Broken Worlds: Age of Ruin

“Alright, Lars,” my target said as he eyed me from his seat at the bar, “I’ll give you one chance to just walk away from this table, and you’ll live to see another bounty come your way.”

I scowled. “Victor,” I corrected firmly.

The man looked confused. “What’s with the accent? And what do you mean by ‘Victor’?” he asked, utterly stupefied.

I sighed. “I said ‘Victor’ because I only go by my last name when speaking to my employers; you, on the other hand, are my mark,” I explained slowly, “and I have an accent because I’m British, you jackass. Anyways, I will make you a deal: since it is clearly obvious that you will not make it out of here on your own, why don’t we settle this with a friendly game?” I asked, pulling out a rather large, seven-chambered revolver. It was one of a six-piece set I had custom-made to throw off my targets when they thought I had run out of shots.

The man raised an eyebrow. “What sort of game?” he said hesitantly.

See, I had been trailing this guy for a few weeks now, after a client asked me to take him out. Apparently he had conned a family out of several thousand dollars, and they didn’t take too kindly to it. The only bit of information about his personality they were able to give me is that he loved gambling.

That was all I needed.

“A rather old game, really,” I started slowly as I loaded a single bullet into the chamber and closed it, “but a personal favorite of mine. Tell me, have you ever played Russian Roulette?”

My mark smiled cleverly. “Maybe,” he said ominously, “if I have, then the fact that I’m talking to you right now tells you I’m a pretty lucky guy, huh?”

I grinned dangerously. “We’ll see just how much luck you have,” I said, reaching out to pass him the gun. “You can go first,” I said politely.

The man frowned. “Why let me go first?” he asked hesitantly, “I could just shoot you with your own gun!”

I looked straight into his eyes. “Because I’m feeling lucky,” I said coldly, all humor that was in my voice moments before now gone.

The man gulped as he took the gun, held the barrel against his chin, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

I smiled gently. “Good, looks like you’ve got a smidge of luck this evening,” I said slowly, “but let’s see if I can match you.”

I snatched the revolver, held it an inch below my lower jaw, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

I handed the gun back to my mark, who I now noticed was sweating nervously. “Calm down, man,” I said kindly, “we’re only getting started! It isn’t until the gun clicks five times that things get really interesting.”

We continued passing the gun back and forth to each other, pressing the barrel to our heads and pulling the trigger, then breathing a sigh of relief as we handed it off the other player’s turn

I took the gun and held it so my mark could see it clearly. “Two pulls left,” I said teasingly, “and if it clicks this time, you lose.”

I pressed the barrel to my temple and pulled the trigger.

Click.

I gave the man a predatory smile as I passed him the gun. “Your turn,” I said simply.

The man smiled cleverly as he took the gun. “I’m afraid there’s been a change in the game,” he said, admiring the revolver for a moment, “it seems you will be taking my turn for me.”

The mark aimed the weapon at me and pulled the trigger as a loud gunshot rang through the bar. Everyone turned and stared in shock as I eyed my opponent, still very much alive.

“B-but… how?” he asked, bewildered.

I smirked and held up a bullet identical to the one I had loaded in, and his eyes became as wide as saucers when he saw the tip was hollow.

“Blank,” I explained, and pulled out a second gun. “This one, however, is genuinely loaded.”

A second gunshot sounded throughout the bar, and the man fell to the floor, dead. I pulled out my cell phone as I pushed passed the terrified patrons and dialed the number of my contractor.

“He’s dead,” I said simply.

“Oh, thank you!” the man on the other end said, relieved. “I just transferred your payment. Again, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us!”

I nodded proudly. “Thank you for your patronage,” I said politely, “please remember my name when you need any other… questionable work done.”

I lifted the collar of my coat and continued to walk down the street, the dim streetlights and grimy neon signs lighting my way, when I noticed a white-haired, suited man wearing sunglasses and carrying a briefcase was following me.

“Can I help you?” I asked loudly.

The man held a finger to his ear and mumbled something, and then turned his attention back to me. “Victor Lars,” he said, his voice as cold as a Siberian winter, “my superiors are impressed with your work, and would like to buy your services for a short time.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m listening,” I said, my mood brightened at the prospect of another job.

The man smiled slightly as he pulled out a tablet-like device, and a face flashed on the screen as he handed it to me. It was a blonde, middle-aged man with long hair and green eyes.

I carefully read the name below the picture. “Drayke Blackwood?” I asked aloud, “what do you want with this guy?”

The suited man cleared his throat. “He is a direct obstacle to my superiors’ plans, and they would like to see him removed,” he explained. “We are ready to pay you five million dollars if you would be willing to take him out.” I held out my hand to return the tablet, but the man smiled. “Keep it,” he said gently. “Study up on your mark.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?” I inquired. Many of my jobs that had huge payouts usually had some fine print I needed to read beforehand.

“You will have to travel to Equestria, through one of the portals, and you will be taking some BlackTech soldiers with you,” he explained.

I shook my head and started walking away. “Not happening,” I said quickly, “I work alone, and I sure as hell am not going into that other world.”

“We thought you would say that,” he called after me, “which is why my boss has given me the name of one other hunter to seek out in case you declined.”

I turned back to him. “What name?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Marcus Ripley.”

I whirled around and marched right up to the stranger. “I’ll take it,” I growled angrily. Back in my days in the military, Marcus was in the same experimental program I had been in; the only difference between the two of us was he wasn’t discharged for refusal to listen to orders. He may be more decorated than I was, but I had more skill and instinct.

The man smiled. “Glad to hear it,” he said calmly. “There will be a shuttle to pick you up tomorrow. Don’t be late.” And with that, he walked away without another word, leaving me to stare after him in confusion. I pulled a cigar from my jacket and lit the end, taking a long drag as I contemplated my latest contract.

“Well, shit,” I said aloud, “I had better get ready.”

~-~-~-~-~

The next morning, I found myself standing in the center of town idly, making sure I had everything I needed. Under my jacket, I wore a vest that held my six-piece revolver set, and on each thigh I had three combat knives fastened to my pants.

“Drayke Blackwood,” I said slowly as I examined the profile the man had given me the night before. Apparently, he was wanted for the sabotage of BlackTech property, assisting enemy forces, and the murder of numerous soldiers. Clearly he would be a skilled mark.

“This should be fun,” I said quietly as a large, black military van pulled up beside me. The door slid open and I saw several men inside, each wearing some kind of robotic exoskeleton and a black-visored helmet.

“A pleasure to have you, Mister Lars,” one of them said with a respectful nod as I stepped on board.

I looked down at the man, a pleasant look crossing my face. “Please,” I said politely, “call me Victor.”