Night had begun to brighten. The sky had taken on a lighter shade. Beyond the canopy of trees, the fain glow of sunlight peaked over the horizon.

As nocturnal creatures had begun to retreat, one stalked the forest. Samantha’s gaze was as heavy as her gait. Rugged leather boots sunk into fresh dirt, following alongside the trail of tire tracks.

There was slight hesitation each instance she trod upon a dead branch, or happened across a patch of noisy foliage. Her breathing would hasten, and her eyes would dart to and fro, in search of a hidden ambush. When it would become clear her anxieties were unfounded, the hunt for Peter’s captors would resume.

While she was the sole pursuer of these criminals, she was not alone. One piece of assistance was currently swinging slightly across her chest, held to her body by a shoulder strap. The double barreled shotgun was not as heavy as the weight of worry upon Samantha’s shoulders, yet it’s stopping power, judging from its sheer mass, was significant. There was not a light yet that would reflect off the blued steel barrels, nor catch some of the simple engravings etched upon them. Its stock was of pure polished wood, that would have been a deep cherry color. Yet now, in the early morning, the wood was as dark as all the other trees from which it was made of.

A belt of slugs hung across Samantha’s opposite shoulder. Each was meant to fragment upon launch, scattering into a refined, yet brutal spray of blunderbuss. In all, they did not weigh as heavily as the shotgun, yet still, their mass contributed significantly.

The last bit of assistance she had called upon was strapped upon her side, attached to her waist. In a dark leather holster lay a colt-style pistol, operating with a single action hammer.

It was with these tools that she ventured into enemy territory. Samantha had come across a clearing. Across the dull dawn sky, she could perceive a monolithic structure, the silhouette of the warehouse. Her breathing hastened, yet her pace became slow and deliberate. Her eyes strained, searching for any sign of movement.

From her pocket, she produced a scope, the kind that would fit atop most hunting rifles. Within it she peered, making use of what little natural light there was now available. It was apparent that the clearing within this forest was man-made, for the terrain had been paved over with concrete. Several crates lay outside, as well as an old pickup truck, the one that matched the vehicle Peter’s captors escaped with.

Samantha continued to survey the area. She spotted an entrance to the structure, a lift door that was currently open. That was when her precautions became justified. Within the mouth of the entrance were three guards, their pale faces the easiest to spot in the dark. Two were conversing, while the third was surveying the area with a pair of binoculars.

Spotting a massive bush, she took cover behind. Her stomach twisted as she heard the rustling of leaves and the breaking of twigs. She determined her hiding spot should at least provide adequate cover, though she had to bend her head forward, for even in her crouched posture, she was barely taller than the bush.

Near the entrance of the warehouse, Samantha’s maneuver did not go unnoticed. The guard manning the binoculars had caught the slight movement in the bushes. He focused intently upon it, yet, due to the dim illumination of dawn, could not perceive anything, or anyone else.

Putting down his binoculars, he elbowed his nearby peers, who ceased their conversation.

“Hey, movement near the southeast,” he grunted.

“Probably an animal.” the other dismissed, “There’s a lot of deer around here.”

“Pretty burly for an animal,” he argued, “It also could be a cop scoping out the place.”

A small smile appeared on his hood-covered face, as his fellow drew his pistol. His bald, pale face was twisted into annoyed resignation. Following the directions of his paranoid peer, he ventured out, tediously confident of a false alarm.

His approach slowed as he drew close to the bush. He could definitely make out an unusual shape crouched behind. The bush itself was massive, easily overtaking him in height. The silhouette within, though barely visible, appeared humanoid. Grunting, he veered off to the side, as if he had seen nothing.

However, the guard did not make his way back to his peers. If he alerted them, surely, there would be a chance their unknown adversary would escape, and perhaps bring back company. If he attacked then, a clear shot, and clean victory would not be guaranteed. The elements of deception and surprise would have to suffice.

Once he was sure to be out of the sneak’s line of sight, he made an about face, venturing into the forest. Black leather boots barely made any noise, as the treads expertly rolled over soft dirt. As he made his approach from the other side, he could confirm that indeed, someone was scoping out the place. Samantha’s crouched form was clear as day.

A small smile formed on his lips, for he realized he was dealing with a young woman. Indeed, a far more appealing catch than what he was expecting. As far as he could tell, her eyes were still oriented in the direction of the warehouse.

His pistol was trained on her. It was brought against her back. Samantha did not move, and the guard wondered if she felt the barrel’s deadly touch. Her flannel jacket was thick and burly, and far larger than expected, even if it fit her rather nicely.

Still, introductions were in order. Her attention and a complete understanding of her current predicament was necessary. “Hey gorgeous,” he began, “bit late for you to be snea-”

The man’s tounge was caught in his throat, for he realized that something was incredibly wrong. Despite her crouched posture, she still appeared to be at least equal to, if not even greater than his own height. As she slowly drew back, squatting instead of crouching, it became clear just what he was dealing with. His head only came up to her chest. If she were to stand to her full potential, he couldn’t imagine even making it past her waist.

The shock of such a revelation stole his breath, and froze him in place.

“Oh dear God…”

Samantha acted decisively. Her arm shot out, quicker than he expected. Her reach also exceeded his expectations as well, as he had been slowly backing away out of pure fright. A mammoth hand engulfed his pistol hand, much like how an adult’s hand could completely entrap a child’s. With no hesitation, Samantha applied pressure, even as the guard began to apply pressure to the trigger of his pistol.

Yet, her grip was overwhelming, not allowing for much movement. She continued to squeeze, feeling the resistance of metal, and the contracting of the guard’s hand as it attempted to compensate the great force applied to it. Soon enough, there was not much resistance his hand could provide.

A sickly crackle emerged from her ensnaring hand, as limbs popped out of their joint sockets, bones snapped, and metal bent. The man opened his mouth to scream, yet was silenced by Samantha’s other massive paw. And so, the guard was left with the torture of silent pain, as his hand, and pistol were rendered to broken bent forms in the giant girl’s fist, useless to all.

Samantha let out a curse, lost in the cool early morning air, as she thrust the guard’s head down wards. Her knee rose to meet him, bashing against his temple. She could discern a small crack upon impact, as all tension in his muscles dissipated.

Out cold, the guard lay prone. Yet, all activity from him did not cease. Samantha heard the crack of static emanating from the man’s waist. At the most opportune time, his fellows were attempting to reach him. A voice, covered with electric cackles spoke from the device.

“Hey, hey, you found anything? Over?”

As gruff as her voice could get, Samantha didn’t bother try imitating the guy. Surely, they would know the difference.

All she could do was exclaim in a hushed tone, “Shit, they’ll know I’m here.”

The voice out of the walkie talkie repeated, “Report back, over!”

All presumption of subtly and stealth were thrown out the window. It was time to go to war. Samantha had taken off into a sprint, her legs, twice the length of an average man carrying her amazonian frame towards the warehouse quickly. Her eyes darted across her field of vision, before settling upon some crates nearest to her position

…

Sinclair paced about rapidly, aware that his own little hideout was in high alert. He knew not the threat that had caused this. Handsy and Oddball had both rushed in, presumably to provide him with update.

“The fuck’s going on?” he demanded, his harsh tone falling upon relatively calm expressions, “the cops are storming the place?”

“They got one of our guys.” Handsy reported, “I don’t see any sirens though. Should we waste the hostage?”

The psychopath looked back towards Peter. His bruises and cuts were still fresh, while his faced remained puffed and distorted. The young man’s head hung down, listless and motionless. Were it not for the slight puff and contraction of his chest, he could have easily been mistaken for dead. Perhaps in a few hours, he would be.

This had crossed Sinclair’s mind. His pacing had stopped, for contemplation weighed upon his mind. Yet, it did not take him long to come to a decision.

“Sounds like one troublemaker,” he dismissed, “Give ‘em a piece of our mind, but keep him alive. I think our guest here needs some company.”

As both his accomplices rushed out of the room, Sinclair paced about again, much like a predator in wait.

…

The crates Samantha had elected to hide behind were of sufficient height as to not make crouching a requirement. She stood a head taller than a single crate, yet there were two stacked. Her cover was racked by gun fire, some semi-automatic, and other automatic. Samantha was sure that should she try finding a different spot, her fate would be sealed.

Her head pressed against the crate. It was cold to the touch. Its coat of paint had begun to flake. It vibrated, as if caught in an earthquake, each tremor the result of bullet. While the cracks of gunfire filled the morning air, Samantha could discern another set of sounds. She heard the flurry of hurried footsteps. They were drawing close, providing her with a hunch.

In her hands, she gripped her double-barrel shotgun. A thumb pulled back the hammer of the left barrel. Her finger stood ready at the trigger. The patter of footsteps hastened, heading to her left. Meanwhile, the rate of gunfire had slowed, perhaps as to not hit the man that was to ambush her.

Her breath steadied, as she readied her gun. She could here the paces of the one to her left, about to turn the corner.

On cue, a man, clad in a black jacket, and wielding a semi-automatic rifle had popped into her view. Samantha could read the shock on his face, as his neck craned to make eye contact with her. This hesitation was a fatal mistake. She pulled the trigger to her shotgun, the resulting gunfire evocative of a cannon going off, rather than small arms.

The massed blunderbuss tore through the man, sending shards of flesh, and streams of blood out his back. The sheer force of Samantha’s shotgun was too much for the man, and upon impact, he was lifted off his feet, before tumbling down, meters away from where he stood. When the guard came to rest, he was but a corpse, tattered and motionless.

Her attacker dispatched, Samantha took the time to glance around the corner. She could spot around three guards at the entrance. They appeared motionless at the moment. Wasting no time, she advanced, keeping her shotgun at the ready. A prone pickup truck, in even worse shape than the one that carried off Peter, stood in parallel with the entrance. The cover it provided would be less substantial than the cargo crates, yet, Samantha had determined it would make an excellent staging position for her to plan her next move.

She could hear cracks of gunfire as she made her advance. Her posture was hunched over, for her immense size gave her a rather large profile. Yet, her legs were able to carry her at a swift velocity, certainly far quicker than the average man could manage. In a few seconds, she was seated, back against the truck, shielded from the hail of bullets that assaulted the truck. So far, the vehicles steady metal frame proved sufficient in absorbing ammunition, yet Samantha doubted she would be allowed to remain there for long.

Footsteps were heard once more, yet the gunfire persisted. Samantha could discern a plurality of paces. Without even taking a peek, she could tell the men at the entrance had begun to encroach upon her position. Unlike her previous victim, their steps were more measured, slower.

Soon enough, the crack of firearms had begun to slow. The three guards were against the truck, no doubt readying a pincer attack. Two would head one way, and one the other. Samantha would have to anticipate where the one would go, so she could break the entrapment easiest.

However, a stupidly simple idea had popped into her head. Were she not clutching her mighty shotgun she would have brought a palm to her forehead for not thinking of it earlier.

In one movement, she stood at her full height, while also facing the truck she had braced her back against. She briefly caught the rather surprised faces of the men awaiting her on the other side. Before they could bring their weapons to bear, Samantha kicked at the truck. Her boot collided with the cabin, shattering the window in the process, as well as bending the frame. The truck was sent sliding a short distance, carrying the three guards along with it. Desperate shouts of surprise could be heard from the men as they were unwilling and unexpected passengers of the pickup.

Yet, the pickup did not remain prone, it tipped back, looming over the men. Their screams became blood-curdling, before the pickup fell, its metallic bulk falling upon the three. A sickening crunch was heard, silencing them for good.

With a full view of the entrance, Samantha spotted a newcomer. Unlike his now crushed peers, he did not possess a simple rifle. He was armed with something that possessed a larger barrel. The barrel was fed with a massive wheel, each round appeared as large as a fist.

A grenade launcher.

Samantha could not help but shout out, “Son of a bitch!” as she began scurrying away. Though she still was a good distance away from the door, she could tell the heavily-armed man was sporting a most gleeful smile.

The weapon was fired, its payload delivered with a soft thump instead of an explosive crack as all other arms. A second later, the round landed just behind the truck, sending orange flames and black smoke spewing from the impact point. Samantha had managed to land a good distance away, but was still hit by a concussive blast that knocked her down.

Still, she managed to roll over. As she did so, she pulled back the hammer to her second barrel. Once landing on her stomach, she took aim at the entrance. The man had been tracing her movement with the barrel of the launcher. Another round had just popped into place.

Samantha managed to squeeze off a shot just in time. Her buckshot exploded forwards. Nearly thirty feet was she from the entrance, and yet, her aim was true. The man was lifted off his feet, almost performing a back flip, before landing in a lifeless heap within his own base.

On her knees, Samantha pulled two more rounds from her shoulder sling. The thick cylinders were loaded in the breech of her shotgun. The blued steel was no longer cold to the touch as it had been earlier than night. In fact, it was comfortably warm. As she snapped the breech back, Samantha soldiered forth, her massive frame more akin to an approaching storm.

The entrance she now solicited had a ten foot clearance, requiring her to bend down as to not hit her head. She breathed easier, having survived the first engagement. Yet doing so, her guard was lowered.

Waiting behind were two men, one to her right and one to her left. As she passed through, the one to her right leapt up, brandishing a knife. The other ducked down, heading for her legs.

Caught by surprise, Samantha could only jerk back. Her shotgun could not be brought to bear on her assailants, for they were far too close. She stuck out a leg, bashing the man going from them in the head. He fell back, still conscious, but clearly dazed.

Still, with the other man on her shoulder, she had to keep moving. He kept on her, yet could not steady himself so as to plunge his knife down her neck. Samantha then swung to the side, sending his body jerking and swaying. It was as if the man were riding a raging bull. Despite gripping nothing but fabric, he could feel the muscles that lay beneath, and the overwhelming strength that they could bring.

As she continued moving, Samantha’s hands managed to get a grip on the man’s legs. With a massive grunt, she bent over, throwing him to the ground. The impact forced a burst of air out of his lungs, while the trauma left him temporarily immobilized.

He gazed listlessly upwards, before Samantha came into his view again. She appeared to stretch forever, into the ceiling, although he suffered a mere trick of perspective. The Amazon betrayed no words, as she lifted her boot. He caught a brief glimpse of dirt-caked treads, and smashed leaves. It was the last sight he ever beheld of his life, as she stomped down. The sheer force and weight of her foot and leg smashed the man’s face in, and caved his skull. What was left was a bloody mess of mushy flesh, splattered blood, and bits of bone.

She turned back, observing the other man coming to. In two quick strides, she made it to where he was. The man had been crouched down, trying to shake off the last remnants of dizzyness. He was not given the chance to as a massive hand took him by the collar. He was lifted up, before being smashed into one of the walls.

His eyes met those of his furious assailant. Her mouth was formed into a gritted scowl. Her brow was furrowed along the ridges. Her eyes, blue and clear, burned with explosive fury.

For a second, he was held there. His feet hung a clear six feet off the ground. The man flailed his arms against Samantha’s grip, to no avail. Not a single ounce of her strength relented against him. As his movements slowed, Samantha closed in. Her hot breath washed against his face.

“Alright you little scumbag, where are you holding him?” Her question was spoken as if making a statement, not a query.

There was a second of silence. The man allowed himself to smile, as he asked most sheepishly, “Who?”

He was pulled from the wall. There was no sign of strain from Samantha, supporting the weight of a full grown man on her own with one arm. The man was brought back violently against the wall, causing his head to jerk forward far to quickly. Bright spots had begun filling his vision. It did not take much for him to recall the sheer trauma this woman could cause.

Samantha had done away with any form of subtly. Her voice bellowed against the wall, throughout the building, from the heights of the ceiling, to the depths of the ground as she shouted, “Don’t waste my time! You’ve got my boyfriend, where is he?”

The man didn’t lose his smile. It was the sort of smile one had, heading into a tornado. It was the sort of smile possessed by a lone warrior, surrounded by ten thousand of the enemy. It was a smile that dared death itself. It was due to this smile, that Samantha knew her question was fruitless.

“Boyfriend?” he began, attempting to sound as mocking as possible, “Just what kind of freak is he-”

The woman’s grip tightened around his neck. Her hand was almost too big for the job. Only two fingers and a thumb could wrap around it, her other fingers hand to be splayed across his shoulder.

Her actions were instinctual, a pure reaction out of sheer rage. It was not, by any means, accidental. Samantha was in no hurry to calm herself down. As the man’s face became swollen, his mouth agape, his eyes listless, and his body still, a sense of catharsis swept through her. She suppressed a small grin of satisfaction, as she felt his trachea crumble under immense pressure. This satisfaction only increased in measure, as small cracks of vertebrae could be heard.

Soon enough, the poor man could bear no more. His neck gave in, the bones crumbled with a mighty crack. His head tilted listlessly to the side, as if attached by string to the rest of his body. All movement ceased, save for a few last jerks of neural activity.

A critical eye inspected her latest victim, before she tossed his corpse to the side. Her ears, now sharp from adrenaline, detected additional movement. Readying her shotgun, she proved prepared as another appeared around the corner of a massive crate, further in the building. He was only in view for the blink of an eye, before he too fell to a round of buckshot.

She did not face a lone challenger, however. Three more scurried behind him. Their weapons were at the ready. The red head knew she would not get enough time to challenge them in a gunfight, and thus, sprinted towards the crate, obscuring them from view. Unlike those outside, the crate’s here were easily the size of a small condo. Samantha even wondered if the object she hid behind was cargo, or simply an entrance to another room.

Nevertheless, at such proximity, she would quickly get overwhelmed easily if she wasn’t careful. The worst case scenario would be to get surrounded. Judging from the tactics her enemies had employed earlier, they appeared to be aiming for such an advantage, and would no doubt move to do so the next time she came into view.

With a sigh, she looked upwards. A hand fell to her waist, and she released the holster to her sidearm.

The other three remained still, their weapons at the ready. Two carried pistols, and were right up against the crate, while one hung further back, armed with a rifle. The man back motioned for the other two to move, and they began to slink around the crate.

A series of metallic poundings stopped them in their tracks. The crate was vibrating, and for sure, their oversized adversary was on the move. Yet, the stomps echoed around the warehouse, making it difficult to pinpoint which direction she had taken. The man back swung his head towards each direction.

Yet, neither direction would do him any good, for Samantha had climbed atop the crate, and raced across it. Each step left a dent in the material. In a few seconds, she had made it across, in full view of her enemy. With no hesitation, she took a leap.

The man with the rifle had spotted her out of the corner of his eye. However, by the time he had realized what he saw, Samantha was already in flight. Her twelve foot frame flew far, propelled by her mighty legs. By the time he brought his rifle to bear, she was already on top of him.

Gravity did the rest of the work. As she came down, the man was thrown down on his back, subject to her full weight. One of her boots came to rest on his wrist, completely annihilating it. He would have screamed, were it not for the fact that Samantha’s other foot came down upon his chest, absolutely shattering his ribcage. All that would exit his mouth would be a gush of blood and bile.

By the time she had landed, and incapacitated the first man, did the other two turn around. One raised his pistol, while the other began scurrying to the side. Samantha too, raised her weapon. There was a shot, a single small crack. The projectile met its mark. Etching a deep dent into blue steel. Samantha felt her shotgun flail. Throwing off her aim. The shock from the impact had managed to make her lose her grip on her weapon.

The man smiled, his gun still trained on the amazon. He raised his eyebrows, while shaking his gun. Samantha saw his grip relax upon the handle of his weapon.

Her action was instantaneous. In one quick motion, she brought her Colt up, and fired off a single shot. Such was the speed of her counter, her arm was nearly rendered invisible. Her aim was true, she had hit the man, directly in the face. The powerful round, fired from perhaps the most powerful handgun in the world, blew his head clean off.

From her side, she heard a curse. Samantha instinctively rolled out of the way, as two quick shots were unloaded from the last remaining man. Reorienting herself, she readied her pistol, yet, was pointing at empty space, where earlier, a man had stood. Her eyes darted about, yet she could not find where the man had run off to.

There was a roar of an engine. Samantha felt her breathing stop. She heard the rolling of tires, and the lumbering of metal. The illumination of the warehouse was adequate, considering the dark sky outside, allowing Samantha to pinpoint exactly where the mechanical noise had come from.

The last runaway had found himself a heavy forklift. It lumbered into view, as its driver lay safely behind a blocky canopy. The engine of this mighty beast lay in a metallic square container. Its tires were tall, with massive treads that could accommodate boot tracks.

With a roar, the forklift charged forward, at a velocity almost impossible for its size. Samantha realized too late, within the cluttered warehouse, that she had little room to maneuver. She raised her colt, and fired two times. Her first bullet was caught by glass. The second one managed to break through, but missed her intended target.

She would not be able to fire a third. The forklift’s driver let out a psychotic yell, as he crashed into the immense woman. Samantha’s strength would not save her this time, as she was carried back, back towards the crate she had hid behind.

In short order, her back made contact with the crate. Samantha felt the wind fly out of her from the force of impact. A searing pain shot through her chest, as the vehicle’s weight was brought against her massive frame. The forklift stood slightly taller than her, yet has she braced her arms against it, her struggles proved a net loss as the vehicle continued to advance.

Samantha felt her biceps strain, and her knees buckle. She looked her enemy in the eyes, watching him wildly stick out his tongue, and holler like a hooligan in presumed victory, as he vigorously pressed on the accelerator. Strain that took her muscles, leaked into her bones. It appeared for the first time that night, it would be her’s that would be broken.

“I’m dining on giant bitch soup tonight!” she heard, hollered within the shattered windshield.

With a glare, Samantha release one of her arms, as she continued to brace her knees against the vehicles advance. She was currently straddled between the fork, and the crate. Only sheer constitution kept her from becoming a bloody pancake.

Yet, her next movements were swift. Her free arm reached through the canopy. Her grip found the man’s chest, and before her could react, he was pulled out.

He flew, bashing his head against the crate he intended to smash his enemy against. The blow sent him crumpling to the ground in a dazed heap.

With the man’s efforts off of the accelerator, the advance of the forklift slowed, allowing Samantha to pry herself free. With a mighty kick, she forced the heavy machine back, before it rolled to a stop.

A loud exhale relaxed the towering woman’s posture. Her boots heavily thudded against the floor as she approached the prone form of the man who had nearly been the death of her. He lay face down. Aside from an oscillating movement of his back, he lay completely still.

He was brought to life once more as Samantha grabbed him from the collar, lifting him up so that his eyes were even to hers. Again, he was slammed into the crate. Feeling the strength of her grip, he made no effort to resist. His eyes nervously twitched, relenting under her hostile glare.

“I hope you’re not as smart as the other guy.” Samantha began, “Where are you holding your hostage?”

The man shook his head, “None of your business.”

“If you don’t squeal,” she threatened, tightening her grip, “I’ll break you so you will!”

A steely resolve, absent moments earlier, manifested within the man’s eyes, “Try me!”

Samantha’s bulky arm retracted, but her grip upon him did not relent. Her other arm, once hanging down the side, was brought against the man’s back. He was entrapped against her, his face in her chest, but there was no trace of tenderness with her gesture. Both arms wrapped around his torso, and beneath the heavy fabric of her flannel jacket, he could feel heavy muscle that lurked within.

She wasted no time increasing the pressure. The man’s spine began to bend back. He grit his teeth, for the strain upon his back began to become apparent. The woman’s chest, despite it being obscured by her articles of clothing, was rather large, it took him the utmost strain to peer up into her eyes. As always, her glare was unrelenting, full of disgust and hatred. If she could kill with a look, he would already be dead.

Finally, his head was brought away from her immense body, but not of his own will. Such was the strain on his spine, that his back had begun to bend back all the way. He let out a scream, but moved to stifle it. It was necessary to bite down on his tongue, sending a trickle of salty blood down his throat. He could not stifle the pain, not as it reached its apex.

There was a mighty crack, deeper and more substantial than any gunshot. The man’s view was turned upon its head, as he had now bent all the way back, his spine snapped in two. A blood-curdling scream escaped his throat, and there was nothing he could do to stifle it. Samantha’s arms release him, allowing him to collapse in a broken heap upon the concrete floor.

The amazon brought a heavy boot upon his chest, the weight restricting his breathing. As she leaned down, with the same tone, she repeated her demand, “Mind telling me now? Or do you want to start lookin’ for amputee insurance, because I’m ready to start pullin limbs!”

Pain had broken what resolve, if any, he possessed. Words could not escape his mouth, yet his arms could still move. A finger directed Samantha’s eyes to the far side of the warehouse, to a lift that led to a balcony.

She took her foot off of the man’s chest. “That’s more like it!” she exclaimed.

Bringing her shotgun to her chest, Samantha noted the dented barrel, and cursed her carelessness. She couldn’t trust the weapon’s operation,.Yet her colt, despite it being loaded with only five rounds instead of six, was still operational, and still possessed ammunition.