oil rigs loomed in the distance, belching smoke as they refined stolen crude. A convoy of five massive trucks rumbled down the cracked highway, each loaded with chained slaves¡ªRenegades and Mutation Republic captives. These poor bastards had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, now doomed to be sold, broken, or used for pleasure. In the truck, Dominic "Vulture" Hayes, the leader of PMC Bermuda, lounged with a cigarette in one hand and his Personal Development Device (P.D.D.) in the other. His credits, property, and land were all displayed¡ªproof of the empire he and his crew had built from blood, drugs, and corruption. He exhaled smoke, glancing at his lands, his crew and P.D.D . Ten people¡ªvicious, greedy, and loyal only to themselves. They had all earned their place through violence, and now they were about to make another fortune selling off the weak while buying stronger slaves for labor and pleasure. "Alright, you bastards," Dominic grinned, flicking his cigarette away. "Let¡¯s get rich." The convoy rolled to a stop near a rundown trading outpost about 50 KM from the Bermuda base. A place where anything could be bought or sold¡ªif you had the credits and the stomach for it. The air reeked of sweat, piss, and desperation. Shackled men and women, former Renegades and Mutation Republic captives, huddled in the truck beds, their eyes filled with hopeless dread. Standing near the center of the market was "Butcher" Salazar, a slave trader known for his lack of morals and love for profit. The greasy bastard licked his lips as he eyed Bermuda¡¯s cargo. "You boys bringing me more garbage?" Salazar sneered, spitting onto the ground. Dominic cracked his knuckles. "We bring you business, asshole. You don¡¯t like money?" Salazar chuckled. "Fair enough. Show me what you¡¯ve got." Two of Bermuda¡¯s crew¡ªMikhail "Bear" Ivanov and Reaper Liu¡ªyanked the truck doors open, dragging the slaves out one by one. Some of them stumbled, weak from hunger, while others tried to resist¡ªonly to be met with a boot to the ribs. "Shut the fuck up and stand still," Mikhail growled, his thick Russian accent making him sound even more menacing. Salazar walked along the line, inspecting the slaves like cattle. "Tch. Some of these look barely worth feeding." Dominic smirked. "That¡¯s why we¡¯re selling these ones. Weak, useless, or too fucked up to work. But don¡¯t worry, we¡¯re buying too. Got anything strong? Maybe something worth¡­ breaking in?" Salazar¡¯s eyes lit up at that. "Oh, I got exactly what you need." Salazar whistled, and two of his men dragged out a group of new slaves¡ªfifty in total. Unlike the ragged weaklings Bermuda was selling, these were prime stock¡ªstrong men with muscle and endurance, women with healthy, attractive bodies, all looking just scared enough to be controlled but not so broken that they were useless. "These are fresh," Salazar bragged, patting one of the captives on the back. "Picked them up just a few days ago. Fighters, laborers, some nice company too, if you catch my drift ahh." Dominic grinned as he looked them over. His crew murmured among themselves, already deciding who they wanted. Mikhail "Bear" Ivanov grabbed a tall, dark-skinned man with a soldier¡¯s build. "This one¡¯s mine. Strong bastard. I''ll fuck him first then work or die trying." Reaper Liu, the silent, sadistic sniper, tilted his head toward a petite redhead. "I¡¯ll take her. I''ll lick her hard. HAHAHA" His voice was cold, devoid of emotion. "Finally, someone with taste," laughed Sophia "Blitz" Morales, one of the few women in Bermuda PMC. She sauntered up to a shackled blonde, running a hand along the woman''s face. "You¡¯re coming with me, sweetheart." Some took theirs for work, others for pleasure. Lena "Pixie" Volkov, a known lesbian sadist, grabbed two young women, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight. Dante "Riot" Quinn, a brutal enforcer, picked a muscular male, dragging him forward. "You belong to me now. You fight, you work, or I fucking break you." Each of Bermuda¡¯s crew claimed their pick, leaving the rest for general labor. "Looks like we got a deal," Dominic said, P.D.D Credits Transection. shaking Salazar¡¯s hand. "Pleasure doing business." Salazar grinned, counting his credits as Bermuda¡¯s crew led their new ¡®property¡¯ back to the trucks. The convoy was headed home¡ªback to Bermuda Base, where things would get even worse for the captives. The convoy rumbled down the cracked highway, a trail of dust and exhaust fumes kicking up behind them. Inside the trucks, the new slaves sat in silence, too afraid to speak, while their captors laughed, smoked, and snorted lines of coke off the metal dashboards. Dominic sat in the lead truck, leaning back as he rolled a cigarette. "Another good haul," he muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. Dante "Riot" Quinn chuckled, kicking his feet up. "Hell yeah. Sold the useless ones, got some new meat. Fuckin'' win-win." Beside him, Lena "Pixie" Volkov was playing with her new toy¡ªone of the young women she¡¯d picked. The girl flinched as Lena ran a blade across her collarbone, not deep enough to cut, just enough to feel. She took it further down until she see''s those small pink nipples. "She¡¯s a pretty one," Lena cooed, licking her lips. "I think I¡¯ll have fun breaking her in." Sophia "Blitz" Morales grinned, sitting on the lap of her own pick. "You¡¯re taking your time, Pixie. I like to get straight to the fun." She tugged the blonde¡¯s hair back, forcing her to look up. The fear in the woman¡¯s eyes made Sophia shudder with excitement. In the back of another truck, Mikhail "Bear" Ivanov had his new slave chained to the metal floor. The strong, dark-skinned man glared at him but stayed silent. "You got some fight in you," Mikhail mused, tapping a cigar against his boot. "That¡¯s good. You¡¯ll need it." Across from him, Reaper Liu had barely moved, his chosen redhead curled up in the corner, trembling. He simply watched her, expression unreadable, as if he was deciding whether she was even worth his time. The drugs, laughter, and cruel games continued as the convoy neared their destination¡ªBermuda Base, their lawless, debauched kingdom.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. But the night wasn¡¯t over yet. As the convoy neared Bermuda Base, the landscape shifted from open wasteland to fortified chaos. The makeshift stronghold was built from salvaged metal, stolen prefab structures, and towering walls of scrap. Armed guards stood on the perimeter, some half-dressed, others so high on stims they could barely stand straight. Floodlights flickered, illuminating the filthy, lawless empire these bastards called home. Dominic leaned forward, watching as the gates creaked open, revealing the den of vice and violence inside. Music blared, drunk mercs stumbled through the dirt streets, and smoke from burning trash and narcotics filled the air. This wasn¡¯t just a base¡ªit was a kingdom of sin, run by the worst of the worst. As soon as the trucks stopped, chaos erupted. "Get the new ones out!" Dante "Riot" Quinn barked, grabbing a whip and cracking it against the truck walls. The slaves flinched, their bodies instinctively reacting to the sound. The back doors slammed open, and Bermuda¡¯s crew dragged their new ¡®property¡¯ onto the dirt. Some slaves stumbled, others were yanked forward by their chains. The strongest were separated for labor, while the most attractive were taken elsewhere. Some were chosen for pleasure immediately. Sophia "Blitz" Morales and Lena "Pixie" Volkov wasted no time, pulling their picks aside near a stack of crates. "I don¡¯t like waiting," Sophia purred, pressing the blonde against the metal as she tore at her clothes. Lena grinned, her blade tracing her slave¡¯s hip. "Neither do I." A few feet away, Dante "Riot" Quinn shoved his new male slave to his knees, gripping his hair tightly. "Welcome home, bitch. Get used to this. Now suck." Some of the crew didn¡¯t even bother going inside. Near the entrance, a few mercs openly indulged, using stims and taking their slaves on the spot. Some laughed and cheered, others focused on their own depravity. But for Dominic and a few others, work still had to be done. The air inside Bermuda Base was thick with smoke, sweat, and the pungent stench of burning chemicals. The moment the convoy rolled in, the true nature of this place revealed itself. Gunfire echoed in the distance, likely a drunken argument ending in someone¡¯s death. A few heavily armed guards stood lazily at their posts, passing a bottle of bootleg whiskey while ignoring the screaming coming from the lower levels of the base. As soon as the slaves were processed, the real work began. Dominic and a few key members of the crew moved toward the command center¡ªa rusted-out bunker covered in gang markings and bullet holes. Inside, maps of poppy fields, oil rigs, and trade routes were pinned to the walls. Stacks of credits, ammunition, and drugs littered the room. Mikhail "Bear" Ivanov lit a cigar, exhaling slowly. "We made a decent cut tonight, but we need to move more product. We can¡¯t sit on weak slaves for too long." "We sold the useless ones, but we need more supplies," Dante "Riot" Quinn muttered, running a hand over his shaved head. "We¡¯ve been burning through stims and ammo too fast. If the Mutation Republic gets desperate, they¡¯ll come after our stock." Sophia "Blitz" Morales grinned, leaning against the table. "Let them. We need more slaves, anyway." Dominic cracked his knuckles. "We¡¯re not just waiting around. We hit the poppy fields again tomorrow. More crops, more stims, more profit." But before any of them could continue, a loud explosion shook the base. The room rattled, loose bottles clinking against the floor. "What the fuck was that?!" A guard stumbled into the bunker, blood running down his face. "The oil rig! One of the fucking rigs is on fire!" Dominic''s expression darkened. The oil rigs were one of their biggest assets¡ªif they lost even one, it meant millions of credits burned away. "Get your shit together. We¡¯re putting that fire out," he growled, already heading for the vehicles. The night sky burned red, a massive pillar of fire and smoke rising from the distant oil rig. Even from Bermuda Base, the heat could be felt¡ªa reminder that their fortune was built on volatile ground. Dominic and his crew moved fast, jumping into armored trucks and tearing out of the base at full speed. The dirt roads leading to the rigs were uneven, littered with corpses of raiders and scavengers who had tried to steal from Bermuda PMC. Inside one of the trucks, Mikhail "Bear" Ivanov" loaded his rifle, cracking his neck. "Someone did this on purpose. There¡¯s no fucking way this is an accident." Dante "Riot" Quinn smirked, lighting a stim-laced cigarette. "If it¡¯s sabotage, we find the bastards and nail their guts to the fence." Sophia "Blitz" Morales leaned out the window, eyes reflecting the glow of burning fuel. "That fire¡¯s too big for just a leak. Someone wanted to send a message." As the convoy rushed toward the disaster, the situation became clearer¡ªthe entire rig was engulfed in flames, workers scrambling like ants, some already burning alive, their screams drowned out by the roaring inferno. "Fucking hell," Dominic growled. They pulled up near the site, kicking open the truck doors. Bermuda¡¯s mercs immediately got to work¡ªsome grabbing fire suppression gear, others securing the perimeter. Reaper Liu stood by the truck, watching the chaos with his usual cold, emotionless gaze. "Orders?" he asked. Dominic scanned the area, his mind already moving ten steps ahead. "We put the fire out, we find out who the fuck did this, and we make an example out of them." Mikhail barked orders to the workers, forcing them to form fire suppression teams while Bermuda¡¯s snipers positioned themselves¡ªjust in case this was a setup for an ambush. The next few hours were a brutal battle against the flames. Water trucks emptied their tanks, chemical suppressants were used, and some workers simply collapsed from exhaustion, only to be replaced by slaves forced into the burning wreckage. Eventually, the fire began to die down, but the damage was catastrophic. The rig was barely standing, metal beams twisted and warped from the heat. At least a dozen workers were dead, and the oil production was crippled. Dominic wasn¡¯t just angry. He was fucking livid. "Find out who did this," he snapped at his crew. "And when we do, I want their heads mounted on spikes." Sophia grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Now that¡¯s my kind of fun." Bermuda PMC had lost something valuable tonight¡ªand someone was going to pay for it. The fires smoldered, leaving behind a charred, skeletal husk of what was once a fully operational oil rig. The night air reeked of burning crude, scorched flesh, and melted metal. What should have been another profitable night had turned into a fucking disaster. Dominic stood near the edge of the wreckage, fists clenched as he surveyed the damage. He could already see the credits bleeding out of this operation. Fuel shortages meant weaker trade leverage. Weaker leverage meant less control. And Bermuda PMC didn¡¯t do less control. Mikhail "Bear" Ivanov stood beside him, his usual calm replaced by a dangerous edge. He pulled out a cigar, lighting it on a still-glowing piece of metal. "Sabotage," he muttered. "No doubt about it." Dante "Riot" Quinn kicked a half-burned corpse aside, smoke trailing from his cigarette. "No raider gangs around here would be stupid enough to pull this shit." Sophia "Blitz" Morales squatted near the remains of a charred worker, using the edge of her knife to poke at the body. "Then it¡¯s gotta be someone bigger." She looked up at Dominic, eyes gleaming with interest. "Could be the Mutation Republic or a pmc. They¡¯ve been pushing harder lately. Maybe they wanted to cripple our supply lines." Dominic¡¯s jaw tightened. It made sense. The Republic¡¯s freaks needed stims, drugs, and painkillers just to function. And other PMC''s wanted oil land and some wanted crops. Taking out Bermuda¡¯s fuel supply meant cutting off a chunk of the trade routes that supplied those drugs. "Then we send a message," he said coldly. Reaper Liu had been silent the whole time, standing like a ghost in the shadows. When he finally spoke, it was calm and precise. "A message doesn¡¯t just need to be sent. It needs to be burned into their fucking skulls." Dominic smirked. That was why Liu was here. No conscience. No hesitation. He turned back to the crew. "We¡¯re not just fixing this. We¡¯re retaliating. We find out exactly who¡¯s responsible, and we wipe them the fuck out." By the time the crew returned to Bermuda Base, the night was already fading into dawn. The base was still alive with sin¡ªdrunken mercs stumbling through the dirt streets, slaves either working or being used, and the ever-present haze of narcotics filling the air. The crew split off¡ªsome heading to their rooms, others to their favorite vices. Lena "Pixie" Volkov dragged her new plaything toward her personal quarters, whispering something that made the girl visibly pale. Sophia "Blitz" Morales laughed as she shoved her slave into a nearby room, slamming the door behind her. Dante "Riot" Quinn leaned against a stack of crates, blowing smoke into the face of his captive. "You¡¯re mine now, bitch. Better get used to it." Meanwhile, Dominic, Mikhail, and Reaper Liu made their way to the underground levels of the base¡ªwhere the real business happened. Because while Bermuda PMC thrived on chaos, it also thrived on profit. And that meant the Black Market. PMC Bermuda Losses : 10,000,000 Credits , - 1 oil rig destroyed. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ On a distant mountain ridge, two armored figures stood, watching the Bermuda land through binoculars. The fire still raged. Mission accomplished. One of them, clad in black, lowered his binoculars. "First objective complete. Oil rig¡¯s gone." The second, his armor had a white cross on his shoulder adjusting his rifle, smirked. "Next phase begins soon." They turned away, vanishing into the night. Bermuda PMC never saw the end coming. End Of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 : Burn Baby Burn

The Morning After...

The oil rig fire aftermath leaves Bermuda Base tense. Dominic ¡°Boss¡± Hayes assesses the damage while his crew debates the cause. The sabotage raises questions, and new orders are given to tighten security.

The stench of burning oil still clung to the air, thick and suffocating, mixing with the ever-present cocktail of sweat, rust, and gunpowder that made up Bermuda Base¡¯s atmosphere. The fortress, carved out of greed and brutality, stood defiant against the chaos of the outside world. But today, something was different. The usual hum of industry¡ªthe grinding of machines, the barking of orders, the clatter of chains¡ªwas laced with tension. Inside the command bunker, Dominic ¡°Boss¡± Hayes sat at the center of it all, his fingers tapping against his Personal Development Device (P.D.D.). The screen flickered with numbers¡ªcredit earnings, supply lists, damage reports. Losses. The fire had cost them. His jaw tightened as he scrolled through the latest updates. They¡¯d lost fuel, some shipments were delayed, and the fire had damaged one of their rigs. But the real problem wasn¡¯t the infrastructure¡ªit was the audacity. Someone had dared to strike at Bermuda PMC. Mikhail ¡°Bear¡± Ivanov sat across from him, already halfway through a bottle of bootleg vodka, his massive frame hunched over like a resting bear in winter. "Repairs?" Dominic asked, voice flat. Bear exhaled, rubbing his temple with thick fingers. "Minimal. We lost some fuel, but the structure''s intact. The real problem is we need another oil rig until this one¡¯s fixed." He took another slow sip, then added, "The fire wasn¡¯t natural, though. Someone set it." Dante ¡°Riot¡± Quinn leaned against a rusted table, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the bunker like he was already searching for the traitor. "Sabotage," he muttered. "Either someone inside got brave, or an outsider slipped in." Sophia ¡°Blitz¡± Morales let out a dry chuckle from the side, absentmindedly running the edge of her knife across her palm. "If it''s an inside job, we¡¯ll find out soon enough. No one stays quiet under a hot blade." Silence followed her words. A heavy silence. Bermuda ruled by fear. And yet, someone had dared to challenge them. Boss finally set his P.D.D. down, his cold blue eyes locking onto each of them. "We tighten security. Double the patrols. No one comes in or out without my say-so." Then, he turned his gaze toward the slaves¡ªnewly acquired, standing in a line near the processing area, half-naked, dirty, trembling in the cold morning air. Business had to continue. "For now," Boss said, standing up, "let¡¯s get back to work. The Black Market¡¯s waiting." The Bermuda convoy returns with new slaves, and sorting begins. The weak are discarded, the strong are chosen for labor or pleasure. The crew indulges in their power, taking what they want without hesitation. Engines roared as the convoy rolled into Bermuda Base, kicking up dust and the acrid scent of oil. The five armored trucks came to a screeching halt near the processing area, their reinforced exteriors smeared with dried mud and blood. The back doors were unlatched, and within seconds, the contents spilled out. Slaves. Some were Renegades, caught in the latest raid. Others were Mutation Republic scum, their genetic enhancements making them both valuable and despised. All were bound in chains, faces tight with pain and exhaustion, their bodies filthy from the long journey. Towering floodlights bathed the base in an artificial glow, illuminating the sprawling fortress of industry and suffering. Oil rigs groaned in the distance, poppy fields stretched toward the horizon, and the underground black market churned with movement beneath it all. Dominic "Boss" Hayes stepped out first, lighting a cigar as he surveyed the new stock. His crew followed, stretching after the long trip, their eyes already picking through the human cargo. "Alright," Boss exhaled smoke. "Let¡¯s get this shit moving." The sorting began immediately. The weak and useless were dragged toward a separate area, where they¡¯d either be sold off in bulk, executed, or left to rot. The strong ones¡ªmuscular men, attractive women, fighters, and those with potential¡ªwere separated. Havoc was the first to step forward, grabbing a Renegade woman by the chin. Her golden skin was streaked with dried blood, her sharp eyes defiant despite her situation. ¡°She¡¯s mine,¡± he said, dragging her away before anyone could argue. Fang smirked, yanking a mutant slave forward by the collar. The man was tall, muscular, his veins pulsing with unnatural strength¡ªlikely drug-resistant, a useful trait. "Perfect toy," she murmured, leading him off. Shade and Blitz exchanged glances, both eyeing the same prize¡ªa scarred but still-pretty ex-mercenary, his wrists raw from struggling against his restraints. "We can share," Shade purred, her gloved fingers tracing along his jaw before yanking him forward. Whisper, ever silent, made his choice without a word, disappearing into the shadows with his selection. One by one, Riot, Grim, Bear, and the rest of the crew followed, claiming their entertainment for the night. For some, the night would be pleasure. For others, it would be hell. While some of the crew indulges, others focus on business. Oil, drugs, and weapons flow through Bermuda Base, ensuring the PMC¡¯s continued dominance. But control is an illusion¡ªchaos is just around the corner. While the debauchery unfolded behind closed doors, business continued as usual. The heart of Bermuda Base never stopped beating. Riot and Bear oversaw the oil shipments, standing on the refinery¡¯s metal catwalks as workers below labored in the heat. Giant storage tanks rumbled as crude oil was pumped, refined, and prepared for transport. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, their rifles slung across their backs, their eyes scanning for anything suspicious. "How much did we lose in the fire?" Riot asked, flicking his cigarette over the railing. Bear took a slow drag from his flask before answering. "A few barrels. Nothing we can¡¯t recover, but it¡¯s a problem if it keeps happening." "It won¡¯t," Riot muttered, watching the workers like a hawk. "We¡¯ll handle it." Meanwhile, Blitz and Whisper patrolled the poppy fields, where dozens of slaves worked in silence, hands raw from cutting and sorting. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals, the constant hum of processing plants grinding in the background. A whip cracked. A slave flinched but kept working. Those who slowed down didn¡¯t last long. "Quality control," Blitz mused, watching a batch of raw opium being packed into crates. "Everyone wants purity at seventy percent or higher. Anything less, they start asking questions." Whisper nodded but said nothing, his eyes focused elsewhere¡ªalways watching, always calculating. Near the weapons depot, Havoc and Grim counted crates of new shipments. Stacks of AKs, shotguns, explosives, and ammunition were piled high, ready to be moved. "Fifty new RPGs," Grim noted, flipping through the inventory list. "Shipment came in from the southern territories." Havoc ran a hand along the cold steel of a rifle, grinning. "Good. We¡¯ll need ¡®em." Above them all, Boss stood on an overhead balcony, looking down at his empire. His fingers drummed against the railing, his expression unreadable. Everything was under control. Until it wasn¡¯t. The first explosion hit fast. A violent shockwave rolled through the compound, shaking the steel walls, sending a tremor through the ground. Then¡ª BOOM. A second blast. Flames erupted from the eastern poppy fields, a hungry inferno swallowing the dry stalks in seconds. The fire spread like a living thing, leaping from plant to plant, fueled by the chemicals saturating the air. Thick, acrid smoke billowed into the night sky, turning the horizon into a sea of fire.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Blitz stumbled back as the heat licked at her skin. "What the fuck¡ª?!" Alarms blared. Guards shouted. Panic spread. From the barracks, the crew poured out¡ªsome half-dressed, others high as hell, stumbling into the chaos with weapons drawn, looking for an enemy they couldn¡¯t yet see. Riot ran toward the flames, barking orders. "Move! Get the goddamn extinguishers!" Bear grabbed his radio, his voice a snarl. "We got a fire near the east refinery! Everyone move!" On the catwalk, Boss stood still, his cigar forgotten in his hand as he watched the inferno consume acres of his product. His empire was burning. This wasn¡¯t an accident. This was war. And someone was about to die for it. The fire raged for over an hour before the crew finally got it under control. Thick black smoke still choked the air, the ground covered in ash and burnt remnants of what had once been acres of high-grade poppy plants. The damage was undeniable. A massive chunk of their production was gone, reduced to smoldering ruin. Grim and Fang stood over a group of exhausted slaves, barking orders as they shoveled dirt over the last glowing embers. Any worker who hesitated¡ªwho moved too slow¡ªwas struck down without hesitation. Havoc and Shade drove water trucks in circles around the fields, dousing the remaining hotspots with high-powered hoses. The ground beneath them was soaked in mud, blood, and chemical runoff. Boss stood at the edge of the ruined fields, his jaw tight, fingers curled into fists. He said nothing at first, just watching the flickering glow of dying embers. Then, without turning, he spoke. "This wasn¡¯t random." The crew stiffened. Whisper crouched near a section of burned debris, his fingers running along the charred remains of something metallic. He lifted it carefully, brushing away soot to reveal what lay underneath. A small, half-melted device. Explosives. He turned it in his palm, examining the details. Military-grade. Professionally placed. This wasn¡¯t an accident. This was a hit. "Sabotage," Whisper confirmed, standing. "And whoever did it¡­ knew exactly where to hit." Silence settled over the group. Tension thick as the smoke that still clung to the air. Boss exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. Then, in a voice calm and even, he gave the only order that mattered. "Find them." He turned to face his top killers¡ªRiot, Blitz, Shade, Havoc. "Kill them." His cold blue eyes flicked toward the remaining slaves, the workers, the outsiders who had been brought in over the last few weeks. "Make a fucking example." Riot cracked his knuckles. Blitz smirked. Shade and Havoc exchanged a glance, their bloodlust rising. The fire might have been put out. But the real slaughter was just beginning. Slaves were dragged from their barracks, their chains rattling as they were forced into the open courtyard. Workers¡ªengineers, laborers, even some lower-ranking guards¡ªwere lined up, kneeling in the dirt, their heads bowed. The air was thick with tension, the scent of blood and smoke clinging to every breath. Boss stood at the front, watching with cold detachment. Behind him, his executioners waited, eager for orders. Riot was already pacing, a cigar clamped between his teeth, his boots kicking up dust. His patience was razor-thin. Shade had her knife out, idly spinning it between her fingers, eyes flicking over the gathered prisoners like a predator selecting its meal. Blitz cracked her knuckles, grinning at the terrified faces in front of her. And Havoc? He was already working. A Renegade slave was on his knees, coughing blood, his face swollen and barely recognizable. His breathing was ragged, his body twitching from pain. "Who paid you?" Shade asked, crouching in front of him. Her voice was soft, almost gentle. It made the moment worse. The man spat blood onto the dirt, laughing weakly. "You¡¯re already dead," he rasped. "You just don¡¯t know it yet." Havoc didn¡¯t hesitate. He drew a hunting knife and pressed it against the man¡¯s cheek. "You wanna try that again?" No answer. The knife slid in, carving a slow, jagged path down the man''s face. His scream ripped through the air. From the crowd, others flinched. Some closed their eyes. Some clenched their jaws, trying to remain strong. None of it mattered. One by one, the interrogations continued. Some broke quickly, babbling, begging, giving names that meant nothing. Others held out longer, forcing Blitz and Shade to get creative. Those who stayed silent suffered the worst. And when they were no longer useful? They were discarded like waste. After an hour, the ground was soaked in red. Blitz exhaled, wiping sweat from her brow. "Whoever did this¡­ they planned it well." Boss lit another cigar, taking a slow drag as he looked over the carnage. Bodies lay sprawled, lifeless, but they still had no real answers. The saboteur was still out there. He stared into the distance, where the smoke from the burned poppy fields still lingered in the air. "We find them," he said. "And when we do¡ª" His fingers tightened around the cigar, crushing it between his gloved hands. "We make an example." The sun hung low over Bermuda Base, casting long shadows over the wreckage. The fires had been put out. The blood had dried. But the damage ran deeper than scorched earth and missing slaves. Bermuda PMC had been hit where it hurt¡ªits product, its people, its reputation. Inside the command bunker, Boss stood at the head of the war table, staring down at the flickering blue display of his P.D.D. Logistics reports, casualty lists, fuel shortages¡ªit all piled up like a slow-building storm. Losses : 20,000,000 Credits Balance : 70,787,950 Credits The room was quiet. Tense. His top crew was gathered around him, waiting for his next move. "We lost thirty percent of our poppy fields," Bear said, breaking the silence. "That¡¯s millions in product, gone. Even if we push double shifts, we won¡¯t recover fast enough to meet demand." "Then we take what we need," Boss replied flatly, exhaling smoke from his cigar. His voice was calm. Too calm. "We hit that shipment Whisper told us about." The room shifted. Expressions hardened. That shipment¡ªtop-tier stock, trained slaves, valuable beyond measure¡ªwasn¡¯t just another cargo run. It was a game-changer. Riot leaned forward, elbows on the table. "If we hijack it, we don¡¯t just recover our losses¡ªwe cripple whoever was planning to buy them." Blitz smirked. "Two birds, one bullet." Havoc cracked his knuckles. "We make them bleed for it." Boss took a final drag of his cigar, then crushed it against the metal table. The embers hissed and died. "Two days," he said. "Get ready and we are going to the black market right now start packing!." No one argued. As they left the bunker to prepare, the last remnants of smoke from the ruined poppy fields drifted into the sky, carried away by the wind. Far beyond Bermuda Base, hidden in the darkness, unseen eyes were still watching. Waiting. And smiling. Because the game wasn¡¯t over. It had only just begun. Beyond the burned fields, beyond the fortress walls, beyond the screams and gunfire, two figures stood in the dense canopy of trees. They were motionless, blending into the darkness, their presence ghostlike. From this vantage point, Bermuda Base was a spectacle of violence¡ªa fortress of greed and brutality now seething with paranoia. One of them adjusted a scope, scanning the compound below. The infrared display revealed chaos¡ªbodies, fires, executions. The slaughter was still ongoing. "Looks like they took the bait," the first figure said, voice distorted through a helmet¡¯s speaker. The other nodded. Their armor was matte black, unmarked except for a small insignia¡ªa white cross, barely visible under the moonlight. "They¡¯re turning on themselves," the second figure murmured. "Infighting. Fear. Exactly as planned." The first figure lowered the scope. "Phase two is in motion." A long silence stretched between them as they watched the carnage unfold. Then, without another word, they turned and melted into the forest, leaving Bermuda PMC to tear itself apart. The roads to the Black Market were littered with corpses. Some were old¡ªhalf-rotted, picked apart by vultures and time. Others were fresh, their execution wounds still dark with drying blood. It was the price of business in this world. Trade disputes ended in gunfire, debts were paid in flesh, and the only law was who had the most firepower. Bermuda PMC had never lost a deal. Their convoy moved fast, the armored vehicles rolling through the ruins of an old city. The Black Market was hidden beneath it, buried in a maze of collapsed buildings and forgotten tunnels. There were no signs, no obvious entrances¡ªonly those who belonged knew where to look. The underground fortress buzzed with life. Guards stood watch over high-value merchandise. Merchants bartered in hushed voices. Drug labs churned out stims, combat enhancers, and painkillers in dimly lit corners. And among it all¡ªbodies, both alive and dead, being dragged away. Bermuda PMC had VIP status. As they stepped inside, the familiar scent of sweat, blood, and credits filled the air. At the back of a secluded bar, in a private booth, sat Jarek He wasn¡¯t a warlord. He wasn¡¯t a killer. He was something far more dangerous¡ªa dealer in secrets. Dressed in a ragged trench coat over a fine silk shirt, he looked like a contradiction. A man who thrived in filth but lived off wealth. His fingers tapped lazily against a glass filled with cheap amber liquid as Bermuda¡¯s crew approached. A slow smirk spread across his lips. "Well, well¡­ I was wondering when my favorite butchers would show up." Boss didn¡¯t waste time. He slid into the seat across from him, placing his P.D.D. on the table. "Cut the shit, Jarek. What do you have for us?" Jarek leaned forward, his dark eyes glinting in the low light. "Plenty. But first¡­" He swirled his drink, savoring the moment. "Let¡¯s talk price." Blitz pulled a combat knife from her belt, twirling it between her fingers. "How about you just talk, and we don¡¯t gut you?" Jarek chuckled, completely unfazed. "Intimidation is cute, sweetheart, but I don¡¯t bleed for free. Credits, or no deal." Boss sighed and tapped his P.D.D., Transfer Complete : 100,000 Credits Balance : 70,687,950 Credits transferring a chunk of credits. Jarek glanced at his device, nodded, and leaned in closer. Jarek swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught the edges. His smirk never faltered, but there was something sharper in his eyes now¡ªsomething calculating. "I hear you¡¯re having some trouble back at the base," he said, voice smooth, casual, but laced with something heavier. "Someone inside Bermuda is talking." Boss didn¡¯t react, but the shift in the air was instant. Around the table, his crew tensed. Jarek leaned in slightly. "That fire? Not random. Someone is feeding intel to an outside party. Renegades? Mutation Republic? Maybe. Citadel? Possible." He took a slow sip of his drink, letting the tension settle into their bones. "Either way¡ª" He exhaled through his teeth, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "You¡¯ve got a rat." Silence. Then, Blitz leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "How the fuck is that?" Jarek shrugged, the very picture of a man who knew more than he was saying. "One of my rats overheard some drunk running his mouth. Said he caught wind that someone¡¯s making moves against Bermuda." His lips curled slightly. "Didn¡¯t say who. Yet." Boss¡¯s expression remained unreadable, but the weight of his gaze was crushing. "You¡¯ll find out," he said. It wasn¡¯t a request. Jarek¡¯s smirk widened. "Oh, I will. But in the meantime¡­" He gestured lazily toward the holding pens behind him. "Business as usual. I¡¯ve got fresh stock. Top-tier meat. Since you¡¯re in a rough spot, how about I cut you a deal?" Blitz scoffed, but Riot was already running the numbers in his head. More slaves meant replacing lost workers. Meant covering their backs while they hunted down whoever was betraying them. Boss glanced at the pens. Rows of new slaves¡ªfighters, workers, the kind that didn¡¯t break easy. He nodded once. "We¡¯ll take them." Transfer Complete : 5,000,000 Credits Balance : 65,687,950 Credits Jarek¡¯s grin was all teeth. "Pleasure doing business." The convoy rumbled through the wasteland, armored trucks kicking up dust beneath the darkening sky. The new slaves sat in silence, bound and hollow-eyed, staring out at the endless nothingness of the ruined world. Inside the lead vehicle, Boss sat in the passenger seat, fingers tapping absently against his knee. No one spoke. The weight of the Black Market deal, of Jarek¡¯s warning, of the fire that had gutted their empire, pressed down on them all. They would find the traitor. They would make an example. Chapter 3 : The Return of the Warlord Before dawn, an armored convoy rolls into Bermuda Base. The sky was still dark when the sound of heavy engines rumbled across the wasteland. The gates of Bermuda Base groaned as they swung open, revealing the convoy¡ªfour armored transports, their metal frames scarred from weeks on the road. Dust and exhaust fumes choked the air as the trucks rolled in, their headlights cutting through the morning gloom like predatory eyes. From the main bunker, Dominic stood waiting, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His face was unreadable, but his jaw tightened slightly. He already knew who was inside those vehicles. The first door swung open with a metallic clang. A boot hit the dirt. The missing warlords step out¡ªhardened, battle-worn, and bringing bad news. Darius the true boss, is back. His second-in-command, Dominic, has kept things running, but with the recent sabotage, losses, and rumors of a traitor, control has slipped. Darius immediately asserts his authority. And then, he stepped out. Darius "Brimstone" Kova. Six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, built like a man who had spent his life carving his way through hell and coming out laughing. His dark tactical gear was dusty but pristine, a suppressed M4A1 slung over his shoulder. A thick scar ran down his jawline, splitting into a grin that had seen more death than mercy. Behind him, the others followed. A sudden shift. Bear, the Russian enforcer, a walking wall of muscle and brutality. Reaper Liu, silent and precise, his cold gaze scanning the compound. Lana "Wildfire" Quinn, her twin Glocks holstered at her hips, eyes sharp with mischief and bloodlust. Hector, tall, lean, the only man in Bermuda who could carve out a throat and finish his whiskey in the same breath. Blitz, shade, specter, vulture, shade, fang grim. All intense, what the warlord will say? The warlord of Bermuda had returned. Darius stopped a few feet away from Dominic, his grin unwavering. "Miss me?" Dominic didn''t answer at first. His gaze swept over the convoy, noting the absence of a few familiar faces. "Took you long enough," he finally said. Darius stretched his neck, cracking his knuckles. "Yeah, well¡­ I¡¯d love to say it was a peaceful trip, but it turns out when you put a bunch of faction leaders in a room together, people get touchy about business." He glanced around the base, his expression shifting slightly. Scorch marks from the fire still stained the ground. The repairs on the rig were still unfinished. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut. Darius¡¯s grin faded. "What the fuck happened while i was gone?" "We had some problems". Dominic replied. The base was gathered in the main courtyard by noon. The returning warlord stood at the center, his presence alone enough to shift the entire hierarchy of power. Some of the crew shifted uncomfortably, unsure where their loyalty should land. Others watched in silence, waiting. Darius stood before them, rolling his shoulders like a man about to throw the first punch in a bar fight. "You know what I fucking hate?" he began casually. "When I leave for a business trip and come back to find my house on fire." His eyes landed on a man near the front¡ªone of the security chiefs responsible for guarding the poppy fields. Darius¡¯s grin returned, but it was sharp as a blade. "You were on duty the night of the fire, weren¡¯t you?" The man swallowed hard. "Boss, I¡ª" Darius moved fast. One second he was talking, the next his fist had slammed into the man¡¯s jaw, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The base went silent. "You let someone walk into my house and set it on fire." Darius crouched down beside the man, voice low and dangerous. "And I don¡¯t like that." He stood, nodding toward Bear. Without hesitation, Bear grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him toward a metal stake near the edge of the base. By the time the sun set, his body was still hanging there. A warning to anyone else thinking of failing Bermuda PMC. Inside the command bunker, the war table was already covered in maps, reports, and digital logs. The air was thick with cigarette smoke and unspoken tension. Darius leaned back in the rusted steel chair, exhaling slowly. "Alright, let¡¯s get down to it. The meeting was a fucking mess. Mutation Republic¡¯s warlords are fighting among themselves. Some of them want more drugs, some of them want more control. They¡¯re getting desperate." "Desperate enough to sabotage us?" Dominic asked, leaning forward. Darius scoffed. "Maybe. But we¡¯ve got other problems." He tapped the table. "Phoenix Corp¡¯s got new leadership. They¡¯re looking to push into Bermuda¡¯s market. If they find a weak spot, they¡¯ll take it. So either we¡¯re dealing with a rogue Republic warlord, a PMC power grab, or someone from the Citadel playing both sides." His gaze flicked toward Darius. "And while we were gone, someone lit our fucking fields on fire."The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Dominic met his stare evenly. "We¡¯ve been working on it. But whoever did it covered their tracks." Darius smirked, leaning forward. "Then we burn every bush until the snake comes out. Now i need to change my mind." Dominic excited, "We brought some new flesh. I saved some for you." Darius, "I have my own entertainments". and left for his room where someone was waiting. The room was dim, lit only by flickering oil lamps and the soft glow of neon signs buzzing weakly outside the window. Smoke curled through the air¡ªthick, pungent, laced with something strong enough to make the walls feel like they were breathing. The bass of distant music throbbed in the background, a slow, rhythmic pulse, like the heartbeat of the underworld. Darius leaned back against the worn-out leather couch, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, his other hand nursing a glass of dark amber liquor. His shirt was open, the heat of the room clinging to his skin, sweat mixing with the scent of smoke and sex. His mind was a slow burn, half lost in the narcotics coursing through his veins, half focused on the woman draped against him. Lana. She sat beside him, her legs curled beneath her, wearing nothing but a loose silk robe that barely clung to her shoulders. Her dark hair was damp with sweat, strands sticking to her flushed skin. Her Glock lay within arm¡¯s reach, even now. Always ready. On the other side of Darius, the slave girl lay sprawled across his lap, naked and pliant, her body marked by past scars and fresh bruises. She had been a gift¡ªan offering from a desperate trader looking for favor. Darius had accepted without hesitation. He always took what was his. Lana exhaled, a lazy smirk playing on her lips as she reached for the small tray on the table, a glass vial of powder resting atop it. She dipped a finger in, pressed it to her tongue, and let out a slow sigh. ¡°Dominic¡¯s making his move soon.¡± Darius took a drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring bright in the dim light. ¡°I know. But he''s not the traitor.¡± The slave stirred slightly at his side, her fingers tracing along his stomach, but she didn¡¯t speak. She wouldn¡¯t dare. Lana studied him, her eyes sharp even through the haze of drugs and pleasure. ¡°He¡¯s got Blitz. Shade. Specter. That¡¯s not just muscle¡ªthat¡¯s strategy.¡± Darius smirked, lazily running a hand up Lana¡¯s thigh, his fingers pressing into her skin. ¡°You worried?¡± She laughed, low and throaty, shifting closer. ¡°Worried? No. Just making sure you¡¯re not too distracted.¡± Darius turned his head, catching her lips in a slow, drug-laced kiss. When he pulled back, he murmured, ¡°I¡¯m never distracted.¡± Lana tilted her head, studying him, then nodded towards the slave girl. ¡°And her? What happens when Dominic takes over? If he wins?¡± Darius ran his fingers through the girl''s hair, gripping it just enough to make her inhale sharply. ¡°Then I make sure he doesn¡¯t.¡± Lana smirked. ¡°That¡¯s what I like to hear.¡± She shifted, straddling his lap, her fingers tracing his jaw. ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan, boss?¡± Darius crushed his cigarette out on the ashtray beside him, the glow dying as he pulled her closer, his lips grazing her ear. ¡°When the time comes we strike first. But first lets just sort this mess out.¡± And as the night pressed on, filled with whispered plans, smoke curling in the air, and the heat of tangled bodies, the war for control had already begun. The door swung open without a knock¡ªonly one man would do that. Dominic. He stood in the doorway, backlit by the cold, blue hallway lights. His tactical jacket was unzipped, the holster on his hip unfastened, his expression unreadable. Behind him, Bear loomed, a human wrecking machine with blood still smeared across his knuckles. "We found the rat," Dominic said flatly. Darius didn¡¯t move at first. He let the silence stretch, lazily dragging the tip of his cigarette across Lana¡¯s collarbone before flicking the last of the ash onto the floor. "Bring him in." A scuffle. Then two enforcers dragged the man inside, his face already swollen from the first round of interrogation. He was dumped onto the floor, gasping, coughing blood onto the cracked concrete. One eye was nearly swollen shut, his lip split down the middle. Darius rolled his shoulders and stood, letting Lana slide off him. The slave girl shrank back instinctively. He crouched beside the man, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head up. "You¡¯ve got two seconds to explain before I make this really fucking unpleasant." The rat coughed, spitting blood onto the ground. "I¡ªI don¡¯t know shit!" Bear¡¯s boot came down hard on the man¡¯s ribs, a wet crack echoing through the room. Darius sighed, almost disappointed. "That was your answer?" He leaned in, pressing his forehead against the man¡¯s temple like a lover whispering sweet nothings. "You were getting paid. By who?" The rat shuddered, his breath ragged. "Didn¡¯t see their faces," he croaked. "Black armor. Military-grade. They gave me cash. Just to pass messages. That¡¯s all. I swear." Darius exhaled, his patience wearing thin. "And what messages were you passing?" The rat swallowed hard, his swollen eye darting toward Dominic, then Bear, then back to Darius. "Supply routes. Guard rotations. They¡­ they knew about the fire before it happened." Silence. Darius released his grip and stood up, rolling his neck. "Who else knows?" "No one," the rat rasped. Darius turned to Dominic. "You believe him?" Dominic crossed his arms. "Does it matter?" Darius smirked. "No. Not really." He nodded toward Bear. The enforcer didn¡¯t hesitate. A single gunshot rang out, splattering the rat¡¯s brains across the floor. The room was silent except for the crackling neon outside. Darius exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw before turning back to Lana and the slave girl. He slid back onto the couch, pulling Lana into his lap, dragging a lazy hand over the girl¡¯s bare stomach. "We¡¯re burning every fucking bush until we find those black-armored ghosts," he murmured, exhaling smoke. "And then?" Lana smirked, grinding against him slightly. "Then we carve them up nice and slow." Darius grinned. "That¡¯s what I like to hear." The night was far from over. And the war had only just begun. The wind howled through the skeletal trees, whipping through the frozen pines that clung to the mountainside. Snow crunched softly beneath heavy boots as two figures moved silently through the upper canopy, perched on thick, ice-laden branches like specters above the world. They were dressed in full black tactical armor, matte plating absorbing what little moonlight dared touch them. Just void-like silhouettes against the snow-laden boughs. One of them adjusted the scope on a high-powered drone reconnaissance rifle, its digital interface blinking faintly against the night. Through the lens, he tracked movement far below¡ªBermuda Base, a walled fortress of metal and fire, its inhabitants blissfully unaware they were being watched. "Asset compromised," the first man said, his voice distorted slightly through the modulator in his helmet. "They flushed him out." The second figure remained still for a moment, scanning the compound with his own optics before responding. "Expected. We knew he wouldn''t last long. Phase Two starts now." A brief silence passed between them, the wind whispering secrets between the branches. "Need another leak," the first man finally said. "Someone inside. Deep this time." The second man shifted slightly, reaching up to tap a device on his wrist. A soft beep sounded as encrypted data pulsed to an unseen network. "Already working on it," he murmured. Far below, inside the compound, Darius sat in the warmth of two women in his bunker, oblivious to the eyes that watched him from above. A war was coming. And Bermuda had no idea.