S.A.A.H.O.'s elite Team Beta, specialists in intelligence gathering and covert reconnaissance, had been tracking the elusive Tori no Ichizoku Clan for years. Their operations took them to the darkest corners of the globe, yet nothing had prepared them for what lay hidden beneath the Texas sands. On what was meant to be a routine surveillance mission targeting a minor criminal syndicate, a sudden change in the wind—or perhaps fate itself—led them to a series of mysterious, highly fortified underground bunkers. These bunkers, built with an architectural precision that belied their remote location, were not part of any known criminal infrastructure in the region. They were alien in their sophistication, lined with layers of reinforced steel and embedded with technology that pulsed with a quiet, menacing glow.
As Beta operatives stealthily infiltrated deeper into the labyrinthine network, they uncovered irrefutable evidence of an organization that had, until now, been nothing more than whispered rumor in the criminal underworld. The reports were staggering: the New Generation Tori no Ichizoku Cartel (NGTNI) had established a secret foothold right in the heart of America. Born from the dark legacy of Dr. Machinist, this cartel had rapidly evolved into a multifaceted criminal empire, one whose ambitions stretched far beyond the petty crimes of its predecessors. The NGTNI was dedicated to total domination—a force that operated from the shadows with ruthless efficiency, executing its plans with a blend of advanced technology and a merciless willingness to sacrifice human lives.
Team Beta’s initial report was a jolt of cold, hard reality. They found that the NGTNI was not merely a loose network of criminals but an intricate web of operations that spanned drug trafficking, human trafficking, arms dealing, and even psychological warfare. What made the cartel particularly chilling was its recruitment method: its operatives were not born into a life of crime—they were reengineered. Through brutal experimentation, invasive psychological conditioning, and unspeakable torture, the NGTNI transformed its recruits into cold-blooded killers, devoid of any semblance of empathy. These were not men and women—they were engineered instruments of terror, crafted to execute the cartel’s every merciless command.
The reverberations of Team Beta’s discovery rippled outwards at breakneck speed. Within days, harrowing accounts began to surface from across the globe—entire families, communities, and even small towns were disappearing into thin air. Rumors spread like wildfire: people were vanishing in the dead of night, leaving behind only cryptic signs of their abduction. Survivors spoke in hushed tones of shadowy figures, of a relentless force that left nothing but terror and silence in its wake. The NGTNI had not only infiltrated the Americas; they were poised to launch a reign of terror that eclipsed any threat the world had ever known.
This new threat was unprecedented. Unlike the traditional cartels that relied solely on drugs or weapons, the NGTNI specialized in a far more insidious art—total annihilation. Their operations were designed not merely to control territory, but to erase entire bloodlines, to obliterate any trace of their enemies’ existence. It was a level of brutality and strategic planning that sent chills down the spine of even the most hardened operatives. The world now faced an enemy that was not only global in its ambitions but also meticulously methodical in its execution.
In response to this explosive intelligence, S.A.A.H.O. mobilized with unprecedented urgency. Recognizing the dire need to counter this emerging menace, Team Alpha was immediately dispatched on a covert mission to infiltrate one of the cartel’s primary bases—an ominous complex hidden deep within the Texas desert. Armed to the teeth with military-grade weaponry and cutting-edge surveillance equipment, Team Alpha’s objective was simple: penetrate the enemy’s stronghold, gather as much actionable intelligence as possible, and dismantle the operation from within.
As they advanced under the cover of night, the stark evidence of the NGTNI’s brutal tactics became glaringly apparent. Abandoned desert camps, left in a frantic haste, betrayed the frantic departure of their occupants. The faint, acrid scent of death clung to the air—a grim reminder of the makeshift medical facilities where the cartel’s operatives were subjected to relentless torment and reprogramming. Every abandoned tool and shattered piece of equipment told a story of unyielding cruelty, a narrative that confirmed the cartel’s mission to remake humanity in its own twisted image.
Further intelligence revealed a terrifying alliance: the NGTNI had forged secretive pacts with global arms dealers, rogue states, and even corrupt government officials. It was clear that the cartel had transcended its criminal origins to become a genuine global threat, capable of destabilizing entire regions and igniting conflicts on a scale that S.A.A.H.O. had never before encountered.
News of the NGTNI’s insidious expansion spread like wildfire, leaping beyond the borders of the Americas and sending shockwaves through the global intelligence community. As S.A.A.H.O. released their harrowing findings to allied nations, a deep sense of unease settled over the world’s most powerful governments. What had once been dismissed as a regional cartel war had now revealed itself to be a calculated and systematic takeover of global institutions. The realization was terrifying: this was not just organized crime—it was a war for control of the modern world.
Diplomatic channels became inundated with urgent communiqués, their classified messages bouncing between embassies and security agencies in a desperate bid to understand the full extent of the threat. In London, MI6 operatives pored over intelligence reports with grim expressions, tracing the NGTNI’s web of influence that had begun to infiltrate Eastern Europe’s black markets. In Berlin, counterterrorism specialists convened emergency briefings, uncovering evidence that the cartel had secured deep connections with arms dealers and cybercriminal syndicates. Moscow, too, was abuzz with speculation—Russia’s elite counterintelligence units debated whether to intervene or exploit the chaos to their own advantage.
Across Asia, alarm bells rang in the corridors of power. Beijing’s Ministry of State Security scrambled to assess whether the NGTNI’s tendrils had reached their shores, fearing that the cartel’s influence could corrupt their domestic institutions. In Tokyo, top brass from the National Police Agency and JSDF cyberwarfare divisions exchanged theories about how the cartel had managed to reprogram assassins into mindless instruments of death. India’s intelligence sector, already wary of rising global threats, shifted focus, their analysts poring over intercepted transmissions that hinted at NGTNI sleeper agents embedded in major cities.
Even the Middle East, a region accustomed to clandestine power struggles, found itself entangled in the unfolding nightmare. From Ankara to Riyadh, national security councils issued directives to tighten border controls and monitor financial transactions, wary that NGTNI’s vast resources could fuel instability in regions already on the brink of conflict.
And in Washington, D.C., where the first signs of this monstrous expansion had been detected, the weight of the discovery pressed down like a lead blanket. White House officials engaged in tense discussions with their allies in Paris, Ottawa, and Canberra, desperately trying to form a coalition strong enough to push back against the cartel’s rising influence. The CIA, FBI, and NSA worked around the clock, unearthing one horrifying revelation after another—corrupt officials, compromised security systems, and a seemingly endless flow of resources fueling the NGTNI’s operations.
The truth was undeniable.
This was no longer a matter of local enforcement.
The NGTNI was everywhere.
Its reach was vast.
Its methods were ruthless.
And its ultimate goal—a world reshaped in its own dark image—was no longer a distant nightmare.
It was reality.
A war was coming, and the world was woefully unprepared.
In a decisive move to stem the tide of chaos, S.A.A.H.O. issued a formal declaration of war against the NGTNI. The agency mobilized all available resources, coordinating a triad of specialized teams—Alpha, Gamma, and Beta—for a global operation aimed at eradicating the cartel before its malignant influence could spiral further out of control.
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Team Alpha was charged with launching high-risk strikes deep behind enemy lines, targeting the NGTNI’s command centers and leadership. Their missions were surgical in nature—swift, precise, and utterly unforgiving.
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Team Gamma was tasked with unmasking and neutralizing hidden cells within major metropolitan areas. Their focus was to dismantle the cartel’s urban infrastructure, severing its lifelines and choking off its supply chains.
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Team Beta would continue to work behind the scenes, gathering vital intelligence on the cartel’s operations, tracking their movements, and mapping out their vast network of underground bunkers and secret alliances.
This coordinated global response signified that the world was on the brink of a new, terrifying conflict—a war that promised to challenge the very fabric of international security and the limits of human endurance.
News of the NGTNI’s rise in the Americas ignited a firestorm within the inner sanctum of the Kurushimi family. Each brother, forged in the crucible of past battles, reacted in his own distinctive way as they absorbed the implications of this new threat.
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Martin Kurushimi exuded an unsettling calm as he leaned back in his leather-bound chair, his dark eyes narrowing with focused determination. Every piece of intel was methodically dissected in his mind. For Martin, the NGTNI was merely another problem—a complex puzzle to be solved with surgical precision. He believed that with the right strategy, this enemy could be dismantled as methodically as any other foe. There was no trace of fear in his calculated demeanor—only a steely resolve to strike precisely, ensuring that no aspect of the enemy’s operation was left to chance.
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Krishna Kurushimi erupted with visceral fury the moment he learned of the cartel’s existence. His reaction was immediate and explosive—a hand slamming on the table with such force that the room vibrated. To Krishna, the NGTNI embodied everything vile and abhorrent: the abuse of power, the merciless suffering of the innocent, and the cold-blooded massacre of those who could not defend themselves. His rage was palpable, his eyes alight with a fierce determination to obliterate the cartel without hesitation. For him, there could be no compromise—only the unbridled force of retribution.
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Temna Kurushimi remained the quiet sentinel amidst the storm of emotions. Ever the observer and strategist, his eyes glittered with a calculating light as he surveyed the unfolding crisis. He understood, all too well, that impulsive action could lead to ruin. His mind raced with tactical possibilities—a silent promise to strike with the precision of a sniper from the shadows. Temna knew that their success depended on detailed, unobstructed intelligence and that a premature assault could be their undoing.
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Takashi Kurushimi leaned casually against the wall, a cocky grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His interest was piqued not by the carnage itself but by the opportunity it presented—a chance to maneuver the pieces on the board to his advantage. While he recognized the gravity of the threat, Takashi was already thinking several steps ahead, planning how to exploit any weaknesses in the enemy’s armor. He knew that while the others might be consumed by raw emotion, his charm, unorthodox methods, and shrewd diplomacy could carve a path to victory that no one else could see.
Together, despite their divergent approaches, the four brothers recognized one immutable truth: the NGTNI was a threat unlike any they had ever encountered. In their own unique ways, they vowed to confront this enemy with the ferocity of a storm—each contributing his strengths to dismantle the cartel once and for all.
In a secluded, dimly lit room that reeked of aged wood and whispered histories, the four Kurushimi brothers gathered around a weathered table. The atmosphere was thick with tension and unspoken resolve, every glance and word heavy with the weight of past battles and the looming promise of future violence.
Martin was the first to break the silence, his voice measured and precise, slicing through the stillness like a sharpened blade.
"We’ve faced down monsters before," he said, "but this cartel isn’t just a random outbreak of violence. They’re organized, meticulous, and their reach extends far beyond what we’ve dealt with. We can’t afford a reckless charge—every move must be calculated."
Krishna’s eyes blazed with unrestrained fury as he slammed his fist on the table, causing the glassware to rattle ominously.
"Who the hell cares about being organized? We go in, we wipe them out, and we show them that no one—no one—can get away with this kind of carnage. These bastards think they’re untouchable. I say we prove them wrong—now!"
Temna, quiet and observant, allowed his steady gaze to roam over the detailed map pinned to the wall. His fingers traced the known locations of the cartel’s hideouts and supply lines, his mind working through the logistics of a surgical strike.
"Charging in blindly will get us killed," he cautioned in his low, even tone. "We need to know every detail—every operation, every structure, every weakness. Only then can we strike with the kind of precision that guarantees success."
Takashi, ever the opportunist, leaned back with a self-assured smirk, his voice light yet laced with confidence.
"Some of us are eager for a bloodbath, but let’s not forget the art of finesse. I’ll get our insiders, charm our way through their defenses—gather intel while you all plan your mayhem. Timing is everything."
Martin’s gaze swept across his brothers, each embodying a different facet of the deadly force that had become their family legacy.
"We move as one—every one of us plays a critical part. If one of us falters, the entire plan falls apart. The NGTNI isn’t just another enemy; they’re a network—a beast that’s grown in the shadows. We need to be smarter, faster, and absolutely ruthless."
Krishna’s voice lowered to a fierce growl as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on his brothers.
"Then let’s be the storm that shatters their world. I want them gone—every last one of them—and I want them to know exactly what happens when they dare challenge us."
A heavy silence fell as each brother absorbed the gravity of their commitment. Their shared history of brutal confrontations and unyielding determination now fused with the dire need to quash this new menace. They were united in purpose—a brotherhood forged in blood and battle, ready to face an enemy that threatened to rewrite the rules of power.
Martin’s expression hardened into a steely resolve as he finally spoke, "Then it’s settled. We strike with precision. No mistakes. We dismantle their operation piece by piece until nothing remains."
Temna nodded silently, his mind already mapping the routes and targets. "I’ll start gathering the intelligence. You’ll know exactly where to hit when the time comes."
Krishna’s vicious grin spread across his face as he rose to his full imposing height. "And when that time comes, they’ll regret ever crossing our path."
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Takashi, ever the strategist, pushed away from the table with a casual swagger. "Let’s make it interesting, brothers. They won’t see the storm coming—and when they do, they’ll be shattered."
As they departed the meeting room, each step echoed with the promise of retribution and the grim certainty that the NGTNI had made a fatal mistake by challenging the Kurushimi legacy. The stage was set for a confrontation that would shake the foundations of organized crime and global power—a war that would test the limits of their cunning, their ferocity, and their unbreakable bond.
Location: Berlin, Germany – 2:13 AM
The city outside was a neon-lit graveyard, rain splattering the streets in rhythmic percussion. Deep beneath an abandoned industrial warehouse, Task Force Valkyrie moved like wraiths, their black ops training guiding them through the damp concrete corridors. Their mission: infiltrate and extract intelligence on the NGTNI’s European operations.
But something was off.
The guards they expected? Gone. The security systems? Already disabled.
Commander Elias Grant felt it in his gut. A setup.
“This is too easy,” he muttered, scanning the empty halls through his thermal scope. “Stay sharp.”
The squad reached the server room, a cold, sterile chamber with a pulsing green glow from endless monitors. Sensitive intel streamed across the screens—logistics, encrypted communications, weapon schematics too advanced for any known military.
That’s when Carter, the squad’s tech specialist, plugged in.
And all hell broke loose.
The lights cut out.
Steel shutters slammed down.
Then, a voice crackled over their comms—a slow, mocking voice drenched in sadistic amusement.
“You walked right into the slaughterhouse.”
The walls split open, revealing concealed compartments where NGTNI Black Hounds had been waiting in absolute silence.
- Cloaked assassins shimmered into view, their plasma daggers already slicing throats before the team could react.
- Sniper drones deployed, lasers cutting through the room like a meat grinder.
- A cybernetic brute, standing nearly seven feet tall, launched forward—grabbing a soldier and ripping him in half.
“Cover! TAKE COVER!” Grant roared, but the team was already being dismembered.
One by one, Task Force Valkyrie was butchered.
A Black Hound decapitated a screaming soldier with a single swipe of his plasma-edged claws. Another rammed a dagger into Carter’s gut, twisting it slowly, savoring his pain. Blood gushed across the consoles, sparks flying as Carter’s dying hands scrambled at the screen.
Ramirez fought like a demon, gunning down three operatives with pinpoint headshots. But then—
She turned her gun.
On Grant.
The muzzle flashed.
Grant’s shoulder exploded. He barely registered the pain—the betrayal hit harder.
He staggered, blood painting the floor beneath him.
“Ramirez, you—”
She shot him again, this time in the leg.
The Black Hounds stepped back, laughing. This was their entertainment.
Ramirez holstered her gun and knelt beside Grant, gripping his jaw with cold fingers.
“You really thought we were winning this war?” she whispered, leaning in.
Grant spat blood in her face. “Go to hell.”
She smirked. “I’m already there.”
Then she stabbed him in the stomach.
They left him for dead, bleeding out among the corpses of his team.
But Grant wasn’t done.
Using his last grenade, he obliterated the nearest Black Hounds in a fiery eruption, their cybernetic limbs sent flying. In the chaos, he stole a combat knife from a fallen operative and went feral—
- He jammed the blade into an assassin’s throat, twisting it until the body stopped twitching.
- He snapped a sniper drone out of the air, turning it against its handlers with brutal efficiency.
- He broke a Hound’s wrist and forced the assassin’s own blade through his skull.
A trail of bodies marked his path to freedom.
But Ramirez was gone.
As Grant stumbled into the Berlin sewer tunnels, barely clinging to consciousness, he heard her voice one last time over his damaged comms.
“You should’ve died back there, Commander. But don’t worry... I’ll finish the job soon.”
Then—the entire facility exploded.
Location: Buenos Aires, Argentina – 11:27 PM
Day Zero of the Fall
Buenos Aires was already choking. Smoke curled thickly into the night sky, black plumes rising from entire districts set ablaze. The air reeked of burning rubber, rotting flesh, and despair. Gunfire and the screams of the dying intermingled with the sound of shattering glass. Sirens had long fallen silent—the city’s cries for help had been drowned out by terror.
NGTNI had taken Buenos Aires.
And the world could only watch in abject horror.
The attack was surgical in its ruthlessness and executed with cold precision. At exactly 9:45 PM, the entire power grid collapsed. Darkness engulfed the city, leaving millions blind and defenseless against the storm that was about to break. Within minutes, all communication networks—cell service, internet, emergency lines—went dead, isolating the citizens in a void of panic and confusion.
At 9:51 PM, NGTNI’s forces poured into the city like locusts on a dying landscape.
The first to fall were the guardians of the law. Police precincts were reduced to smoldering rubble by precise explosions. Officers, overwhelmed and disorganized, were dragged from their stations. In a ghastly public display, some were executed live on hacked satellite feeds, their bloodied bodies hoisted from bridges as living warnings. The brutal spectacle left no doubt: resistance would be met with merciless retribution.
Within minutes, the military attempted a counteroffensive. But NGTNI’s cyberwarfare unit turned the tide—hijacking defense drones and remotely disabling tanks. Soldiers who sought refuge in makeshift “safe zones” were corralled and systematically slaughtered in pre-arranged ambushes. By 11:00 PM, Buenos Aires belonged entirely to the cartel.
NGTNI was not content with mere conquest; they craved notoriety. Through a hacked global satellite feed, the world was forced to witness the unfolding massacre in excruciating detail.
On screen, chaos reigned:
- A distraught mother’s screams were heard as heavily armed soldiers dragged her young son into the darkness, his fate sealed by brutal force.
- In a narrow alley, entire families were rounded up, forced to kneel as executioners lined up with cold efficiency. One by one, victims were shot at close range—their lifeless bodies later dumped in mass graves along the outskirts.
- The city’s governor, bound and gagged, was paraded through the streets. His pleas for mercy were silenced when a merciless machete severed his head in one horrifying stroke, the image burned into the collective consciousness of viewers worldwide.
As images of unspeakable cruelty filled screens everywhere, governments and international organizations recoiled. The United Nations issued statements of condemnation, but the global community was stunned into paralysis. The cartel’s message was clear: defiance would be met with terror.
Overnight, Buenos Aires was remade into a kingdom of fear and brutality.
- Curfews Enforced by Death: Citizens were ordered indoors under penalty of immediate execution. Stepping outside after dark meant certain death, with patrols executing anyone caught on the streets without mercy.
- Indoctrination of the Young: Schools were converted into centers for ideological reprogramming. Children were forced to attend daily sessions where they were compelled to pledge fealty to the NGTNI—or witness the violent fates of their families.
- Hospitals Turned Torture Chambers: Medical facilities, once sanctuaries of healing, were seized. The cartel provided aid only to those who swore absolute loyalty. Others were subjected to cruel “treatments” designed to break both body and spirit.
The rich and powerful were given a grim ultimatum: join the NGTNI and contribute to their empire or face a death so brutal that it would be etched into history. Many of Buenos Aires’ elite were publicly humiliated—stripped naked, paraded through the streets, then flayed alive in front of their kin as an example of utter submission.
The resistance, however small or fled into hiding, was crushed ruthlessly. Those suspected of plotting dissent were rounded up and taken to clandestine detention centers where unspeakable horrors were inflicted. Captives were subjected to systematic torture—beaten, electrocuted, and, in some cases, sexually violated by squads of NGTNI soldiers. Women and men alike were forced to endure degradation and pain that defied comprehension. Their broken bodies and shattered souls became part of the new order’s dark ledger of triumph.
Looting and robbery swept through the city in tandem with the violence. Opportunistic gangs, often working hand in glove with NGTNI enforcers, ransacked homes and businesses. The city’s once-vibrant neighborhoods became barren wastelands where every building bore the scars of pillage and fire. Priceless artifacts, cash, and valuables were snatched in the chaos, all while the populace was left to wallow in terror and despair.
In the final moments of the broadcast, Dr machinist, and his presence exuded an eerie calm amid the pandemonium. Standing atop a pile of burning corpses, he delivered a declaration of unspeakable finality:
"Buenos Aires is only the beginning. You have witnessed the cost of defying us. Our reign will spread like a plague—unchecked and absolute. Those who oppose us will be crushed without mercy."
He paused as rows of terrified civilians, bound and gagged, were forced to kneel. Then, without warning, the air filled with the staccato sound of gunfire. One by one, the prisoners fell, their agonized screams echoing into the void before the feed was abruptly cut to black.
Global governments were thrown into disarray. In emergency meetings, leaders from Washington to Beijing struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what had unfolded. Some called for immediate military retaliation; others, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, debated whether to negotiate with a monster whose brutality seemed boundless.
In the wake of the massacre, the streets of Buenos Aires were awash in blood. The city had been transformed into a nightmarish tableau of suffering and despair, where every alley, every crumbling building, whispered tales of brutality. The people—those who survived—huddled in makeshift shelters, praying for salvation that was nowhere to be seen. The collective cry was for someone, anyone, to rise and challenge the tyranny of the NGTNI.
But for now, the reign of terror was complete. The world watched, horrified and helpless, as a new era of bloodshed and subjugation began.
Buenos Aires had fallen. The streets were rivers of blood, and the air was thick with the stench of burning corpses. The world had watched in horror as NGTNI seized the city with brutal efficiency, leaving no room for hope.
But what followed was something beyond cruelty. It was depravity given form.
The people of Buenos Aires whispered of the Soup Kitchens.
At first, the name seemed innocuous—something that suggested aid, survival, or at least a twisted form of charity. But the truth was far more sinister.
NGTNI didn’t just murder the people of Buenos Aires.
They ate them.
Every night, after the bloodshed had settled and the screams had faded into the distance, NGTNI soldiers gathered in designated buildings—old restaurants, abandoned churches, even former school cafeterias. These were the Soup Kitchens, where they celebrated their reign with steaming bowls of meat stew.
The ingredients?
The citizens they had slaughtered.
In the basement of a once-beloved steakhouse, bodies were piled like discarded trash, stripped of clothing, valuables, and dignity. A few NGTNI soldiers, their faces hidden behind blood-splattered masks, worked tirelessly with machetes and cleavers, hacking apart corpses with the same efficiency as a butcher preparing livestock.
Limbs were sawed off.
Heads were boiled for marrow.
Organs were diced and thrown into iron cauldrons.
The meat was cooked over open flames, seasoned with whatever spices remained from the city’s looted grocery stores. The smell of simmering flesh mixed with the acrid stench of death, creating a sickening aroma that clung to the air.
They made sure everyone knew.
They forced prisoners—survivors, captives, even the children—to watch as their loved ones were transformed into meals.
When the food was ready, the soldiers feasted like kings.
Seated around long wooden tables, they drank stolen wine and whiskey, their faces smeared with grease and blood. Bowls of thick, human stew were passed around, and each soldier took their time savoring every bite, laughing, cheering, recounting the kills of the day.
One soldier held up a severed hand, the fingers stiff with rigor mortis.
"Whose father was this, huh?" he cackled, waving it at a kneeling woman.
She didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
Her tongue had already been ripped out earlier that night.
Others were forced to eat alongside them.
NGTNI made it a game—captives who refused to eat were beaten until they complied. If they hesitated too long, a soldier would grab them by the hair, force their mouths open, and shove chunks of cooked human flesh down their throats.
Some victims vomited.
They were made to eat that, too.
The Soup Kitchens weren’t just for feeding the army.
They were a message.
A declaration that Buenos Aires no longer belonged to the people—it belonged to the monsters who had conquered it.
One night, a survivor managed to escape. He crawled through the blood-drenched alleyways, his mind shattered, his stomach still twisted from the forced meal. He reached an emergency radio, broadcasting a single desperate plea to the outside world:
"They're eating us…"
But no help came.
Because the world had already chosen to look away.
And in Buenos Aires, the feast continued.
Buenos Aires had become a slaughterhouse. The streets ran red with blood, the air was thick with smoke, and the cries of the damned echoed through the night.
But even among the city’s endless horrors, the Hell Chambers stood apart.
These were not execution sites.
They were factories of suffering.
A place where the living and the dead were burned together—flesh melting, bones cracking, the scent of charred humanity rising into the blackened sky like an offering to some forgotten god of death.
NGTNI wasted nothing.
The bodies of the fallen—whether killed in battle, executed in the streets, or butchered for the Soup Kitchens—began to pile up. Rotting corpses lined the avenues, stacked against crumbling buildings, clogging the city’s once-busy intersections. The stench of decay was unbearable, and the cartel had no intention of wasting bullets or manpower burying them.
So they built the Hell Chambers.
They repurposed factories, warehouses, subway tunnels—anywhere large enough to contain hundreds, thousands of corpses. Great metal drums, once used for industrial work, were filled with gasoline and oil. Giant metal grates were placed over raging fires, turning the buildings into open-air crematoriums.
The cartel called them “cleansing sites.”
But for the people of Buenos Aires, they were gates to Hell.
NGTNI’s soldiers did not simply throw corpses into the fire.
They made sure the living went in, too.
Prisoners were marched in at gunpoint, stripped naked, and shackled together in tight groups. Their eyes darted in horror at the burning pits ahead, where corpses were already cooking in the flames—some days old, some still fresh, their mouths locked in eternal screams.
Some begged. Some prayed.
NGTNI laughed.
Soldiers played games, betting on who would scream the loudest, who would break first, who would try to run.
Then the orders were given.
“Into the pit.”
Those who resisted were kicked, beaten, their bones shattered before being thrown in alive.
Others were tied to the corpses of their own families and dragged into the flames.
The fires roared.
Skin peeled.
Eyes burst from the heat.
Flesh liquefied, dripping like candle wax.
The screams of the living merged with the crackling of burning bones, creating a sound so terrible that even the most hardened killers among NGTNI admitted it haunted their dreams.
For some, death came quickly.
For others… it did not.
Those thrown to the edges of the fire sometimes took minutes to die—crawling, shrieking, their flesh cooking in layers. Soldiers would watch, fascinated, sometimes pulling them back out to see how much of their skin had melted before tossing them back in.
The cartel officers saw the Hell Chambers as a necessity.
A way to erase the evidence of their crimes.
A way to break the spirit of the survivors.
A way to remind Buenos Aires—there was no escape.
Every day, the fires burned.
Every day, the scent of roasted flesh filled the air.
Every day, new prisoners were marched into the Hell Chambers.
Some jumped into the flames willingly—preferring a quick death to whatever else NGTNI had planned.
Others tried to fight back. They were given a different fate.
Tied to wooden poles, doused in gasoline, set alight like human torches.
The cartel filmed everything. Broadcasted it. Forced families to watch as their loved ones burned.
As the days passed, the survivors stopped resisting.
They stopped screaming.
Because they knew.
Sooner or later, everyone in Buenos Aires would enter the flames.
And when they did—
There would be no bodies left to bury.
No graves to mark.
Only ashes, swirling in the wind.