Chapters My Deadly Shot: Trixie is lethal
The Sketchbook: All there in the manual
Hello, I'm Wave Blaster. I use the Nostalgia Critic's introduction because I love that series.
Since February's 1st to the date, I've been working a lot on this fic. A. Lot. And there's a daily post in my blog to prove it. Due to this, a big load of ideas and concepts about the world and characters were created in the development of this story. Some of those ideas presented here either didn't make it into the final cut or there's no way to develop them without cutting the actual narrative.
But, since I'm some kind of sentimental and also it would explain some things, I'll post links to the key blogpost about this story. Hope it enlightens some of the obscure parts about this fic. Enjoy it!
The first hint of this fic's conception .
The very first statement .
All you need to know about Trixie a.k.a. Deadshot .
How did Sonata Dusk ended in the middle of this?
Why is this anthro?
Who the *yay* is Red Panzer???
My Deadly Shot: Trixie is lethal
-Cover concept: A Desert Eagle Mark XIX .50AE. over a wooden background. An azure hand is reaching for the gun, without touching it.
***
Sound Cast was the best pony ever.
He was smart and strong, his black coat and crimson mane making him very attractive to any mare he met. And many stallions, for that matter -- not that he swung that way, mind you. Even so, he was so good that everypony in the town of Hoofington became his friend as soon as he appeared. He came one special day, stepping out from a portal to the human world.
At first, he was just like any other earth pony, but soon he started to discover his inner power! He first earned his wings of steel for being too courageous. Some days after that, he proved his intelligence to be beyond any pony mind, earning a golden horn.
That was when he discovered he was in fact the lost seventh Element; the Element of AWESOME!
Everypony in Hoofington agreed he should be ruling them, not Celestia, so they were ready to follow this messiah from beyond the stars in his march to Canterlot to take his rightful place as president of Equestria. He knew that monarchy was bad and he should change it, and made everypony see the truth of this.
Sound Cast was at the front of everypony in town, ready to start his trip to Canterlot alongside his followers. Those who believed in him were armed as his knights, the new Elements of Believing and Sound Cast would be their Grand Rul--
*BANG!*
As soon as the bullet scattered Sound Cast's brain all over the cobblestones, the mental illusion he was casting over the town disappeared.
"Boom, headshot," the owner of the bullet said from a nearby hill. "Ya prancin' show pony."
The mare at the other end of the weapon cycled the bolt on her rifle, getting it ready just in case. Meta-equines like her target could be a tricky bunch sometimes. Little could be said about the mare herself, since her whole body was covered in a red military outfit and a featureless steel helmet with only a red targeting device at the level of her right eye.
***
"No way!" Sonata screams through the phone. "A mary sue? I thought those were a myth!"
"Says the hundreds years old siren," I reply from a public phone next to a road in the middle of nowhere. "Sonata, your intel sucks."
"Hey! Don't blame me. The contractor said it was only a meta-equine."
I swear to Faust that someday--
"But nothing about meta-magical-equine, or magical-meta-equine or an equine who is magically--"
"Sonata!" I scream as a truck passes next to me. I think about it and realize it's not worth it. "At least tell me you have the money."
"Yep." I let a sigh of relief. She may be a mare-filly with only half a functional brain, but at least she knows how to collect a paycheck. "So, how's the desert? Are you bringing me a gift?"
"Sonata, you gave me wrong intel, the transport you arranged was falling apart, AND you forgot the extraction. Again!" I take a breath. "Give a very good reason to not go there and rip out your heart out with a rusty spoon!" The plastic on the phone practically squeals as I squeeze it.
She giggles through the line. "Because I'm adorable?"
"Uh, nope." Check the wrist gun. “Try again.”
"Because I know your identity and could tell the Princesses?"
Lock and load, ready to off a centuries old creature. “Sonata, you just gave me more reason to kill you."
The ice in my voice must have finally made it through the phone because her silence is gold right now. I can picture her eyes shrinking as she stares at the wall and shivers, he lower lip doing that little quiver-thing and I catch a whimper over the line. I let myself smirk at the sound. "But I would be killing the closest thing I have to a competent employee," I eventually tell her. I don't need the phone to know she's sighing her lungs out. "Just try to remember the extraction next time."
"Don't cha worry, I'll send a cab to your position. Just let me..."
"Sonata wait! Don't hang up--" dial tone "-- the phone." I lower my head in defeat. The damn friggin' siren doesn't even know where I am, doesn't know how to call back at a public phone and I don't have more coins. I look around. Nothing reminiscent to a civilization besides the road.
I'm sooo gonna kill that girl this time.
***
It takes me two hours to find a place to change clothes, and another hour to get a trucker to give me the three hour trip to Las Pegasus. The guy is just another loner with social problems, so we both enjoy the calm of an empty road till I'm back to the city's periphery.
Who am I? Well, it's a long story, all full of clichés. I’ve been called Lil Trix, Beatrice, Lulamoon, The Great and Powerful. Fred. (Don’t ask.) These days, just I go by Trixie.
I used to be a traveling magician. Not really a bad business. It's always a challenge to please the crowds and you get to see a lot of world. It’s a good job. Of course, as with every career, you've got to be careful to not screw it up too much.
I screwed it up beyond repair.
I don't want to go into details, so let's just say that it closed a lot of options for me. I got stuck in Canterlot for an entire year, bouncing between the worst jobs a pony can do.
When I finally got tired of everything, I took what remained of my savings and came here. Las Pegasus, the one place in Equus where you can buy lobster with only five bits and survive to tell the tale. At first, it wasn't too different from Canterlot; odd job after odd job. The difference came when I got to be waitress in the Iceberg Lounge.
It was just another themed club, and I was just another uniformed underling. Somebody thought it would be a groundbreaking idea to have an ice-themed club in the desert, so there I was, having to use a 'penguin' uniform (black tuxedo jacket with tails over a white shirt and black pants) to look sexy night after night. Thanks the powers that be that it includes a top hat and domino mask to cover my head and face. Nothing new under the moon until the three guys entered with machine guns, shouting and menacing everyone.
The security guard tried to run for the door (brave, wasn’t he?) but one of them saw him and emptied an entire magazine into the poor bastard. I remember that part very well because the guy fell next to me. I thought I was going to die, so I made a decision.
If I was going down, it had to be big, loud, glorious and most definitely not hiding behind a flipped table next to a dead security guard.
A dead security guard who had a six shot revolver strapped to his belt.
While the robbers were distracted collecting anything the customers were carrying, I unsheathed the gun and, for the first time in my life, held it between my hands. It wasn't as heavy as I thought, and the cold metal was surprisingly tranquilizing. I put my finger over the trigger and got up from behind the table.
They turned around and saw me, in my stupid black tux with tails, holding a revolver. I'm not sure why, but I didn't feel anything. Not fear, not remorse, not anything. There was I, suspended in a moment of frozen time with three guys about to cover me with lead.
*bang! bang! bang!*
The next thing I remember is looking at three guys in the floor with holes between their eyes.
"Eh... they were going to..." There were the nerves coming back. I was shaking with a smoking gun in my right hand and three dead bodies to my name. Way to go Lulamoon.
"Thanks!"
"You saved us all."
"Who are you?"
"I want to have your babies!"
"What's your name, hero?"
I couldn't believe it, they were praising me. Me! Again!
For a moment back there, I thought the good times were back. The crowds, the fame, my name being chanted in admiration instead of being mocked. I truly believed it till a siren brought me back to reality.
"It's the police, girl!" The owner of the Lounge said from the front door. "Take the back door, we'll cover you."
I ran for it till I was just next to the emergency exit. I looked back and took a bow. "Thanks mates, you're great." Yeah, I'm a theatrical pony and not gonna apologize for that.
I don’t know when the grin first came, but it didn't go away for the rest of the night. The next day, I looked at the news and how everyone from the Lounge failed to recognize me, all of them explaining how the uniform of the club confused them. The grin was still there. By the end of the coverage, there wasn't even a description of me. Only an alias.
Deadshot.
Now, I typically make at least ten thousand bits every time somebody wants high speed lead in somebody else’s head, and yet here I am, standing outside a dilapidated suburban house on the outskirts of one of the most glamorous cities in Equestria.
I still call it home.
That's actually the point. When someone like me gets tracked, everypony looks for the high, all the while I'm lying down low, with a bullet ready.
Right now I’m home after far too many hours on the road and I’m dreading what I’ll find on the other side of the door.
I open it and I already don't like what's inside. The place is a dumpster; comics and magazines scattered around the living room, a tower of pizza boxes in the kitchen, the wet bar looks like it was ravaged by a horde of drunken co-eds, aaaaand the beds are a mess.
The little wonders of having a roommate.
"Sonata!" I shout at the top of my lungs, more out of frustration than calling for the soon-to-be-dead siren.
To my surprise, I get an answer.
"In the shower!" she calls out from the bathroom. Hmm, how considerate of her. It will be easier to clean up the blood that way. I walk there, intent on kicking down the door, but it opens first and a butt-naked Sonata bursts through. "Trixie!"
Before I can react, she’s got me in a bear hug and is doing her best to squeeze the life out of me. Probably in an effort to keep me from grabbing any weapons.
"So-na-tagh--" Air! For Celestia’s sake, air! My face must be turning blu...er than usual, because Sonata seems to finally remember that breathing is important and lets me go.
"Oh my gosh, Trixie! I'm sorry, it's just--" *click*
I don't let her finish. I already have my gun in front of her eyes.
"Sonata." I try to sound calm, but being nearly asphyxiated doesn't help to anybody's cool. "I'm not gonna shoot you -this time- because I don't want to have to clean up more mess." I pull my gun away from her forehead. "Also, I need a friggin' shower. So, I'll take one and you'll clean up the disaster zone that used to be our house. Then when we’re both done, maybe I’ll take you to that little Mexicolt place you like so much instead of putting two in your kneecaps for leaving me stranded on the side of the highway today without an extraction.”
When I stuck my gun in her face, Sonata hadn’t even flinched. Maybe it’s a siren thing, I don’t know. It certainly wasn’t the first time she hadn’t reacted to me pulling a piece on her. Still, she does know when not to cross me, and right now my whole body language is telling her that closing her mouth without another word would be a really good idea. When she does so, I give her a nod to show her that was the right choice, place my gun on the table and begin to walk to the bathroom. The way she’s fidgeting though makes something suddenly occur to me and I pause.
"Sonata, please tell me that there wasn't someone in the shower with you." I turn around to see how she's blushing. Damn, she IS that cute.
"O-of course not!" Yep, there is someone in the shower. "What kind of pervert do you think I am?"
"I'll put it in this way; I kill ponies for a living and still have the moral ground to call you amoral." I open the door and, what a surprise, there's someone hiding behind the shower curtain. I can't tell her colors because of the curtain, but the sunlight leaves an obvious female figure.
"Hi," she calls in a deep but timid voice. "Hmm, you must be Trixie?"
"Yes. Yes I am." I would facepalm if I wasn't too tired to lift my arm. "Look, I don't care about Sonata's love life or whatever you two were doing in there. So, I'll close my eyes and wait for you to get out of my shower and we can both pretend nothing happened, okay?"
"Oh, okay."
I do exactly that while I hear the curtain moving and a rush of wind next to me. I wait a little longer before opening my eyes and closing the door. I take off my clothes and walk inside the shower which, to my surprise, is still clean and there’s still hot water in the tank. I'll have to give Sonata some credit.
"Ah, much better." I may be a hired gun with an apathy problem and an ancient abomination for a roommate, but I still enjoy the little things. "Ah Trixie, how did we end up here?" I think about it.
Where did I leave off last? Oh, right. There was I, enjoying my five minutes of anonymous fame. Although I didn’t make it to the frontpage, Deadshot was a hot topic for a while. Each time I eavesdropped a conversation, they were commenting that amazing pony who took a whole gang in three shots or less. Never suspecting that their waitress was that exact pony.
It all lasted less than a week.
At the end of the day, I was back in my scuzzy motel room, alone, trying to figure out what how to get out of the ‘odd jobs cycle’. The old part of me craved the attention from the week before, the adoration and the fawning. I was a junkie that had been dry for years only to get an unexpected taste of the ‘good stuff’ and was now demanding I give it more.
But there was a new side of me too. It was a calm side. A side that didn’t need other ponies’ validation. It was like a new me that knew precisely and exactly what I really was and didn’t care hide nor hair what anypony else thought.
I went out back of the motel to try and clear my head and have a smoke. Standing there, looking over the desert landscape, I tried reliving that night over and over.
I began to think less like the old ‘attention horse’ me, and more like this new ‘honest’ me.
“I just took three heavily guys armed with only a six shooter and didn’t even flinch,” I finally said out loud.
At first I attributed my sudden good aim to luck and adrenaline. But luck can’t guide bullets, and adrenaline would have ruined any pulse I could have. Then, I remembered the revolver, still between my work clothes from the Lounge and with three more bullets inside it. I decided to make a little experiment.
As an illusionist, I have a good eye for detail. That made fairly easy for me to recreate the same moment in my head. Near the limits of the city, away from anyone who could care, I drawn the revolver and held it for the second time.
My first target was a scraggly looking pine. I pointed at an odd shaped branch, my finger slowly and carefully placing itself over the trigger.
*bang!* Miss.
There was a tingle there. I changed my stance to how I remembered it that night.
*bang!* Miss again.
Better, I could feel the calm coming over me.
I spat my cigarette to focus only on the gun, bringing my other hand under the first and positioning them in the in the exact same way I did that night and I began to remember. I wasn't really scared at the moment of firing.
I wasn't even thinking to be honest. I remember being completely blank back there, not a single emotion. Just me, three targets, and a gun, waiting to be fired.
*bang!* Bullseye.
There it was. I’ve heard the llamas say that the moment you achieve nirvana, you will know it. Who knew that I’d achieve mine behind the barrel of a gun?
I took it as a sign from above; there was a new direction for my life to go in. Of course, I needed to get serious about it if I was going to be taken seriously.
The next day I found a gun range. I wanted something large and nasty, something where only a round or two would be required to do the job. The Desert Eagle .50 AE was nice, but I decided to go for something that didn’t have the danger of breaking my wrist when I fired it. The Eagle was something to work up to.
The owner, Top Shot, talked me into a 1911 to begin with. Smaller, lighter, more ammo per clip, less recoil. It was an old gun, but that just meant the engineering was insanely reliable and ammo was cheap and plentiful. It felt just as good as the revolver when I was out on the range.
I spent every hour after work for the next two months there, putting bullet after bullet into target after target. My nights were spent taking the gun apart and pulling it back together until I could do it with my eyes closed.
Eventually, it became less of a gun and more of an extension of me. Every time I took my position on the range it became easier and easier get a hold of myself and forget any emotion I could feel. Only me, the bullets and the target.
By the end I was shooting entire clips in tight clusters ambidextrously. It wasn't as difficult as I thought, I seemed to be a natural at this.
Then, I decided to use all the things I knew to my advantage, so I mixed my new found affinity for hitting targets with something of my old talents; theatrics and illusions. I made a costume to keep my identity secret and use the mystery as a catch.
Nothing too complicated or highlighted, something I could wear in public without attract too much attention. Military training uniform and boots, durable and useful. At first I was going to tint it with my classical purple and azure, but the point was to hide myself, so I went for a more dark-red palette. A pair of leather gloves too, no fingerprints to be found if I ever lose a weapon. Finally, a balaclava of the same color of my mane, silver. I suppose there are still some parts of me that I can't let go.
At first I had some difficulties, nobody wanted to hire someone who didn't show her face or wasn’t willing to give any names. But then, reading the newspaper, I saw an opportunity.
Two guy were absolved of a murder. They were obviously guilty. It wasn't really that new -Las Pegasus was often called the Sin City for a reason- but I felt it was worth investigating.
It happened that they were the typical spoiled rich brats with enough friends in high places to avoid the law whenever they wanted, and their victim was just a simple waitress working at a casino. Her family wasn't a big deal either, just a father who was just an honest undertaker without enough money or influence, so there wasn't too much he could do about it.
That was where I entered the picture.
Three days later, the guys who killed his little girl were being buried, each with a bullet in the heart and another in their head. All their money, all their contacts, all the power of their families weren't enough to save them from death. The police was confused to say the least. The undertaker knew nothing about it and the only clue they had was a piece of paper with a red crosshair painted over it.
Yeah, theatrics and all that.
When the investigation got classified as cold, I went to the undertaker's house and explained the situation. He thanked me with tears in his eyes, but that wasn't what I wanted. I explained him that it wasn't a favor; it was an exchange for publicity. I gave him my new cellphone's number, and told him that should he cross paths with any other families in similar circumstances to his own, that he suggest they give it a ring and that I might be able to help with their problem. For a price, of course.
After that, I just waited until the voice ran long enough before there were five ponies asking for "that Deadshot mare."
"Trixie!" Sonata calls from outside the bathroom " You're wasting too much water and gas!"
I roll my eyes and shake off the water from my hair. Sure I might be taking my time -- and raising our water and gas bills in the process -- but it’s not like she’s the one paying for them. Still, my practical side recognizes that even Sonata has a point every now and again and I cut off the water while trying to shrug off those memories.
It's been a long road from there to today.
Author's Note
Amazingly edited by Diamond dust , Aria-Blaze and nightwalker
This is still a project in development, so, as with all of my stories, feedback is highly encouraged and it will be listened and taken in account.
Also, since it's for my first contest, I really mean it when I say; COMMENT!!!!!
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My Deadly Shot: Trixie is lethal
Deadshot #1. Bulletproof or: How I learned to always carry an extra bullet.
-Cover concept: Trixie in street clothes between two mirrors; The right one shows her in her magician's attire (hat and cape, wearing dark blue tuxedo), smiling cheerfully and waving her hat over her head. The left mirror displays Trixie wearing military training clothes, tainted in dark red, with her Deadshot helmet under her left arm while lighting a cigar with her right one, eyes closed and a grim expression.
***
Ah, Las Pegasus. I mostly love this city but there are some days where I would take every single gun I own and open fire against anything that moves.
Today being one of those days.
*KRAKOOM!*
Here's a fun fact about Las Pegasus; it's in the bloody desert, so there aren't too many cloud to make it rain. So, instead of draining every cloud they find, the pegasi from the weather team (the drunkest weather team in Equestria, I must add) collect clouds all the year and let them all go in one single season of monsoons.
When it rains in Las Pegasus, it pours in Las Pegasus.
"Up with your hands! Up with your f*cking hands!"
Of course, I take Sonata out to celebrate another good hit and it starts to rain. And of course, we enter a Kwik-e-Mart to buy some ice cream on the way home and it's being robbed.
If I had a bit for every time something like this happens, I wouldn't need to be Deadshot.
"Now, no one moves or I swear to Celestia I'll f*cking kill you all!"
All the other customers are lined against the nearest wall, looking scared and helpless against the three almighty jackasses armed with a gun, a shotgun and a knife.
Who the hell brings a knife? I mean, seriously?
Meanwhile, Sonata and I are looking for peanut butter ice cream. You wouldn't believe how much fish-girl loves it.
"This good?" I hold up a half-litre tub.
"Yay!" Sonata hops over to my side, looking at the tub as if it was made of gold.
"You two!" The one with the shotgun yells at us. "Get your motherf*king asses right here and put your f*cking hands in the air! Now!"
"Please!" I hear a female voice. It's a zebra, being held down by the idiot with the knife. "Please, do as they say, I have a daughter."
A knife, a bloody knife. What was that idiot even thinking?
"Oh, a daughter. The zebra b*tch has a daughter." The idiot laughs and puts the knife right over the zebra's neck.
I ignore the three stooges, and Sonata and I walk up to the counter to pay for the ice cream. The guy there is a zebra too. Oh, I see, a family business.
"Trixie, do you think we should do something?" Sonata asks me.
"Nah, not our problem." I look at the guy behind the counter "I'll take the ice cream and a pack of cigarettes, please." I set the ice cream in the counter while looking for money. Where did I leave that wallet? I eventually find it and put the ten bits I have on the counter but the guy’s is too busy trembling to take them.
"But Trixie, I think they really want us to raise our hands. For realsies," Sonata almost squeals.
I'm about to tell her again that it's not our business but the guy with the gun beats me.
"Didn't you hear my f*cking voice, deadmare?!" He's right behind me. "You'll die if you don't put your damn hands in the air!" He presses the gun against my head. As always, the cold metal is soothing.
Or it would be if this guy knew what to do with it. Instead this idiot is trembling and I can feel it. Oh, bad move.
"Sonata, hold that thought."
When I began to get serious about this hitmare thing, I found out that I couldn't rely solely on the weapon, so I took some classes in self-defence. The words of my old sensei, Empty Hand, echo in my head as I turn and break the nose of the thug behind me before relieving him of his gun.
"You bloody amateurs!" I scream before smashing his head against the counter. "You want to rob a store? I don't care.” I bounce his face off the counter again. “You want to rob me... Fine!" I haul him up and crack him between the eyes with the butt of his automatic. "But you'll respect the bloody gun!"
“Hey! What the f*ck, lady!” the one with the shotgun yells, beginning to point it at me. Without even hardly looking, I put two rounds into the shotgun right next to where his hands are, disabling the gun and knocking it from his grasp. Knife-boy is too stunned at what’s going on to move.
I shake the would-be thief I’m holding by his shirt, trying to keep him from passing out from all my abuse. "First, you stand straight and put the gun where the target can see it.” I swing the gun up and point it at the bewildered zebra behind the counter. “He moves, he dies. Clear?
"Second, you speak slow and calm, so he can understand." I look up and read the zebra’s shirt; it says Adam. Putting on an air of menacing charm, I smile and flutter my eyes, talking smoothly. "Adam, stay calm. You just have to give me the money and I'm out of here. No one will get hurt if you just do what I say." Of course he’s still too shocked at the sudden turn of events and doesn’t move. I click the hammer back and snarl, “Move you stripy git, or I drill you between the eyes!” That gets the job done.
“Third,” I say, turning back to the guy I’m holding, “you take the money and you leave.” A knee to the nuts and he goes down. I tower over him. “No hostages. No threats. No bullsh*t! Understand?!” He gurgles what sounds like ascent through his own blood. I look up and face the last guy at the back of the store. He still hasn’t moved.
"As for you: a knife? Really? Get yourself a real weapon, you moron." I put two slugs in his knee caps for emphasis.
Letting out a disgusted huff, I turn back to the counter and slam the gun down. There’s a pile of cash on it and very scared zebra behind it. I blink. What? Ohh…
“Hey, uh, don’t worry about that, man. Just gimme the ice cream, a pack of smokes, and change for my ten bits and we’re all good.”
“Uh, s-sure,” Adam stammers as he reaches behind the counter for the cigarettes.
“And no menthols.”
Adam cringes, pulling his hand back from the pack he was going for. “No! No menthols! Of course not!”
I get my smokes and change, Sonata gets her ice cream, and we both leave the two stunned zebras to deal with the would-be robbers bleeding all over their floor. Fishing through my pockets before we head back out into the rain, I eventually find my car keys. “Let’s get going. I just hope we’re not too late to catch the beginning of Equestrian Idol by the time we get home.”
***
FIMFiction (not so) proudly presents:Deadshot Bulletproof
Written by Wave (running out of time) Blaster.Diamond dust and nightwalker
Copyrights lololol.
***
"Deadshot, the scariest BADASS! to walk on Equus," Sonata tells the ponies across the table. I wish she would stop using that word, and since when am I scary?
"There is no single hit she can't... hit."
Please Sonata, shut up.
"With a bullet."
Damn it.
They're in the absurdly expensive restaurant of the Bellagio. It must be warm and cozy inside the restaurant since Sonata and our new clients aren't wearing their jackets. Meanwhile I'm on the other side of the street on the roof of a rival casino. It's a cold night and the rain falls as if Celestia herself has decided to wash away the world's sins.
At least I can use the scope and a mini radio to see pretty well how Sonata is selling them the best shooter in the world for whatever they need me for.
"Second best one, if our contacts are correct," says the younger of our two contacts. Oh, you bloody booger. "I understand that she's no better than the Terminator." Here we go again, another douchebag contacting me just to ask for Adagio ‘Deathstroke the Terminator’ Dazzle. She's...
"...retired. I'm sorry but Dagi is not taking jobs anymore."
Atta girl, you just earned a homemade chili taco.
"And I suppose that this Deadshot is the best thing left? What about the Manta?"
Oh, come on! I know I'm under Dazzle, but Blaze? She's just a psycho with some shiny gadgets. I would shot her down myself if she wasn't Sonata's sister.
"I'm sorry, but Black Manta is also out of the business. Deadshot is the best mercenary in action, for realsies." I see the younger pony adjust his tie as if it was getting too hot in the room, while here I'm out here, drenched and freezing my flank off.
"Well, I suppose you could see what the job is about. This one here." The older pony passes a folder to Sonata. I'm counting on her to be able to recognize if the target is from my 'hell no' list. She takes a picture from the folder and holds it facing to the window.
I see a pony, probably a stallion given the build. That's all I can tell since his head is covered by a black, skull-like mask. Not ringing any bells so there shouldn't be a big problem. I turn on the laser and move it up and down. The ponies with Sonata notice this and I swear to Faust the young one almost faints.
Sonata calmly nods and looks back at them.
"As you can see, Deadshot is good enough to kill both of you if she wanted to." The siren is giving them the 'I see your soul' smile. "So, what about payment?"
"Of course, we are prepared to offer one thousand bits for..."
I turn the communicator off before I can't hold it. One thousand bits? Are you bloody kidding me?! You bloody fruit shop owner, I should-- I turn the laser on again, this time pointing to the bogan's head. I make sure his young companion can clearly see it before I turn the radio back on.
"I told you she wasn't going to take it lightly." Sonata and the one in my sights are the only ones not shaking. Good. "Our minimal commission is five thousand and that's only against low profile targets." She looks down at the photo and shakes her head. "This one? This is worth, at least, eighteen thousand."
Okay, I didn't recognize the guy, but if Sonata can make eighteen thousand out of this I'm not gonna complain.
"I-- We-- Well..." The one who almost fainted several seconds ago finally gives up and starts crying. Must be new in this. Pussy.
His companion seems more professional, since he's still stoic despite my laser between his eyes.
"Of course, it'll be eighteen thousand plus expenses. Tell her that we acknowledge her talents and skills." He moves his hand down towards his pants. Slow and easy mate, if you try anything against Sonata you'll be dead meat... Oh, I see; a wallet. "Here, consider the payment of this dinner as our first installment."
Sonata nods and rises from the seat. She takes her jacket and begins walking to the exit with the folder in her hands. Good, finally a job. I was starting to get bored.
***
"So, tell me," I say to Sonata, "what kind of mess am I into this time?" We're sitting inside the tool shed where I store my weapons and equipment.
"Don't tell me you don't know the Black Mask," she says as tossing me the wrist gun. I should be angry at her for doing that again, but I’ve learned to keep the weapons unloaded when Sonata's near.
"No, Sonata. I have no clue on who is this 'Black Mass' guy," Okay, the gun is on my wrist, so let's check how it works. "And by the way, how do you recognize someone under a mask?" Must be one ugly dude to go around wearing that all the time. That, or a major fan of Mexicolt wrestling. I slowly bend my hand down till I hear the click of the gun cocking.
"That's the whole idea. Nopony knows who he is but everypony recognizes the mask." She shows me the picture again. "Pretty much like you."
Touché.
"Okay, tell me what I need to know about him." I test the fire positions of the wrist gun. Towards my body for a single shot and away from it for automatic fire.
"Do you remember the mafia war from a year ago in Manehatten? Some months before we met?"
"Yeah, I got some good hits from that." I check the aiming device of the helmet, it seems clear. "They paid this house after all."
"Well, at some point, someone arranged a meeting for the five families that were involved." There it is, the actually professional but mostly unseen Miss Dusk. "The problem was that, at the meeting, someone assassinated all the capos.
"The next thing the city knows is that every capo and consigliere is dead, and all the major syndicates have no idea on what's going on. So, no bosses and no voices of reason, they all went into a full-on war. Of course, without anyone keeping the bribes flowing, the police suddenly remembered their job. There were a lot of arrests, en masse, leaving a big round power vacuum."
"Let me guess; this is where our Darth Mask enters."
"Bingo!" And there's the child-mare I know. "He contracted Dagi, Aria and me as his bodyguards and started organizing the drugs, the weapons and everything else. It was a very fun week actually, Aria taught me how to use her laser helmet. It was all like 'pew pew' and--"
I literally stop listening to her while letting her ramble while I think about it. Whoever this Black Mask is, he knows what he's doing. Sonata is rambling about ice cream tacos again, while I take the folder and give a look at Mask's record-- Holy shot!
Mass murder, torture, prostitution, assassination, corruption, commercialization of experimental drugs, film producer, the list goes on and on. After the fifth page I'm beginning to think that he's got a long mustache and a goatee under that mask. By the tenth page I'm sure he also practices his evil laughter. Page twelve, and I can only wonder if he even sleeps.
I put the record aside (I personally want to sleep tonight) and begin reading over his associates. No big names as far as I know. His bodyguard is some loser from the east called Helmet Strings. There are some connections to the deer mafia and nothing else before Manehatten.
"Sonata," I say, interrupting what I assume was an interesting rant about tacos. "You worked for him, what should I expect?"
"Hmm." She puts her hand over her chin like she’s thinking. No, I don't buy the gesture. "Well, when he paid us, it was enough for Dagi to think that we could retire."
"And our new employers?"
"One is the son of one of the deceased capos, the one that almost pissed himself when you turned on the laser sight.” We both chuckle at that. "The older guy is a friend of the family from here."
"So a vendetta job." These mafia families like those.
"It seems like one." She takes the folder back and searches between the pages. I take the time to put on the helmet and test the new thermal lens. It seems fine. "Here." Sonata is holding a ticket. "I already bought you the train ticket and the contractors said they've got the stay and contacts arranged there." I take the ticket; one way.
"And!" Sonata exclaims before I can say anything. "I got the ticket back to Las Pegasus."
She passes me a second ticket. She finally remembered the extraction! It was about bloody time.
"Thanks Sonata. You're a competent partner."
"No worries Trix, I'll take care of the house meanwhile." Oh Faust in heaven. "Good luck." She hugs me. She's squishing me, again, but I let her. Although I don't even like hugs and she tries to murder me every time, I let her.
I let her because I know she really means to show me affection when she hugs me, when calling me Trix, when arranging the business. I know she likes me like a friend, maybe even more.
I wish I knew how to return that affection, but I don't. I don't even care anymore. All I know and care about right now is that I got another target to bring down.
***
In the train station I buy a book, as usual. No, I'm not a scholar pony, but that doesn't mean that I can't enjoy a book or two between jobs. I've already read all the classics; The Divine Comedy , Don Rocinante , Hamlet , One Hundred Years of Solitude . I suppose they’re my way to escape reality once in a while.
This time though, I'm reading something completely different. In the station's gift shop I found a title that caught my eye; How to be a Good Friend by none other than our newest princess, Miss Twilight Perfect F-n’ Sparkle herself. At first I thought about shooting down everyone in the shop and walk out with a copy of the new book from Mane Brown, but then I remembered Sonata and how little clue I've got on how to treat her.
The trip to Manehatten is long enough to let me focus on the book and it's cheesy as hell. A smiling, pink, and diabetes inducing hell. But it still has some useful tips on how to treat what's apparently a friend. By the end of the trip I'm considering buying something for Sonata and giving her more than just her usual five percent of the commission.
Damn it, I'm getting soft. I take my head out of that 'friends' thing and focus on the task at hand. Since this Black Mask guys seems to be a high profile, I need to get serious. Come on Lulamoon, put the helmet on, step out of the train and wait for your contact.
I do exactly that. It's the middle of night when the train arrives and the station’s covered by snow. Good, with weather like this there are very few witnesses on the streets. Maybe this job will be easy.
***
This job is not gonna be easy. In fact, I'm already counting it as one of the worst, right next to that time in the Crystal Empire when I almost got caught.
This should be easy. Just meet the contact, find where Black Mask is, point the rifle at his head, pull the trigger, and say a catchphrase. Even an amateur could follow those steps. But nooooo, the contractor is one of those fillies with more money than brains who makes everything personal.
The idiot not only contracted me, but other three mercenaries because 'it's very important'. Moron. I should kill him instead and take the satisfaction as payment. Damn I hate group jobs. It doesn't only mean that the contractor doesn't think you can do it alone -- which is already insulting -- but also that whatever they're paying you is a fraction of the whole. You're just getting a piece of the bigger pie -- four times bigger in this case.
"Don't worry, Ms. Deadshot," says the chauffeur that picked me up at the station. "They're very professional too, and I'm positive that it will help." Yeah, keep yubbin' that big mouth, while it's still attached to your bloody neck.
*sigh*
Calm down Lulamoon, he's just the chauffeur, he's probably not even aware of what's happening.
"We’ve arrived," he says, stopping the car outside an office building. We enter and he leads me to the rooftop. I stop before he opens the door, imagining what kind of ponies I'll be forced to work with. I must be very tense, because he notes that I'm not happy with this, even under the mask.
"I can assure you, they were picked under very selective standards." Okay, that can't be really bad, I suppose. "In fact, I'm pretty sure that they’re the three best mercenaries, after you of course." He opens the door and I look inside and that's how this guy won -- without any effort -- the prize to the euphemism of the year.
The so called 'professionals' are a couple of dorks named Flim and Flam and a psycho named Gilda.
The brothers used to be inventors and half-plotted conponies. After one too many failed schemes to make easy money cost them their last saving, they had a stroke of inspiration. Why lose time with cons that they can't even pull off if they could use their bloody brains for something else?
You would think it would mean making an actually functional machine to patent and sell. They thought it meant creating super-weapons and robbing banks. In what Sonata and I agree is the bullcrap of the century, Flim started to use an ice thrower and dressed in a completely white suit, called himself Icicle. Flam, for his part, uses a more traditional flame thrower and a fireproof red and white suit. He insists on being called the Equine Flame.
I usually call them Moron One and Moron Two, and don't even care which is which.
Now Gilda is a different story. For starters, I have the moral high ground to call her psycho, which should say enough right there. I even worked with her once, she's a total mess. Barely trained, unprofessional, immature; a bully who’s constantly talking about the better days. While I use a bulletproof vest over my suit -- and even Moron One and Moron Two have some common sense to use safety clothes -- Gilda only wears an orange kimono with black stripes and bronze gloves over her claws.
"Deadshot," Gilda says when she recognizes my mask. "Long time no see. Since Zebrica, right?"
I give her a second glance; she seems more focused tonight than I remember. Her stance and body language are completely different and she even seems to be in a far better shape.
"Gilda," I offer her my hand. "Yeah, since Zebrica." She smiles at me while we shake hands.
"Please, you know that's not my name when I'm working." Oh, right. Since Dazzle, most of mercenaries worldwide started to use code names -- not as a cover strategy like me, just because it sounds 'cool'.
"Sure... Bronze Tigress."
Too. Much. Campiness.
"Tigress will suffice."
"So," Flam says. "Who's got the intel?"
I resist the urge to facepalm. Oh please, tell me that he didn't just ask that.
"I got it." I see how Gilda take a sheet of paper from her kimono. Oh no. I see how they bend over the edge of the rooftop, just now reading the plans I memorized before even stepping onto the train.
"Four floors below the penthouse." Gilda points to the building next to ours. "The large window in the northwest corner."
"He didn't close his blinds," Flim notes.
Of course not, you idiot, the windows are--
"Bulletproof." Gilda finishes my line of thought. "You should know, I memorized these plans this morning."
Huh, maybe there really is some quality here.
"Anything else?"
Yes, the security scheme has--
"Movement detectors, four industrial lasers--" any room can be closed and filled with “--paralyzing gas. Then, there are the half dozen--" bodyguards with black market weapons "--meta-weapons if the intel is correct."
Gilda and I finish at the same time. I murmur in approval, one eyebrow cocked. I might have to take her more seriously now.
"It's gonna be hot," Flam says. "But it doesn't matters."
"Because we're the cool ones." Flim completes his brother's phrase.
No, they didn't. No, they just-- no. They did not just make a fire and ice pun.
That's it, I'm leaving the kids to play games and try to pull this alone, otherwise I’m liable to kill all of them myself before the other guys even get a chance. I unsling the high-caliber sniper rifle from my back and pop the stabilizer bipod arms. I normally wouldn’t need a beast such as this for taking out a target across the street, but since BM here has bulletproof windows, I'll need a wee bit more penetration than normal.
Titanium bullet, shaped like a drill (Sonata's idea) and a small counterweight that makes it vibrate as it travels. This sucker can make a hole through diamond. A beauty of the ballistic arts, all wrapped in a magnetic rail with a gazillion of volts accelerating the projectile over nine hundred meters per second square. Faster than any speeding bullet.
I call it the Machina, because what's coming out of it could kill a god.
Okay, Mask, I got your fancy office in my scope and that absurdly expensive chair in my crosshairs, now where are you? I see the doors open, and a pony dressed like it was Nightmare Night enters first. He's wearing a military uniform, but a way too old version, all tinted red. I can see he's wearing a metallic helmet too. Must be Mask's bodyguard, because he's looking all around the office.
I take a glance to my 'team' and they are discussing how good Black Mask’s security room is, agreeing that they can't let him inside it or otherwise we lose the hit.
"Okay, let's hit the target before that can happen."
After some five or ten minutes, the guy in red stands still (probably trained) next to the desk. He makes a salute that seems familiar, but I can put my finger on it, and four more ponies enter. Three stallions, one mare, all dressed in business suits. After that, the main guest, the man who made Manehatten's crime his bitch. Black Mask himself enters the room and sits down on his desk, probably to make the counts of the day.
I let my world go quiet as I breath out slowly and wrap my finger around the trigger. Then I squeeze and everything explodes with an Equus shattering kaboom.
*KRAKOOM!*
The one problem with the Machina, it's not a silent weapon. I bet that half of the city heard that and, following my information, we have eleven minutes to leave this place before the cops are here. Enough time to--
Wait, where's the blood?!
I shot him in the head and he's on the floor, but his head is still recognizable and there's no blood-- Mortherf*cker had a helmet!
"Deadshot!" I hear Flim (or Flam, the one with the mustache) calling me. "What the hell, pal? We were still figuring it out!"
"I had the target, no time to wait." I point them to the exit, but the idiots aren't even moving. "Come on! We have less than ten minutes to get out!" They finally figure out that being caught is not good and we all race for the stairs, but a loud whistle sounds above us. I look right in time to see a very heavy and expensive oak desk coming down on top of us.
"Watch out!" Gilda shouts and we all jump away from it. I recognize the desk and look at Black Mask's office. The window is not even there anymore, and the bloody wanker is standing on the edge, pointing at us with at us with his index finger.
Is he really..? That cheeky bastard is wagging his finger at me like I’m some kind of school filly in for a scolding! Oh, he is so--
*thump!*
Something lands behind me. Something heavy. I turn around and see the same clown in the military costume from before. He's a stallion, taller than me, maybe even taller than Gilda. He's in the middle of us, right over where the desk landed.
"Mein name is Red Panzer." What the hell?
"And you, you are all dea--"
*bang!* It really bores me when they monologue.
"Nein!"
Oh, come on! Can't anyone die from a headshot tonight? Is the Grim Reaper pranking me? I now realize that what I thought was a helmet was covering his whole head.
Of course, this Panzer guy doesn't seem to like being shot mid-sentence, because he charges at me. Gilda intercepts him, tackling him to the ground. It doesn't last. Not even a second later and they're trading blows. I'm trying to aim for Panzer but they're moving too much. Maybe I'll have to shot through Gilda to do so.
I have surprisingly little problem with this.
"What are you doing?" Flam (or Flim, the moron with the fire suit) pushes my arm out of the way. "You'll hit Gilda!"
"And?"
"We need to help her." Flim (or-- arg! The other moron!) says.
We don't get to argue, a rain of bullets from the other building stops us. The brothers take cover but I turn around and see eight ponies unloading four berettas, one uzi, two AKs, and an MP5. Easy.
I cock the wrist guns and turn on the PTD (precision targeting device) in my mask. I take the MP5 first, a direct hit on his aiming eye. Then a bullet for the uzi's barrel. It jams and explodes, wreaking havoc and stopping the shooting.
"Flim! Flam! Show me you're not totally useless!" I would normally take down them by myself, but I want to save bullets for our Panzer guy over there.
"On it 'Shot!" The one with the ice gun rise from his cover. "Hey punks, freeze!" Flim shoots his weapon to the window where our attackers are recovering. They get immediately frozen on the spot, all of them and the entire room covered in ice, and that was just one shot. So far I've only heard rumors about these new meta-weapons, but I admit that seeing them on action is... interesting.
I turn back to Gilda, who is actually landing more blows than taking them. Panzer is slow, as if there was a weight restraining him, while Gilda is going all butterflies and bees on his ass. The problem? Our girl is panting and he's not even flinching.
"You half-breed monster! I'll free the world of your kind!" Panzer shouts at her while raising his right arm. Just now I realize he doesn't have a hand there. The infrared lens in my mask goes crazy over it. I try to figure out what he's doing, but someone has other plans.
"Gilda, get out of the way." Flam is now aiming his flamethrower to them, Gilda doesn't catch on but instead she's knocked out of the way by Panzer, allowing Flam releases a column of fire over him. I'm this close to thinking this team is not totally screwed. "Burn baby, burn!"
"Dummkopf! I am Red Panzer! The Panzer!" I now see a figure is walking out of the flames towards Flam. "Your puny little weapon is nothing to me." Now that his uniform is burned I can see what's up with him. He's wearing a full body armor made of metal, and his right arm has something that looks like a cannon mounted on it. Flam is still unloading his flamethrower over Panzer, but he's still advancing.
"Now, deadpony, stay dead!" Panzer gets close enough to hit Flam in the gut. It's a strong blow, it sends the pyromaniac flying a couple of meters in the air.
"Flam!" Flim shouts to Panzer, raising his ice gun to him. But Panzer is faster, he raises his right arm and fires it.
*Boom!*
A sphere of red electricity leaves Panzer's arm and hits Flim in the chest. Sparks dance around his body and he falls to the floor. I recognize the charge; military-grade electrical rifle, used by the Night Guard and designed in Minos. It's not a lethal weapon, but I've heard that hits like an angry minotaur. Before I have time to analyze anything else, Panzer turns to me.
"You must be the fräulein who shoot mein boss."
I hiss and grit my teeth. I've never faced a target this close. They're usually at a safe minimum of ten meters distance. I hesitate for a second, but no more than that. I can't feel fear now, never. The moment I do, I'm dead.
"Oh, a silent one? Do not worry, I can be very friendly." He takes one step and that's all I give him. I shoot a full charge of my wrist guns over him. I make all of them count; articulations, eyes, mouth, groin.
Nothing.
"Now, now, that wasn't a very friendly thing to do, was it?" I don't have time to reload, and he's already charging his arm cannon. "I’ll have to teach you some manners."
Author's Note
Dun dun duuuun.
Now seriously, this is still a project in development, so, as with all of my stories, feedback is highly encouraged and it will be listened and taken in account.
Also, since it's for my first contest, I really mean it when I say; COMMENT!!!!!
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My Deadly Shot: Trixie is lethal
Deadshot #2. Unbreakable, untouchable. Impossible!
-Cover concept: Close up to Red Panzer's helmet. It's featureless except for the eyes and mouth holes. It has a swastica over a red circle in the forehead. Trixie, dressed in her Deadshot costume, can be seen reflected over the helmet.
***
I need a bloody beer. No, scratch that. I need to go to three different bars and drink them dry.
In fact, as soon as all of this is over, I'll find my contact, blow his knees off and ransack any drop of alcohol he may have in his house, followed by everything I can exchange for cigarettes, including his sorry flank.
I once heard Sonata saying she misses tasting actual pony meat (hence why I sleep with a secondary gun strapped to my leg). Maybe she would like a mafia spoiled brat if I put him in a taco.
Why am I this mad? Because I'm facing a walking tank inside bulletproof armor that shoots electricity from his right arm. That's why!
***
FIMFiction (not so) proudly presents:Deadshot breakable
Written by Wave (running out of time) Blaster.nightwalker
***
It's nighttime in Manehatten. I'm on a rooftop. Around me are two incapacitated unicorns and a griffon. The four of us were hired to kill Black Mask, a pony who took control over the city's crime.
At first, it seemed to be an easy job; spot the guy, shoot his head off and collect the paycheck.
It was really amazing how everything went austral this quick.
First, Black Mask was wearing a bulletproof helmet and I spent my only penetrating round on his already reinforced window. Then, before we could make our escape, we're confronted by Mask's personal bodyguard.
It doesn’t help that he’s a meta-equine, a super pony. I'm not sure how it works, but he's wearing metallic armor that's making him invulnerable to anything, even bullets.
The really bad part about all this? He mopped the floor with the aforementioned unicorns and griffon in less time than it took me to tell you.
Now there’s just him and me, and I need to reload.
Buck me sideways.
"I'll be honest you, mein heckenschütze, I've never killed anyone." Red Panzer saunters slowly towards me. "I'm of the philosophiehie that life has more pain to offer than mere death." When he's close enough I see something in his forehead. Over his helmet, there's a red circle painted over the metal and, inside the circle, a black gammadion cross.
Bloody hell, I recognize that symbol. He must have noticed my surprise, because he stops and tilts his head to a side.
"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He cracks a laugh at his own joke. I don't move, I can't let myself be exposed. "Oh, you recognize this, don't you?" Tapping his helmet with a finger. "Are you, by any chance, another impure?"
Don't answer Lulamoon. Whatever you do, don't let yourself--
"What if I am?"
And once again, my big mouth moves first.
"Oh, a defiant one." He tilts his head to both sides. "I knew there was a reason to get out of bed today." He takes another step. The aiming device over my eye tells me he's less than two meters away.
"Tell me, mein heckenschütze, what impurity afflicts you?" I glance at my wrists, hoping I’m wrong and that I’ve still got a round or two left. No such luck; both guns are still empty and the reserve clips are in my belt. "I can see a horn under that mask." He's getting closer. "But no magic? What, aren't you a pure-blood?" Panzer clicks his tongue under the metallic mask.
"I don't know, maybe." If I distract him enough I can... think on what to do. "My mother was a unicorn, but I never knew my idiot father." It kinda works, he's laughing. At least he stopped walking.
"Oh, some fräulein has vati issues." I wish he stopped mixing equestrian with ibex. "Tell me, do you believe in true harmony?"
"What do you mean?" That's it, keep talking.
"True harmony." He makes the same salute from when he was in Black Mask's office. "The eradication of everything that isn't pure and drives the world to chaos..." He starts a rant about some bullcrap I don't care about. I take the time to think.
I could fight Panzer, he's not my first meta-equine. I ponder his strengths and weakness. From how it looks, he's the one who threw the desk from the office and then he jumped after it. That means he's strong, very strong. He also was in the receiving end of a fight with Gilda. She may be unprofessional and careless, but she has also a reputation of being a deadly fighter, and Panzer took all of her blows directly. That, along with receiving a whole flamethrower and almost two full clips from my wrist guns, is screaming invulnerability to me.
If that's not enough, there's his arm cannon. If he's using the Night Guard's design, I'm in trouble. That thing was designed by and tested on Luna, the alicorn Princess. On its highest setting, it electrocuted her. Since I'm not an immortal alicorn, I'll have to stay away from that thing.
Okay, he's invulnerable, strong and has a lot of firepower. Now weaknesses, weaknesses... There must be something...
"...and glory will be ours! Sieg F*cking Heil!" His exclamation brings me back. "Maybe, if I talk to Black Mask, he'll let you live as my hündin."
I don't need a damn translation to know what that means. I raise both of my wrist guns at him.
"I don't think so." Fragg this, even if he kills me, I'm going down swinging. Hell, I've dreamed of a death like this.
"Come on, mein heckenschütze, you just saw that I am unbesiegbar. What chances could you have?" I aim at his face, right between his eyes.
"Let's find out."
Without any warning, he jumps at me. Too bad for him that I'm agile enough to avoid him and right in position to reach the stairs' door. I don't waste time with the doorknob and kick it open. I start my not-so-glorious escape when the stairs begins to shake. I try to keep moving, but the ceiling right in front of me falls. Red Panzer is standing in the debris.
"Going somewhere, fräulein?" I don't say anything, I'm too busy trying to keep my pants clean-- This gorilla just smashed his way through the roof!
I spin around and sprint back to the rooftop, slamming the busted door behind me.
Not really a good strategy, but I'm not thinking anymore. It doesn't matter by this point. No, don't dare to give up, Lulamoon, just think. Of course, Panzer is a tank; absurdly strong and resistant, but lamely slow. In the time it takes him to follow me back up here I manage to reload my guns. I take a look around; the others are still unconscious. Great.
"Knock, knock." There's a buzzing behind the door before it flies away in a flash of red electricity. The armored figure of Red Panzer comes out from the threshold. "You're supposed to say 'wer ist da?'"
I don't move. He doesn't lose more time and charges at me again, getting three strides closer before his left leg goes out and he falls flat on his face. I bring my second wrist gun up next to the first, the smoke from my first round still lingering on the barrell. It doesn't matter if you're bulletproof or not, the kinetic of a .55 bullet is something to be aware of. He gets up screaming.
"You dare to make fun of The Panzer, bitch!" He's angry. I'll need to think how good or bad is that. "I'll tear you apart." He points his arm cannon at me, just what I'm counting on. It starts buzzing again as I aim for the barrel.
Please work. Please work. Please work. Please work. Please work.
*bzzzzz--*bang!*
Please--
BOOM!
"Aaaaarrrrggghh!" I only heard the scream, as the smoke and dust doesn't let me see what's happening. I turn on the infrared just in time to see a body that looks an awful lot like Red Panzer's jumping at me. I don't get to dodge him this time. A train collides against my chest and I'm flying in the air, landing right next to the rooftop's border. I try to get up, but the pain is keeping me down. Come on Lulamoon, don't stay down, get up you old horse.
"I'll kill you for that!" Something grabs me from the vest and raises me over the air. "You bitch, I will enjoy sending you to höle!" I get to see his right arm. It ends near the elbow. Hanging from it are some cables and pieces of metal. I get to see some drops of blood too. Panzer extends his good arm, positioning me right over the edge. We're on a twenty story building, so if he lets me go, this is the end. Not a bad one, I have to say. "Any last words?"
"Ich durchbohrte die panzer," I murmur. He pulls me nearer to him, still holding me in the air.
"Come again?" Panzer turns his head so I'm facing his ear. I see what looks like an aperture to let sound pass.
"Heh," I let myself smirk at him under the mask. "Ich durchbohrte die panzer." Just as I expected, he looks at me without saying anything. His helmet covers his face, but I bet my three last unbroken ribs he has a dumbfounded expression.
"What did you just call me?"
I knew he didn't speak ibex, just pretending to.
"I just said 'I pierced the armor', you half-assed poser." I grab his arm with one hand and with the other I shoot, point blank, at his earpiece.
*Gong!*
The bullet hits the helmet and the sound is deafening. I can only imagine Panzer's face when having that same sound right next to his ear. He instinctively lets me go, reeling back from what must be an almighty ringing in his head. I'm holding onto his arm so I don't fall off the rooftop. When we're separated I see him pressing his left hand against the ear, crying in pain.
"That's the problem with all of you, bulletproof boys." I round him and shot behind his knee. It bends and Panzer involuntarily kneels. "You think you can't be harmed." I kick him in the head. His mask may be protecting him, but he still loses the balance and falls over his damaged arm.
"Argh!" He screams again in pain as the weight of his armor presses against his stump. I'm in a bad mood, I'm taking this personal. I keep kicking Panzer, forcing him to roll around the rooftop, right next to the edge. I take his head with my hand and force his eyes to the street that's twenty stores down.
"Now, you fascist imbecile, you’ve got two choices. You either tell me all you know about Black Mask, or else." I shot again against his ear, both of them.
"Die, you bitch! DIE!" Panzer tries to round house punch me. He's slowed down by the pain and disorientation so I barely need to move to avoid him. He staggers and turns around, only to find himself looking down both barrels of my wrist guns.
*bang! bang!*
I'm not expecting it to kill him with it, but the force of two point blank shots right at his head is enough to push him over the edge of the rooftop. It’s a great fall, and he's heavy, very heavy. I look down to see a crater in the street. His body is motionless. I use the PTD (precision targeting device) on my mask to look closer. I see a pool of blood slowly spreading under him.
Invulnerable? His armor sure is, but not his bones.
From the building across the street comes a fresh group of thugs, followed by Black Mask himself behind them. They look at Red Panzer's corpse, then up to where I am. All of their faces are showing terror beyond belief. All of them but Black Mask, his mask covers his face after all.
Thanks to the PTD, I see something very interesting about that mask; it doesn't cover his eyes.
*bang!*
Black Mask falls, right next to Panzer. I stare for a moment. This night has been crazy enough, and so I need to be sure this time. When another pool of blood starts forming around Mask's head, I'm satisfied.
Well, almost.
This bastard nearly got me killed, so I let out some steam by wounding his thugs. Nothing lethal, but enough to let them know that I'm pissed. After they're on the ground, writhing in agony, I go back to my 'team'.
I half-consider killing them and taking their money, but the mood for that has passed. I just got done brutally murdering two guys and probably making a good dozen more wish I had done the same to them. I’m done for the night.
Going around, I wake up my team, some more gently than others -- Gilda I only had to kick twice, for instance. After that, it's all the same routine as always. We go back to our contractor's safe house, take our share of the bits, and part ways.
It was one hell of a job, but at the end of the day, not so different. Someone wanted someone dead and I made it possible, end of the story.
At least this time I’ve got a train ticket home.
Author's Note
That's it. My entry for my very first contest. Oh God, I'm a mess of nerves right now.
Thank you all for reading and commenting. Special thanks to all the wonderfull people who make this possible can be found here:Contest project, day twenty three: Special thanks.
