《Gun man: Neo Austin》


 Chapter 1: beginning

    Chapter 1: Beginning


    The sun rose sluggishly over the sprawling skyline of Neo Austin, painting the steel skyscrapers in muted oranges and pinks. The city was always alive, but it never felt awake¡ªjust a constant hum of activity, a pulse of desperation and ambition. Freiheit Gensero wiped the sweat from his brow as he ducked under a low-hanging support beam in the alley. His boots crunched on broken glass and debris, the morning already carrying a hint of the stifling heat that would only get worse as the day dragged on.


    Scrapping wasn¡¯t glamorous, but it was how Freiheit made his living. At eighteen, he had been in the game for three years, weaving through crime scenes and abandoned zones like a rat, scavenging anything that could be sold. His father, Gus, always told him it wasn¡¯t a sustainable way to live, but Gus worked double shifts at a manufacturing plant and barely made enough to keep their crumbling apartment together. Freiheit wasn¡¯t about to start flipping burgers or taking a desk job. Not when there were opportunities waiting in the rubble.


    He adjusted his mask¡ªa patchy old thing he¡¯d built himself from discarded filtration tech¡ªand surveyed the alley. The scene was still fresh, yellow police holotape flickering across the perimeter. Two gangs had gone at it last night, judging by the scorch marks on the walls and the scattered casings. Freiheit moved quickly, eyes scanning for anything valuable. Spent energy cells, an unregistered datalink, even broken gun parts¡ªanything could be flipped to the right buyer.


    ¡°Come on, there¡¯s gotta be something¡­¡± he muttered under his breath.


    He bent down and pried a cracked comm unit from a puddle of blood, shaking the water off as best he could. Not worth much, but it was something. As he turned to leave, a faint popping sound echoed in the distance. He froze, cocking his head toward the noise. Gunfire.


    Freiheit¡¯s heart quickened. He wasn¡¯t new to the sound of a firefight, but something about this was¡­ different. The shots were sharp, methodical, not the wild spray of amateurs. It sounded close¡ªtoo close. His instinct told him to leave, to get out of there before he got caught up in something he couldn¡¯t handle. But curiosity tugged at him.


    He moved toward the noise, weaving through alleys and backstreets until he emerged on a wide avenue. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.


    A man stood in the middle of the street, his silhouette illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of police drones. He was tall, lean, dressed in a tattered trench coat that fluttered in the wind. In each hand, he held a revolver, sleek and black, the kind of weapon Freiheit had never seen before. Surrounding him was the Black Unit¡ªa division of the police infamous across the nation. They were armored head to toe in matte black, their helmets featureless save for glowing red visors. They were considered the government¡¯s finest, equipped with tech and firepower that could obliterate entire gangs in minutes.


    Yet here they were, struggling to contain one man.


    The revolver-wielding stranger moved like a ghost, his movements fluid and almost supernatural. He fired once, twice, and two Black Unit officers collapsed, their armor sparking as if short-circuited. The rest of the unit advanced cautiously, their rifles glowing with charge, but every time they fired, he was already gone, reappearing a step away, his revolvers spitting death.


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    ¡°What the hell¡­¡± Freiheit whispered, gripping the corner of the building for support.


    The man didn¡¯t look like much¡ªragged, worn, almost feral¡ªbut he was giving the Black Unit a run for their money. Freiheit had never seen anything like it. His eyes darted to the revolvers. Were they special? Some kind of experimental tech?


    Before he could think too much, the man staggered. One of the Black Unit officers had landed a shot, piercing his side. Blood dripped onto the asphalt as the stranger faltered, his movements slowing. The Black Unit closed in, their weapons raised, their voices a mix of shouted commands and warnings.


    The man dropped to his knees, still clutching the revolvers. He raised his head, staring defiantly at the officers, and then his eyes flicked toward Freiheit. For a brief moment, their gazes locked. The man smirked, a grim, almost knowing expression, and then he collapsed.


    Time seemed to stand still. Freiheit hesitated, his instincts warring with his fear. He should run. He should get as far away from this as possible. But his eyes kept drifting back to the revolvers. The Black Unit was busy securing the scene, their attention on the fallen man. Freiheit saw his opening.


    Before he could think twice, he darted forward, staying low to the ground. His heart pounded as he reached the man¡¯s body. Up close, the stranger looked even worse¡ªpale, his clothes soaked with blood. The revolvers were still in his hands, their black metal gleaming ominously. Freiheit hesitated for only a moment before prying them free.


    The instant his fingers wrapped around the grips, a strange sensation washed over him. It was like the world had gone quiet, the sounds of the shootout fading into a dull hum. The revolvers felt¡­ alive, as if they were vibrating faintly in his hands.


    ¡°Hey!¡± a voice shouted.


    Freiheit¡¯s head snapped up. One of the Black Unit officers had spotted him. Without thinking, he bolted, the revolvers tucked under his jacket. He didn¡¯t look back, weaving through alleys and backstreets until he was sure he¡¯d lost them.


    Back at home, Freiheit locked the door to his room and pulled out the revolvers. He set them on his desk, staring at them like they might explode. Up close, they were even stranger. The craftsmanship was impeccable, the design sleek but archaic, like something out of a pre-collapse Western. Tiny etchings ran along the barrels, symbols he didn¡¯t recognize.


    ¡°What the hell are you?¡± he muttered.


    He grabbed his old tablet and snapped a few pictures, uploading them to an auction site. Rare weapons like this could fetch a fortune, especially if they were unregistered. But as soon as he hit upload, the listing disappeared.


    ¡°What the¡­¡± He tried again, but the result was the same. Every time he uploaded the pictures, the listing was instantly removed. He frowned, unease creeping over him. Someone¡ªor something¡ªdidn¡¯t want these revolvers on the market.


    After a few more failed attempts, he gave up, shoving the revolvers under his bed. Exhausted, he collapsed onto his mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling until sleep claimed him.


    Freiheit woke to the smell of smoke.


    He shot up, coughing as the acrid air filled his lungs. Flames danced across the walls, the heat oppressive. His mind raced as he stumbled out of bed, his first thought on his family.


    ¡°Mom! Dad!¡± he shouted, barreling down the hall to their room. The door was already ajar, the fire licking at the edges. Inside, he froze. His father lay motionless on the floor, blood pooling beneath him. His mother was nowhere to be seen.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Freiheit whispered, his voice cracking. He stumbled back, tears blurring his vision.


    The fire roared louder, and he forced himself to move, heading for his sister¡¯s room. He found her curled up in the corner, coughing and crying.


    ¡°Come on, Ellie, we gotta go!¡± he shouted, grabbing her by the arm. She was light, too light, but he didn¡¯t have time to think about it. He dragged her through the burning apartment, kicking open the back door and spilling into the alley.


    As they staggered outside, a figure emerged from the smoke. Freiheit¡¯s blood ran cold. It was the Black Unit.


    ¡°Freiheit Gensero,¡± one of them said, their voice distorted through their helmet. ¡°Surrender the weapons.¡±


    He didn¡¯t think. He turned and ran, Ellie¡¯s limp form slung over his shoulder. Bullets whizzed past him, sparking against the walls. He reached his old junker of a car, shoving Ellie inside before climbing into the driver¡¯s seat. The engine roared to life, and he peeled out of the alley, tires screeching.


    It wasn¡¯t until he was miles away, the city a faint glow in the distance, that he realized something was wrong. Ellie hadn¡¯t moved.


    ¡°Ellie?¡± he said, his voice shaking. He reached over, shaking her shoulder. She slumped forward, and that¡¯s when he saw it¡ªthe dark stain spreading across her shirt.


    ¡°No¡­ no, no, no!¡± he cried, pulling over to the side of the road. He cradled her lifeless body, tears streaming down his face.


    The revolvers sat on the passenger seat, gleaming in the moonlight.


    Freiheit clenched his fists, his grief quickly turning to rage. He didn¡¯t know who these people were or why they had come after him, but he knew one thing: they had taken everything from him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make them pay,¡± he whispered, his voice trembling with fury. ¡°I swear, I¡¯ll make them pay.¡±


    To be continued.

 Chapter 2: vengeance truth

    The night air was heavy, thick with the weight of Freiheit¡¯s grief and fury. His car rumbled along the cracked highway outside Neo Austin, the city lights fading into a dim glow behind him. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He barely registered the road ahead, his mind consumed by a singular thought: revenge.


    Ellie¡¯s lifeless body haunted him, her blood-soaked shirt an image that refused to leave his mind. His father¡¯s broken form, the fire swallowing their home¡ªit all played on repeat, fueling the rage bubbling in his chest. His gaze flicked to the revolvers lying on the passenger seat, their black metal gleaming faintly in the dashboard light.


    ¡°What are you?¡± he muttered bitterly. He reached over, picking one up. It felt unnervingly natural in his hand, like it had always been meant to be there.


    Suddenly, headlights flared in his rearview mirror. A low growl of an engine grew louder behind him. Freiheit glanced back, squinting against the glare. A vehicle was approaching fast¡ªtoo fast.


    Before he could react, the car slammed into his rear bumper. Freiheit swore, jerking the wheel as his junker skidded and screeched across the road. The other car rammed him again, harder this time, sending him swerving into a ditch.


    Freiheit¡¯s head smacked against the steering wheel, his vision spinning as his car ground to a halt. He groaned, shaking the stars out of his eyes. The roar of the pursuing vehicle grew louder, and he stumbled out of his wrecked car, the revolvers now clutched tightly in both hands.


    The pursuing car screeched to a halt, its lights cutting through the night. The doors opened, and two police officers stepped out, their uniforms marking them as a branch of local law enforcement¡ªnot Black Unit, but still dangerous enough.


    ¡°Freiheit Gensero,¡± one of them barked, raising a pistol. ¡°Drop the weapons and surrender. You¡¯re wanted for possession of illegal tech and obstruction of justice.¡±


    ¡°Obstruction of justice?¡± Freiheit spat, his voice shaking with rage. ¡°You burned my home down! You killed my family!¡±


    ¡°You were warned,¡± the other officer said coldly, leveling his own weapon. ¡°Surrender or die.¡±


    Freiheit¡¯s chest heaved, his vision blurred with tears and fury. ¡°You¡¯ll pay for what you did,¡± he growled, lifting the revolvers.


    The first shot caught him in the shoulder before he could fire. Pain exploded through him, and he stumbled back, one knee hitting the dirt. Blood seeped into his jacket, but he refused to let go of the guns.


    Instinctively, he raised both revolvers and pulled the triggers simultaneously.


    The world froze.


    Freiheit blinked, his breath catching in his throat. The police officers stood motionless, their guns mid-aim, the sparks of their muzzle flashes suspended in midair. The wind had stopped. The flames from his wrecked car had stopped flickering. Everything around him was utterly still, frozen in time.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    His heart pounded as he staggered to his feet, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. He looked down at the revolvers in his hands, their barrels faintly glowing.


    ¡°What¡­ the hell?¡± he murmured.


    He moved forward cautiously, standing face-to-face with the officer who had shot him. He reached out and tapped the man¡¯s gun with his finger. It didn¡¯t budge, locked in place like a statue.


    The realization hit him like a freight train. These guns stop time.


    A grim smile spread across his face. He didn¡¯t know how or why, but he wasn¡¯t going to waste the opportunity.


    He walked behind the officers, lining up his shots carefully. Then, with a deep breath, he let go of the triggers.


    Time resumed.


    Both officers crumpled to the ground, twin bullet wounds in their backs. Freiheit stood there, trembling as the revolvers cooled in his hands. The pain in his shoulder surged back, and the world swam around him.


    He collapsed.


    When Freiheit woke, his vision was blurry, and his body ached all over. He was lying on a tattered couch in what looked like an old garage. Tools and scrap littered the floor, and the smell of oil and metal hung heavy in the air.


    ¡°Finally awake, huh?¡±


    Freiheit turned his head to see a large man leaning against a workbench, arms crossed. He was broad-shouldered and rugged, with a scar running down his cheek. Beside him stood a woman with purple hair, flipping a knife between her fingers.


    ¡°Where¡­ where am I?¡± Freiheit croaked.


    ¡°You¡¯re in Nate Dairy¡¯s workshop,¡± the man said, gesturing to himself. ¡°I¡¯m Nate. Leader of the Junkers. And you¡¯re lucky we found you when we did. You were bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.¡±


    Freiheit tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. ¡°The cops¡­ they were chasing me¡­¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not chasing you anymore,¡± the purple-haired woman said, smirking. ¡°We took care of it. You¡¯re safe for now.¡±


    Freiheit¡¯s eyes darted around the room. ¡°My guns. Where are my guns?¡±


    Nate raised an eyebrow. ¡°You mean these?¡± He reached behind him and placed the revolvers on the table. Freiheit¡¯s heart skipped a beat at the sight of them.


    ¡°Give them back,¡± Freiheit said, his voice sharp.


    Nate didn¡¯t move. ¡°Relax, kid. I¡¯m not keeping them. But you need to understand something. Those aren¡¯t just guns. They¡¯re Gun Centuries¡ªancient weapons from before the collapse, created by the old government. Each one has a unique ability, and those revolvers¡­ well, they¡¯ve chosen you.¡±


    ¡°Chosen me?¡± Freiheit scoffed. ¡°What does that even mean?¡±


    Nate shrugged. ¡°It means you¡¯re stuck with them, whether you like it or not. These weapons don¡¯t just work for anyone. They¡¯ve bonded to you. That¡¯s why the cops¡ªand probably worse¡ªare after you. Those things are worth more than your life.¡±


    Freiheit glared at him. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for any of this. My family¡¯s dead because of these damn things.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, welcome to the club,¡± Nate said, his voice hardening. ¡°You¡¯re not the first person to lose everything because of the government. That¡¯s why we exist. The Junkers¡ªme, Jenny, Harry, Sharry¡ªwe¡¯re all outcasts, just like you.¡±


    Freiheit stood, swaying slightly. ¡°Thanks for the help, but I¡¯m leaving.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going anywhere,¡± Nate said firmly, stepping in front of him. ¡°Not until you repay your debt.¡±


    ¡°What debt?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be dead if we hadn¡¯t saved you. That shoulder wound alone would¡¯ve killed you if Jenny hadn¡¯t patched you up. You owe us.¡±


    Freiheit clenched his fists. ¡°Fine. What do you want?¡±


    Nate smirked. ¡°For now, you¡¯re one of us. You¡¯ll work with the Junkers, help us on jobs, and earn your keep. You don¡¯t like it? Tough. You don¡¯t have a choice.¡±


    Freiheit¡¯s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He didn¡¯t want to stay, but he knew Nate was right. He couldn¡¯t survive on his own¡ªnot yet.


    ¡°Good,¡± Nate said, clapping him on the shoulder. ¡°Welcome to the Junkers, kid.¡±


    Jenny gave him a sly grin, tossing her knife into the air and catching it. ¡°You¡¯ll fit right in.¡±


    Freiheit picked up the revolvers, the weight of them familiar and comforting. He didn¡¯t trust Nate, or Jenny, or any of them. But for now, he would play along. He had bigger plans¡ªplans that didn¡¯t involve anyone but himself and those responsible for destroying his life.


    To be continued.

 Chapter 3: Death’s Door

    The dim, flickering lights of Sharry Banks¡¯ apartment gave it an unsettling atmosphere. Freiheit sat on a worn-out couch, his revolvers resting on the coffee table in front of him. He leaned back, staring at the peeling ceiling paint as he replayed the events of the last two days in his mind.


    His family was gone, his home was ash, and now he was living with strangers who called themselves outlaws. He didn¡¯t trust them, but he needed a place to stay, at least until he could figure out his next move.


    ¡°Hey, Frei,¡± Sharry said, her voice lilting as she walked into the room. She wore a tank top and cargo pants, her twin machine guns slung lazily over her shoulders. ¡°You settling in okay?¡±


    Freiheit shrugged without looking at her. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±


    Sharry dropped down onto the couch next to him, closer than necessary, and grinned. ¡°Y¡¯know, you could at least pretend to be grateful. Not every stray gets to crash at my place.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask to crash at your place,¡± Freiheit muttered, his tone flat.


    Her grin widened, undeterred. ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you just a ray of sunshine? So serious all the time. Lighten up, Frei. You¡¯re with us now. We¡¯re not so bad.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not staying,¡± he said sharply, finally meeting her gaze.


    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± she replied, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°Let me guess¡ªyou¡¯re gonna take your magic guns and march out into the world to get your revenge on the government or whatever?¡±


    Freiheit¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    Sharry leaned in, resting her elbow on the back of the couch and propping her chin on her hand. ¡°You¡¯re cute when you¡¯re all broody,¡± she teased, her green eyes glinting with amusement.


    He frowned, standing up abruptly. ¡°I¡¯m going to bed.¡±


    ¡°Aw, don¡¯t go. I was just starting to have fun,¡± she called after him, but he was already walking toward the small guest room Nate had given him.


    The next morning, Freiheit stood in the Junkers¡¯ garage, waiting as Nate and Jenny went over the day¡¯s plan. Harry was busy tinkering with an old hovercar in the corner, and Sharry leaned against a wall, tossing a wrench up and down.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°We¡¯re taking you to meet JKD today,¡± Nate said, looking at Freiheit. ¡°He¡¯s our jobber¡ªgets us contracts, bounties, and anything else we need to keep this operation running.¡±


    ¡°And why do I need to meet him?¡± Freiheit asked, crossing his arms.


    ¡°Because if you¡¯re gonna stick around, you need to pull your weight,¡± Nate replied, his tone firm. ¡°And JKD¡¯s gonna want to see if you¡¯re worth the trouble.¡±


    Jenny smirked. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. JKD¡¯s harmless. Just¡­ don¡¯t piss him off.¡±


    The group piled into a rusty hovervan and made their way across Neo Austin to the industrial outskirts. The city gave way to a sprawling wasteland of warehouses, scrapyards, and crumbling buildings.


    JKD¡¯s ¡°office¡± was an abandoned factory, the neon sign outside barely clinging to life. Inside, the air reeked of oil and sweat. Freiheit followed Nate and the others into the main room, where a skinny man with a massive red mohawk was lounging on a couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips.


    ¡°Junkers,¡± JKD said with a wide grin, standing up and spreading his arms. ¡°Always a pleasure. And who¡¯s this?¡± His eyes landed on Freiheit, and his grin turned into a sneer. ¡°This the new guy?¡±


    ¡°Freiheit,¡± Nate said, gesturing toward him. ¡°He¡¯s with us now.¡±


    JKD sauntered over, looking Freiheit up and down. ¡°Hmph. Doesn¡¯t look like much.¡±


    Freiheit glared at him. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to impress you.¡±


    JKD barked out a laugh. ¡°Oh, we¡¯ve got a tough guy, huh?¡± He grabbed Freiheit by the collar and lifted him off the ground effortlessly. ¡°You talk big, kid, but can you back it up?¡±


    ¡°Put me down,¡± Freiheit growled, his hand going to one of his revolvers.


    ¡°Or what?¡± JKD taunted, smirking.


    Freiheit pulled the revolver and pressed it against JKD¡¯s chin. His voice was ice-cold as he said, ¡°Or I¡¯ll show you exactly what I can do.¡±


    The room went silent. Nate and the others exchanged uneasy glances, and for a moment, JKD¡¯s grin faltered.


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± JKD said, setting Freiheit down and stepping back. ¡°No need to get trigger-happy.¡±


    Freiheit holstered his revolver, his glare never wavering.


    ¡°Fine,¡± JKD said, rolling his shoulders. ¡°If you want to prove yourself, I¡¯ve got a job for you. There¡¯s a guy out in the Desert District¡ªname¡¯s Jean Mean. He¡¯s been causing problems for one of my clients. You take him out, and maybe I¡¯ll stop calling you a pussy.¡±


    ¡°Jean Mean?¡± Freiheit repeated, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let the name fool you,¡± JKD said. ¡°The guy¡¯s dangerous. But if you¡¯re half as tough as you think you are, it shouldn¡¯t be a problem.¡±


    Freiheit looked at Nate. ¡°You expect me to do this alone?¡±


    Nate shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s your test. You¡¯re on your own.¡±


    Freiheit clenched his fists, his mind racing. He didn¡¯t like being ordered around, but he couldn¡¯t back down now¡ªnot after everything that had happened.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said finally. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    JKD¡¯s grin returned. ¡°Good. Try not to die, kid.¡±


    As the Junkers led him back to the van, Sharry walked beside him, her expression unusually serious. ¡°Be careful out there, Frei,¡± she said quietly. ¡°The Desert District¡¯s no joke.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll manage,¡± he replied, his voice hard.


    She frowned but said nothing more as they climbed into the van.


    As the van rumbled back toward the city, Freiheit stared out the window, his grip tight on the revolvers in his lap. He didn¡¯t know who Jean Mean was, but it didn¡¯t matter. This was just another step toward his ultimate goal.


    To be continued.

 Chapter 4: Ballsy Mission

    The sun was a burning inferno above Neo Austin¡¯s barren outskirts, casting long, jagged shadows over the cracked earth and rusted remnants of a civilization long past. Freiheit stood at the edge of the Desert District, his hands hovering over his revolvers. The weight of the weapons felt heavier now, their presence a constant reminder of what had been taken from him¡ªand what he had yet to take in return.


    Ahead lay Jean Mean¡¯s hideout, a dilapidated shack surrounded by heaps of scrap metal and half-buried vehicles. The wind howled, kicking up dust that clung to Freiheit¡¯s sweat-drenched skin. He adjusted the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder, which contained a first-aid kit and a few supplies Nate had insisted he bring.


    ¡°Jean Mean, huh,¡± he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with sarcasm. ¡°What kind of name is that?¡±


    The truth was, Freiheit didn¡¯t care who Jean Mean was. He was just another obstacle, another name on a list he hadn¡¯t written but felt compelled to cross out.


    Taking a deep breath, Freiheit stepped forward, his boots crunching against the dry ground. The shack grew closer, its windows dark and uninviting. He could hear faint music playing inside¡ªsome kind of distorted, chaotic tune that matched the aura of the place.


    Freiheit didn¡¯t bother with subtlety. He kicked the door open, revolvers drawn, and shouted, ¡°Jean Mean! Get your ass out here!¡±


    The music cut off abruptly, and for a moment, there was silence. Then came a laugh¡ªhigh-pitched and manic, echoing through the room like the rattle of a snake.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got balls, kid!¡± a voice called out from somewhere in the shadows. ¡°But balls don¡¯t mean a damn thing if you¡¯re dead!¡±


    Before Freiheit could respond, the air erupted with the deafening roar of machine guns. Bullets tore through the wooden walls, splinters flying in every direction. Freiheit dove behind an overturned table, his heart pounding in his chest.


    ¡°Shit,¡± he hissed, gripping his revolvers tightly.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be that easy, did ya?¡± Jean Mean shouted, his voice laced with unhinged glee.


    Freiheit peeked out from behind the table and spotted Jean Mean¡ªa wiry man with wild eyes and a grin that stretched too wide. He was perched on a stack of crates, a machine gun in each hand, firing wildly in every direction.


    Freiheit aimed one of his revolvers and fired, but the bullet missed, embedding itself in the wall behind Jean Mean.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Ha! You¡¯re gonna have to do better than that!¡± Jean Mean cackled, unleashing another barrage of bullets.


    Freiheit ducked back behind the table, cursing under his breath. His shoulder burned where a bullet had grazed him, and his breathing was ragged. He was outmatched¡ªJean Mean¡¯s firepower was overwhelming, and the guy was clearly insane enough to keep firing until the entire shack was reduced to rubble.


    As he pressed his back against the table, trying to think of a plan, a memory surfaced¡ªa fragment of a lesson from his father, years ago.


    ¡°Listen, kid,¡± his dad had said, his voice firm but not unkind. ¡°A gunfight isn¡¯t about who shoots first. It¡¯s about who shoots smart. You let the other guy waste his ammo, and when he¡¯s reloading, that¡¯s when you strike.¡±


    ¡°But what if they¡¯re faster than me?¡± Freiheit had asked, his young voice trembling with doubt.


    His dad had smiled, ruffling his hair. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter how fast they are. Everyone¡¯s vulnerable when they¡¯re reloading. You just have to be patient¡ªand stay alive long enough to take your shot.¡±


    The memory gave Freiheit clarity. He glanced at the revolvers in his hands, their sleek barrels gleaming faintly in the dim light.


    ¡°Alright, Jean,¡± he muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s see how long you can keep that up.¡±


    He waited, his body tense as Jean Mean continued to spray bullets across the room. The walls were riddled with holes, the furniture reduced to splinters. But eventually, the barrage began to slow.


    ¡°Aw, damn it!¡± Jean Mean growled, his guns clicking as they ran dry.


    Now.


    Freiheit sprang from behind the table, firing both revolvers simultaneously. The world seemed to freeze, the air thick and still as the bullets left his barrels. Time paused, and Freiheit moved through the frozen moment, weaving through the suspended chaos until he had a clear shot.


    When time resumed, Jean Mean let out a choked gasp as one of Freiheit¡¯s bullets tore through his shoulder, sending him tumbling off the stack of crates.


    ¡°You little bastard!¡± Jean Mean snarled, clutching his shoulder as he scrambled for another gun.


    Freiheit dove behind another piece of cover, his breathing ragged. He only had a few bullets left, and he couldn¡¯t afford to waste them.


    Jean Mean, now armed with a pistol, began firing again, his shots wild and erratic.


    ¡°You think you¡¯re tough?¡± Jean Mean shouted. ¡°You think you can take me down? I¡¯ve killed guys twice your size, you punk!¡±


    Freiheit didn¡¯t respond. He was focused, his father¡¯s words replaying in his mind. He waited, counting the shots as Jean Mean¡¯s pistol clicked closer to empty.


    Four. Five. Six.


    The clicking of an empty chamber was Freiheit¡¯s cue. He stepped out from behind cover, both revolvers raised.


    ¡°Guess you¡¯re out of luck,¡± he said coldly, his voice steady despite the pain coursing through his body.


    Jean Mean¡¯s eyes widened as Freiheit fired. The bullets struck true, and Jean Mean collapsed, his body slumping against the crates.


    For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the desert wind outside. Freiheit stood there, his revolvers still smoking, his chest heaving.


    But the adrenaline that had kept him upright was fading fast. His vision blurred, and he stumbled, dropping to one knee. Blood seeped from the wound in his shoulder, staining his shirt and pooling on the ground.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± he muttered, his voice barely audible.


    He tried to stand, but his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor. As darkness closed in around him, his last thought was of his father¡¯s voice, steady and reassuring.


    ¡°Stay alive, kid,¡± the voice echoed in his mind. ¡°Stay alive.¡±


    To be continued.