《GUNJOB - The Evolution of Combat》


 Introduction 1 - The Rifles gambit

    Neither the bugle nor the artillery woke me up on that day, but it was the soldier, shaking me and handing me my rifle. As I left the bunker I was met with the glorious city of Windecke, which we had captured 6 months ago, be recaptured by the Zuidafrikaaners. All I knew is that I needed to support the men of my company, taking aim and firing out of my Designated Marksman''s Rifle, I remember I took three out, saving the life of one of the EOD guys before the heavy bombers came. And I ran, I ran to the east, I ran to the desert where neither the debree nor the bombs would hit, abandoning all hope of ever regaining Windecke, throwing myself face first into the hot sand, yet not nearly as hot as ground zero.


    After looking up, all I see around me was not Windecke, however a bloodshed just like it lay upon my eyes, I did it once again, let rage took over me, and now there''s a park in the wild side of East Marlon chock-full of dead corpses, and if I don''t clear out soon enough, I''ll be on the news this evening, and rotting in a jail cell tonight. They were gangbangers, the ""arm¨¦e de Dieu", the sort that don''t take kindly to people of other beliefs like myself, armed with these cheap pieces of polymer you''d find flowing down the Marlon River. I decide to take the clothes of the "main guy" as a small trophy, which fit me perfectly. Suits him right for trying to steal from me, and the shot that came out of my rifle and through his left lung still felt hot to the touch.


    I decided to boot it, far away from these kids, and back to the only place I''ve still left, and the only home I have, Andreas'' Weapons and Ammo. I hopped into my gun store''s maintenance room housing a compact shower, washing machine and dryer, deciding to unwind and clean the blood off my OD green jacket, placing the rifle back into the "lightly used" section where it had remained for 3 years.


    As I finish my shower and grab some new garments. I heard someone entering the store, signalled by the little bell outside. I grab the small revolver under my toilet in cases like these, and head out to see if it''s either a customer, a gangster, or that slime-head Francois, and to my surprise, it was even worse.


    Standing there, drunk like a sailor, with the stench of piss water and musk, clothes half undone, and holding 3 bottles of Rest Classic in each hand, there was "Sheriff" Campbell.


    -"Oh, Andy!~" - she began, in that same tone and nickname probably everyone but her knows I despise. Walking down to the counter like a hippopotamus on crack - "You haven''t visited the office recently, I''ve started to miss you, you know?"


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    -"Away with you, Sharon, I banned you from the store." - I told her, pointing her towards where she should go, the exit. -


    -"You aren''t like that, my darling Andy!" - She said, laying the half drunk bottles of cheap alcohol in the counter as she leans forwards, taking a Polaroid picture out of her left pocket, within it the massacre I committed not an hour ago, tilting her head slyly to the side - "Were you the one who made this? You need to watch out, lest little Mafia Daddy knows what you''re up to, it''d be a shame to have a prince like you locked up in a dirty cell"


    - "That was not me, listen, know there''s a lot of gang violence in this town" - I lied, fully knowing and believing in the lie I told to her, hoping that she''ll somehow back down, hoping that it''ll finally work after 4 years of trying - "so go and blame their rivals for it, I haven''t done nothing."


    - "I know gang warfare, boy! There would''ve been at least one member of the opposite gang dead, but such an attack, I know it''s you." - She said, believing none of what I said. And she put the Polaroid back into her pocket - "Don''t let me catch you doing this again, because next time, it''ll be prison time." - She said, leaning in close enough where I can smell the reek of her breath, while she digs her middle finger into her shirt and pulls it ever so slightly down, revealing more of her cleavage to my eyes - "But at least I can keep you entertained, you know I love you Andreas~"


    - "That''s it, out! Go away, and take your beer with you!" - I screamed at her, the nerve of this woman to try and seduce me inside my own gun shop, shooing her away and closing the door, I had to lock it so that she doesn''t come again. -


    And with such, I returned to my gun store business: putting the handgun behind the toilet, brooming and mopping the floors, making sure all of the prices are well placed, and oiling some of my most sold rifles and weapons. The idea of Sharon Campbell, the lovesick, drunken buffoon, jailing me up and "keeping me entertained" would be just enough to make me barf. But at least I have to be grateful that it was her instead of Francois - Francois doesn''t like competition, and unlike me, he has an entire criminal underground to back him up, while I only have a gun store and a lot of enemies.


    For now, the "arm¨¦e de Dieu" are close to extinction, I''ve a business to attend, hopefully I''ll finally be able to pay off my debt to Francois'' little mafia, and live in peace.

 Introduction 2 - Sunrise of the Revolver

    I must''ve taken the wrong turn, this place is not where I''m supposed to be. I look frantically around me, I needed a gun, a knife, anything, seeing what I''m seeing just makes me sick in the stomach, I want to puke, but I need to get out, to move away from this scene, I didn''t mean to be a witness to something like this, and nothing could''ve ever prepared me to see a corpse, once a man, dead in the middle of an alleyway. As I turn behind me, I see someone, something. He steps further in, revealing what looks like a jigsaw face, full of stitches, scars, skin that''s all bumpy and stretched at the same time. He grins, looking at me as if daring me to do anything, but I can''t do anything, I''m next on the list if I don''t do something, so I turn to my last resort.


    So I decided to run, run as far away as I could, stepping over the body as I run faster than I ever knew I could. My eyes landed on that "man" again, which seemed to chase after me. I panicked, even more than I was, I wanted to shout, but I knew that it wouldn''t help me. All I needed to do is make it to my bike, to drive away and into my house, even if he somehow followed me there, I''d have at least a kitchen knife to defend myself with.


    And I finally did, fumbling with the keys before finally getting them inside the bike, I turn the acceleration handle, driving away before that monster could catch me. I look behind me just to make sure he''s not tailing me, and he isn''t, however, he looks at me dead in the eye as he lowers into a manhole. I never knew that something like that could crawl out of the sewers, and I''m making a mental note to never ever get too close to a manhole, I don''t want to be a victim, not today.


    After finally being back home, I park my bike in the garage, deciding to go upstairs for my money stash, I''m flush with 2500 dollars, enough to buy me a revolver and ammo for a lifetime, the basic lawman essentials. I hop into bed, not before locking every door and window, and putting the knife on the counter for good measure, better safe than sorry is what my mom always said.


    And as I sleep early, I awake early, I check the clock mounted on the wall signalling that it was 6, I missed the chickens waking me up with their loud clucking, but that''s just urban life, and I should get used to it.


    I make my way to the gun store, in my little leather satchel the money I''ll use to get me something that''ll prevent anything like last night''s encounter. The morning felt dead, there was too much fog, not enough people, I wondered if it was really safe to just walk outside, maybe my brother was right about the dangers of living in this county, but no matter the challenge, I''ll conquer it.


    Knocking on the door to "Andreas'' weapons and ammo", the store that I felt would be the most adequate place to get my guns from, and after a lock was heard, the door swung slightly backwards to reveal a beret atop a fresh corpse, I wanted to puke, what''s wrong with this town? And its weird obsession with death and toying with the dead? But then the door swung even more backwards, revealing that the corpse was dressed up in what looked like military fatigues, and he swung his mouth open to begin talking


    - "Welcome to Andreas'' Weapons and Ammo" - said the corpse, then he turned around and walked back to the counter - "you may browse around. Listen, if you have any questions I''ll be at the counter"


    I was perplexed to say the least, I never thought I''d meet a real, live man who looks so much like he just died an hour ago. But my worries aside, I decide to look around, this place was flush with so many guns, some of them looked straight out of a sci-fi flick, and the others looked like the rifle my gramps would''ve used in Virodnum against the Franks, or against the Germanians, depending on which grandpa it was. And my eyes wander and look around until they finally land on the money, a bingo and a half, and tugged in a little corner there were "Civil war and after replicas", a large box full of every kind of revolvers just like those in the movies, the ones that you can really get some power behind to stop the desperadoes and the outlaws. I took the crate, walking over to the counter to greet the storekeeper


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    - "So, I wanted to get these, um, do you have any recommendations?" - I asked him, placing the box in the counter, hoping at least some guidance for a newbie like myself - "I don''t really know all that much about guns"


    - "You''re a novice shooter? Well, out of these three the most beginner-friendly I can recommend is this one, for self-defense purposes and everyday carry, that is." - He said, pulling out from the little collection of guns in the box a particularly nice looking replica, it was that same gun I saw in so many of the westerns I saw, it looked like a revolver alright, probably looked the most "Revolver" out of any revolver I''ve ever seen, if it makes any sense. - "I recommend this one, it doesn''t come with the manual, but there''s a gun training academy by the Warestore restaurant right across the river that would surely help you understand how to use it. Now I need your ID to make sure I''m not selling to a minor"<figure></figure>


    (pictured above, the gun Andreas picked for Leslie)


    I decide to hand him over the ID I brought in my neat leather bag, my driver''s license of Bluehorse, content that I''ll be finally be able to use one of those guns from my dreams right now, and the gun training academy seemed pretty interesting. I saw that the man checked both sides to really make sure, reading my name out loud just to confirm it is truly me


    - "Leslie Monika K?nig, am I correct?" - He asked before handing me my ID, I responded without an issue, and when I did, he passed me my ID and pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket and made the calculations by hand on how much everything costed as a small receipt - "That will be two hundred and eighty-"


    DING ding, was the sound of the bell that indicated the door being open, both him and I turned to meet the surprise visitor, but to my surprise, it wasn''t a normal person like me, or maybe him, but it was a man, burly, dark, dressed in Prussian blue and with a handgun similar to that I was going to buy in hand


    - "Ey, Andreas. Francois'' called, it''s payday" - He said, looking at the store keep as he remained completely lifeless and unreadable as always - "Them 500 bucks, and you better have them"


    However, their eyes soon enough diverted from Andreas the store keep, and right at me. I couldn''t see anything under his blue bandana, but his gaze was enough to tell me that something was very, very wrong.


    - "You know Andreas, I''ll cut you a better deal" - He said, closing in on me. I had no clue on what to do, I was fearful, just like last night, I backed up, and again, and again, until my back hit the maintenance door. I knew that my luck most likely just had run out, that there''s no way out, his body is blocking the entrance, and the store keep seems to be doing nothing about me. Tears spill from my face, is this it, the end of Leslie? - "give me this little damsel, and Francois won''t have to know a thing"


    - "Listen, hands off my customer. I will not ask this twice." - Said the store keeper, with a slightly more raised tone, clearly going to defend me, I felt a little hopeful, but my eyes were still closed shut. That''s when I felt it, a hand, reaching out to touch my cheek, but as soon as it had made contact -


    BOOM!, it was so loud, all of my hearing was gone in one single explosion, followed by the rustling of clothes, I felt warm liquid pool around my boots, I opened my eyes, blurry with the tears covering them, and all I saw was red around my boots, the man before me had a hole right through his right eye, and it was hanging out by a stretched out inferior rectus. I didn''t know what to do, what to think, but then it came again. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! my ears were ringing, all I heard was the constant buzzing noise and the screams, I saw the clerk jump over the counter, wielding a rifle as he took aim, I covered my ears but it wasn''t enough to save me from the constant explosions, I heard them, again and again, like a chain of explosions a dastardly villain would set off to disable a railroad, I hated it. But at the same time, I knew that this random store keep had just saved my life, and I will forever be grateful for it.

 Chapter 1 - PLANTATIONJOB

    I missed, yet again. I still have 10 more rounds in my magazine, but the vehicle is far too fast for me to keep up, and I lose one of them, the driver, that was 3 dead in a single minute. I turn to the customer, who''s an emotional mess, sobbing while there''s an illiterate at her feet it wasn''t supposed to go this way, I was to handle the money, and nothing else. But they brought them upon themselves. I need to close the store and chase after them to the ends of the earth, lest they write a letter to Francois and have to fight not only some petty teenagers, but also the New Fleur operating in Marlon.


    - "You need to leave" - I told the customer - "Away from here, back to Bluehorse even, they''ve seen your face, you''re not safe here"


    - "No, I won''t" - she responded, stifling another sob - "I''ll do whatever it takes, even if it takes my life, it was my dream to come to this place"


    - "Your dream will get you killed" - I said, I''m too familiar with these parts, the assassins that Duport hires to keep the town quiet about their abuse - "It is best for you to get out"


    - "It costed me all of my life savings to be here" -she said again - "I already set my foot in I can''t just, leave! I''ll help you fight these men, whatever it takes, I just can''t go back to Bluehorse"


    I sighed, It would be impossible, and I didn''t have time to chat with her about petty technicalities, if she wants to die, she''ll die, but at least she knew what she was getting in.


    - "Grab that gun, it''s 100% off day, if you want to be useful." -I said, walking in to grab a box of bullets, 230-grain .45 Auto jacketed hollow point, God''s caliber. Handing them to the young lass - "The gun store is safe, we need to track the car tires back into their hiding spot, kill all of them, and hopefully burn their hideout to the ground"


    - "I have a bike, it''ll make it easier for us to travel around" - she said, I turned to face her, only then noticing that humble caf¨¦ racer on the opposite side of the road. - "So... Lead the way, I guess?"


    I walk down to the back, I didn''t want to be conspicuous, so I grab a mini fridge I''ve been stuffing the clothes at


    - "Guide me home, put on some red clothes, the quicker, the better" - I told her, my rifle slung around my back, holding the mini fridge with one hand and the keys to the store I''ll most likely permanently close after the Sheriff sends me to jail, or hopefully we could escape from her too, I''d like that.


    She turned on the bike and drove all the way to her house, parking the bike and going upstairs. I found a nice secluded place in the bathroom next to the kitchen, where I changed my OD jacket and pants into the clothes I stole from the gangster, I know that the Palomino Street Gang and the Armee de Dieu are rival gangs, fighting over silly postal codes. I also decorate myself as I always do, at least 3 handguns on me, a rifle, two HE grenades, 2 more magazines for my rifle, and a bottle of Rest Katzenpiss. And with me all set up and looking ready to aim a gun backwards, I walk out to meet the rookie, who''s already also dressed in the same outfit she wore to my store, except red instead of yellow.


    We both hopped on the bike, this time me leading as I still recognize the fresh burns of the rubber on the asphalt, leading me to the north-west. We drove to a small, rotten plantation, probably left behind by its owners when this county was founded. I signalled the rookie to stand by as I stick to the door, first thing I sense are two men, one on the right and one on the left, I signal the rookie before opening the door.


    My first strike hits the deadbeat right through the 2nd rib, and the recoil helps me aim a 2nd shot this time to his collarbone, and if he hasn''t yet fallen dead, a third shot through the head will do the trick. When I turn to the second, I see that the rookie had taken care of it with extreme precision, taking off half of his head while having a posture that would make a drill sergeant yell at you for ages. I quickly advance through the front, seeing the plastic guns peek through the opening below, the wood is old and termite-eaten, which makes it easy to shoot through and hit them anyways. And once I see that what peeks through the door is blood, I advance through.


    I was caught off guard and nearly stabbed to death by a 3rd one that peeked through the corner, I tried to wrestle the switch-blade out of his hand, or somehow reaching to get my pistol, but as I was trying to weaken him, the rookie shot again, this time right through his side, which made it easier for me to draw my pistol and finish him off. I advance on through the stairs to the 2nd floor, which looked more like narrow gangways than a proper floor. With the lack of cover I had, I did my best to shoot quickly and accurately, sensing exactly 5 gangsters on this floor, I take out one behind me, and two which rushed down the stairs to the third floor, leaving me with three that were fleeing instead, but I could have no stragglers, so I take aim outside the window and finish them off before they could run into the tall grass.


    I saw the first tracer bullet come out of my rifle, which meant I was pretty close to running out, which made me switch the magazine, racking the bolt back to extract that one tracer in the chamber and placing it inside my previous magazine. As I approach the third floor, I''m overwhelmed with shot that splinters the wood and sends shards of red-hot lead and rotten wood my way, I duck my head and look back at the rookie, who looks like she has just seen a mother get shot in front of her child. And I realize that there''s only one single option upstairs, and pulling the pin with all of my force, I toss the grenade out, which explodes, sending shrapnel everywhere. Since I think I''m safe, I climb upstairs where I''m again surprised, this time I ducked in one of the "rooms" of the plantation to avoid gunfire from a fully automatic, the same one that decorated the stairs with lead, it''s an open bolt, blocky, and with the magazine on the grip. I decide to bait more bullets out of him, peeking out my rifle from the door and shooting at the wood, but the corner is way too thick for my rifle to pierce it, I feel my gun running out of bullets from the suppressive fire, in a situation where the rookie cannot help me dispatch of the enemy, until I hear it


    Click. And with that, I rushed out, my carbine swinging from the sling as I draw my pocket pistol, dumping the entire magazine of it on the shooter, until I hear the Click, but this time from my own gun.


    I know who I killed, that was Arcade Ganon, one of the very few literates and the only bilingual among the Palomino Street Gang, the one who did the bills, the writing, and the letter that he was going to send to Duport. I quickly retrieve it from his fat puffer jacket, it was written in Frankish, which I knew how to read. The note was a desperate plea for help from Francois, but Mr. Duport''s eyes were far away from this letter, a town and a river apart to be precise. As I turn to leave, I get to catch another glimpse of the rookie, she looked at the blood like if it were uranium about to melt the skin off her bone, I have been there too, so I quickly place myself in-between Ganon''s running blood and her, letting her see the letter even if it was written in Frankish.


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    "We are safe now, the letter hasn''t reached Francois'' mail yet" - I told her, guiding her out of the building - "Now, we just need to burn this all down to the ground."


    I prepared myself, the bottle of Rest Katzenpiss was only 20%, which wasn''t good enough to be turned into fuel, but that''s when I remember: The can of gas secured to the side of the rookie''s bike. I use the gas to pour over the first floor, before setting off a grenade near the staircase and running away alongside the rookie, watching how the grenade lights up the gasoline, which lights up the rotten wood, the smell of cooked termites and charcoal fills my nostril as I ride out of there, looking up just to confirm that there is no rainfall approaching, and I must be in luck, as today is sunny with no signs of rainfall. As we drive out to her house, I try to remain alongside a path far away from prying eyes, going in immediately and changing the clothes I''ll burn tomorrow morning too. Unwrapping all that cloth, and finally wearing the OD green jacket and pants I grew to miss. The rookie took her time, she sat on the couch in the living room, clearly still troubled about her two kills, and the many more she witnessed in the span of 5 minutes.


    - "What did you work as, rookie?" - I asked her, sitting down on the same couch she did, hoping to ease her mind about what just had gone on, and find another topic of conversation - "Before coming in to this shithole?"


    - "I was a farmer" - She said, her voice raspy after the crying, and the ringing of the ears that must surely accompany the loud gunshots - "A dairy farmer, in Bluehorse"


    - "Think of them as Coyotes" - I said, repeating a speech ad verbum that stuck out the most to me from the captain of the company - "Farmers hunt coyotes not because they like it, even though some do, but mostly to protect their chickens, their cats, their dogs, you may not want to kill them because your morality prevents you to, but they have no morality that prevents them, and what results is you and your teammates get killed"


    - "It''s not that easy" - She protested, nearly breaking down into tears again for what she''s done - "Coyotes aren''t human shaped, they don''t bleed so much, they don''t moan in pain"


    - "You''ll eventually get used to it, what more can I say? I also didn''t like it at first." - I reassured her, taking her Single Action M73, or well, the Vitalian copy of it. - "You got a terrible posture, but your aim is pretty good for a rookie"


    <figure></figure>


    (pictured above, Leslie''s revolver, which was originally going to be purchased from Andreas)


    - "Listen, whenever you want, I can teach you how to properly aim, fire, and reload this revolver" - I told her, pretty familiar with the gun and how it works, the lever on the bottom, the hammer, ejector, gate, it was a gun everyone should know how to use at least once in their lifetime. - "Don''t worry about finding a firing range, gunshots are common enough in this neighborhood, and it keeps the real state prices low."


    - "I guess, we could probably begin tomorrow" - She said, her final veredict as she places the gun on the table again, eyeing it - "I''ve got a lot in my mind right now, say, are you hungry? I got some meat and potatoes"


    - "I''d be very grateful for some food." - I answered, checking my wristwatch to see that it''s exactly 14 hours past midnight, at such hours I must use my eye drops - "Listen, I''ll be back soon"


    I went back to the minifridge, I looked around, there were the clothes alright, in all their dry blood that hardly changed the red, and just made them glossier. But I couldn''t for the life of me find out the eyedrops nor even the dropper. I smack myself on the face, I was so focused I lost them at the gun store, and there''s no way I could go back with Sharon at the door of the gun store, I''m sure she already knows it''s me, and has taken plenty of pictures of the plantation job. My eye''s itching, and twitching too.


    - "You don''t happen to have some eye drops or a warm compress, do you, rookie?" - I called after her, hoping to get some hydration to my eyes -


    - "Of course, I got some drops in my travel bag, check the bedroom" - She said, punctuated by the sizzling of steak, my mouth waters, but it''d be nicer if my eye did - "It''s in the top floor, on top of the bed "


    I climb the stairs to find some help, and I searched the bag, there was about everything, a small shovel, a folding chair, a tourniquet, medicine for farm animals, chicken feed, and a lot of cassettes for Spaghetti Westerns, and tucked in a little corner, I see some eye drops which I pour into my eye after removing the mask that covered it, I watched as it rolled down my eyeball , easing the pain at last. I put everything back in place before waking downstairs, where I''m greeted with steaming potatoes and a seriously delicious steak, I haven''t had such food since I was a kid, and I''m practically dying to eat. But as I went downstairs I was greeted with the startled stare of the Rookie


    - "Jesus, what happened?" - she said, pointing at my face - "did it melt your skin off or something?"


    As I sit on the chair, I know what she means, the gnarly scar, the pink flower of my face that bloomed in ''83, taking away my eyelids and the color of my face, and having to be completely stitched up, it brought back nasty reminders, fear, anger, hate, despair. I could keep listing them, but I''d die of starvation first


    - "War scars, rookie" - I told her, taking a bite of the tender and juicy meat, cooked medium rare just like I like it - "tis'' undeniable proof that death is closer than you nay think"


    - "I''m really sorry " - she said, almost shrinking on the chair as if expecting me to hate her for asking about my scar - "I didn''t think"


    - "it''s fine, many people ask about it" - I tell her, bringing an amazingly soft potato to my lips, maybe if the chefs at the chow halls cooked this kind of food instead of raw, burnt, and stale beans, we would''ve won the war by now - "This food is delicious, you''re an amazing cook, you know that, rookie?"


    - "Thanks" - she said, already busy with her share of the beef and potatoes - "my mom taught me, it''s all you eat at the farm"


    After eating the food, I take care of cleaning the plates, placing them neatly on the rack. I return to the rookie, who''s sitting down and reading some sort of magazine to keep herself entertained


    "So, when do you think it''s safe for you to return to the Gun store?" - she asked, but right as she does, I hear the characteristic sound of a police car alarm, we both peek out of the window, and as the car drives by, I see the license plate of the Sheriff, who''s probably looking for me - "Wonder who they''re chasing after?"


    - "Me, she''s looking after me" - I answer her questions, shutting the curtains so that if Sharon comes back, she won''t see me - "that''s the reason why, the woman inside there is the Sheriff, she wants me, and not only to put me in jail. She probably knows that I was the one who shot up the plantation. I know it''s probably a lot to ask, but please have me for the time being, I''ll do chores. And maybe if I can get the Sheriff to forget about the Plantation job and get back to my store, I''ll give you a discount on anything you want"


    - "Oh, of course I will" - she said, looking at the horizon, or the TV on a stand in front of her - "As long as you can teach me how to shoot, how to lose all of my remorse, and how to hopefully climb the ranks, become a Sheriff, and cleanse this town of all evil"


    - "Hard task, but not an impossible one" - I tell her, warning her about how long it will take, but also encouraging her, a good shooter by my side is always beneficial, and her potential is unlimited - "I think we can do it, so, starting tomorrow?"


    - "Yes!" - she said, with stars in her amber eyes as she extended her hand towards me, which I have no problem giving a firm handshake - "Can''t wait for tomorrow"


    - "Make the most of it" - I tell her, sitting down on the table with her - "Tomorrow''s always another day"

 Introduction 3 - The Ballad of the Shotgun (Dani POV)

    I heard him, loud and clear - "Go and kill these two, and come for your payment without protesting" - The Nerve! After so much I''ve brought to this mafia, after so much work, and so many connections, I am the motherfucking GUNJOB Assassin, the bad bitch that made sure that this "New Fleur Mafia" doesn''t wane into complete obscurity and gets replaced by the street gangs they love to hire.


    I hated it, ever since a week ago, where that stitched up freak Tobias wanted to have his way with me instead of going to his little Francois boy toy. I knew I should''ve just shot both in the spot, but I was both outnumbered and outclassed, unless my brothers got earlier, I could''ve ambushed them then and there!


    But oh well, they''ll be coming tomorrow anyways, and I''m already out of the "Duport Chateau", which was actually owned by some Frankish general back when the Franks owned this part of the country. Francois never owned anything himself, and his Duport Chateau is proof that he''ll sulk on his pompous chair over doing anything else, the mansion is in heavy disrepair anyways, and new coats of paint won''t replace the rotten planks, the oxidizing silverware, nor the diminishing wages and numbers of the common soldiers.


    "Today would''ve been the day" I tell myself, after this I would be swimming in money, bathing in fine wine, going to conferences with the New Fleur bosses, maybe even become my own Caporegime, I''d be in the pinnacle like Tobias Sharp is. But no, the lock is easy to pick, the bedroom is very obviously upstairs, this would mean a net of 300 thousand wired straight to my account, but as it stands, I''ve been robbed of it, of my titles, to be on a such a level I''d get bossed around by the god-damn Sheriff of all people, the same gal that obsesses over her murder husband.


    And wouldn''t you look at that, there''s the two of them, sleeping on the same bed, I recognize the Germanian instantly, if I remember correctly from fucked-up-face Toby, a decorated veteran no less. And side by side what looks like his partner in crime, or girlfriend. They both look like they could handle themselves, and if I play my cards right, my brothers will arrive the minute all hell is let loose on the Chateau


    I pick the nicest knife I could get, a bayonet coated in rose gold I stole from the cold dead hands of Francois'' wife. And stab it with the letter on the wall, surely a decorated war veteran would help me, and maybe that girl too.


    As I clear out, I find a nice letter hidden behind a bunch of gossip magazines, and lo and behold, the letter written by Ganon, I knew he was smart, but not <i>that </i>smart. I grab the letter, obviously. And I hope that he''ll burn in hell for all eternity, knowing that his death was greatly beneficial to my career. By the end of the week, I''ll have the New Fleur paying <i>ME</i> some tribute.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Finding their house wasn''t easy, but with the help of the landowner I had on a leash, and the very descriptive letter of my burnt, perforated friend. And talking about land, I''ll settle in that little hotel near the Warestore to not have to walk all that much at noon. I wonder how badly the sheriff will cry when I tell her that her sweetheart is "dead", but that''s not to trouble me, I''ll dispose of her finely later for being such an acrid whore.


    The sun shines out of the windows and burns my face, and I knew I had to wake up. Soon enough, I''ll get to properly meet that GI and his wife. I check the time and I see that it''s bright 9 in the morning, so I strap my fine bandolier, connect the ends to my humble suitcase that has seen more blood than a surgeon, and after going out to eat some donuts to give me some energy, I find myself dining with her majesty herself.


    - "Didn''t think I get to see you today Ms. Sheriff" - I said to her, being glad her size blocked off the sun - "How are you doing today?"


    - "I''m doing quite fine myself, although I still wonder, what about my Andreas, is he safe?" - She said, and here was my perfect chance, I know how much she loves her little boy toy, and ruining it for her after having to endure her for this long felt so right - "Please tell me he''s safe, It''d crush my heart if he''s hurt in any way"


    - "Oh yeah, he''s dead, deader than Francois'' wife, probably busy getting judged by the lord above" - I told her, and I waited, I watched her face wrinkle, her eyes widen, she looked like she''s seen a ghost, is she really buying my lie? - "He put up a fight alright, but sadly he didn''t cover that pretty neck of his good enough"


    - "You did not, Daniel" - She said, my full name no less! She truly believed my lie. And I saw her tear up, almost as if she lost a loved one and not a victim of her incessant and obsessive stalking. - "You knew how much I loved him, please tell me this is just a sick joke of yours"


    - "Oh but it ain''t a joke," - I tell her, deciding to be more spiteful towards her, insult her directly to see what the "mighty image of justice" will do - "maybe if FLA or you bought me some god-damn rope I wouldn''t have needed to do it, but since you were so insistent on stripping me of everything I owned, there goes your little hubby"


    And I watched, I watched how she made herself sparse, while yelling a myriad of insults at me, crying, she knew that even though I''ve been demoted, she can''t do shit about me. And I don''t care whether she''ll go to her station, to the chateau, or to the gun store, as long as she remains very far away from the Warestore, I''ll be completely fine.


    I check my phone, and I see that it''s already nearly 11. I decide to eat the sheriff''s leftover donut before parting, going to the dining restaurant.


    Inside it, I already found one of my associates, who guided me to the seat, he wasn''t allowed to ask any questions, nor report for Francois, in exchange, I''ll give him a nice pay check once we finish rooting out the traitors, the framers, and the crying princess.


    I ordered the usual, and watched as some nice Cajun shrimps were served to my table, alongside some Blanc de Noirs, fine dining since next week I''ll either be 6 foot under, or the traitors at the NFM will be.


    And speaking about money, I see that wannabe cowboy and the dead corpse of East Germania approach my table, I supported my knees on the table, ready to talk with them about what happened.

 Introduction 3 - Meet the Shotgun (Andreas POV)

    The desert of the Namib was hard, between the tall dunes and the cracked ground there was nowhere to hide from the desert sandstorms, the beating sun, nor the long nights. We would''ve been in the north in Okarivier by now, holding the frontline, or maybe we would''ve regained Windecke, but God only knows because our radio is completely broken with all the movement that the attack in Windecke made.


    I was sitting right next to the noble who had the bright idea to run south, deeper into Zuidafrikaaner territory, because with APCs and Choppers, there wouldn''t be any way that they''d stop for 5 measly soldiers. We coined him "Magellan" for having the bright idea, and being the secondary cause of us nearly starving to death.


    And funny, out of all of us, he was the one who died that night. I witnessed it, in front of my eyes how they put a shotgun to the side of his face and gave him that "blooming flower" look I have, he bled out on the spot. I saw the camera then, I never knew I could hate something so much, yet I hated everything surrounding me, the shack in the middle of an abandoned town, Magellan''s stupidity, and how due to it the rest of the team got tortured, the pair of mercenaries they hired to kill me, and how I was going to get killed, God knows I could nearly taste the cheap steel pressed against my head, smell the glass they put in the shell to cut costs on buckshot.


    As I turned, the man was gone, I looked at the other, Magellan''s bleeding carcass was replaced by the rookie, who now that I think of it, eerily reminds me of Magellan in personality, Magellan was also easy to scare, never went out of his comfort zone, and only had long-term plans, and with the luck I''ve had, what else is there to expect than both of us dying the same way?


    Atop the bed was perched a knife, a Nail Head, disgraced with a rose gold coating and some fancy carving in Ancient Vitalian, and stabbed between it and the drywall, a letter, written in perfectly understandable and clean cursive. Which I take downstairs alongside the knife to read better, the letter is scented with a bouquet of all sorts of flowers, and is clearly not print paper, but pasteboard for some reason. The letter itself reads:


    "Dear Andreas Nachtnebel. (and the Blondie)


    My name is Daniel Martinez, better known as "Dani The Shotgun". I have been working with the Duport Mafia for 5 (five) years as an assassin. Due to a previous argument I had with Tobias Sharp (A.K.A. "FLA") and Fran?ois Duport, my promotion would be cancelled (which I otherwise would''ve achieved by killing both of you (my would-be last promotion mission)), and also my payment cut by 150K (150''000) UCD I could never recover. I have decided to turn against them and formally seek out your help in doing so, since I''ve personally witnessed the work you had made in the plantation and the gun store (with a clean getaway, weren''t it for the fake letter we would be totally clueless) and I feel like with you both by my side, we can finally take over the Duport''s empire (and recover the damn 150K they stole from me).


    Meet me today (5th of February 1988) at noon (12:00 P.M.), in the Storehouse seafood diner in West Marlon, the lakeside one, I''ll be waiting for you patiently. - Sincerely, Daniel "Dani The Shotgun" Martinez


    P.S: Andreas, please close your eyes... or eye? When sleeping, it''s very creepy."


    I didn''t feel good about the letter, not because it''s a lot to process, but because of four single words: Tobias Sharp, AKA FLA. The mercenary that captured me, the one who paraded me, Magellan and the team through the town of the capes and coloreds. He''s here alongside whoever this Daniel fellow is, and suddenly, the letter becomes so much more agreeable, I don''t know Dani, and I''m sure he knows me about as much as Mr Duport does, but the feud between me and Tobias the Filibuster ends in either me or him dead, and I''m going to do anything in my power to make sure the latter becomes truth.


    I heard a scream from upstairs, ran up as quickly as I could to make sure the rookie is alive and safe, and I find her alive and safe, with eye bags and a messy hairdo that made her look like a crazy cat lady, sighing before telling me in a raspy voice


    - "Just... A nightmare, about those folk we killed at the plantation"


    - "Happens to the best of us, best you can do is just keep your chin up, think of them as coyotes" - I say, holding in front of her the letter I wrote - "I know you''re groggy, and you just woke up, but so did I, and we need to discuss this letter."


    - "Huh, I see, hold on, let me get some water first, and a comb, and bath." - She said, rising before yawning and moving in her loose pajamas downstairs to the bathroom.


    While she''s at it, I decide to check the clock, seeing it''s the dead morning of 4 o''clock, where the Garrison would''ve been already up and ready for the daily roll call and exercise. Which reminds me of this house''s ample backyard, fit to run some laps around before taking a bath and having some breakfast.


    After I''m done from my exercise, bathed and changed into the clothing I cleaned yesterday, I go meet Leslie, who''s already caught the daily newspaper


    - "Look, Andreas, we''re on the news" - She said, handing me over the newspaper - "They even got us in camera, but I don''t think anyone could recognize it''s us"


    I check the newspaper, KNOW Bayou Local News, in it had many headlines, from UNAGEN founding member L¨º Hu?nh Xuan found dead in the Mediterranean, to a fight between two renowned wrestling stars, but the most concerning national affair for me was neither, it was that somehow, the press was able to snap a picture of us fleeing from the scene, and the burning mansion. No DNA was found, no suspects were linked, and the press totally believed that we were just gangsters having gang wars over religion. How did that man know that we were not only the real killers of Ganon, but also living here? Not only that, but also, the letter that we took from Ganon is gone from the table... If there was something wrong, it must surely have been with Ganon, maybe he sent a letter to the Duports and was writing the part 2, which was the one we caught?


    - "So, what do you think about the letter?" - I ask her, poking a potato and bringing it to my mouth - "Let''s discuss before it becomes late"


    - "Well, what is there to discuss?" - She responds, splitting the meat along the fibers before eating it - "I think it may be a set-up"


    - "I don''t think so, for the four years I''ve been here, I know that the Duports don''t play with their food, when they want someone gone, that someone is gone." - I tell her, knowing from experience, the day that the wife and mother Gis¨¦le Duport appeared on the news, her body found the day after I overheard them arguing while I making groceries. - "Listen, we got an expert in our hands, that''s no doubt, Francois wouldn''t send a job like this to a measly soldier worth less than Ganon, and something must''ve gone really wrong for him to lose that much money"


    - "So, you think that it''s best we meet up and gain a potential ally?" - She asks, already putting the plates in the counter for me to wash - "I hope you''re right in your judgment, Andreas, I wouldn''t want my family to know that I just came here and died because of my own Na?vet¨¦."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    - "Listen, I am not sure about the outcome, what I am sure is that we''re most likely going to die, and this meeting will either speed up that process, or way more likely, at least slow it down by a few minutes" - I say, washing the plates and putting them in the rack - "Let''s go and pay him a visit"


    And so, we head out, guns in holsters, and a smile in hand, the time was 11:50, and outside was breezy and warm like every day in Northern Bayou. The walk across the Pastor Noyce bridge was short, and right in front of it lay the Storehouse, which was usually just outside my price range, but knowing that I might just eat my last meal there, money is the least of my concerns.


    We ask the desk clerk, "Table for three, 12:00", and they guide us upstairs, therein lay a... Woman? Man? Whatever lays there is sipping on some expensive wine, and eating some shrimps, that person is surely stylistic, being the first in this scorching hellhole that wears a suit, and not any kind of suit, but a very silky red and gold suit, that reminded you of the Reman Empire


    - "So, you must be Andreas Nachtnebel, and..." - They said, pausing to look at Leslie, probably trying to remember her name - "Ah, fuck it, I don''t remember. Anyways I''m Daniel, the county''s street cleaner"


    - "It''s... Leslie, Leslie K?nig" - She said, looking back at me, I don''t blame him for forgetting her name, I have a hard time with names too - "So... Why are we sitting down?"


    - "Order yourself something nice, girl! Once the food arrives, the words will flow out" - He said in a melodic voice, right on the beat a waiter came in to serve us - "Order whatever, it''s on the Shotgun"


    As I look into the menu, I spot one of my favorite drinks, Ovingundu. Which I thought was only sold in local villages when I was stationed in N''gola. And since I''m still quite full from the breakfast we had, I just decide to order a tall glass of that to go. The rookie ends up engrossed within the many options the Menu offers, and ends up settling with a fancy Frank wine with Chicken breast, and after a pretty short wait considering it''s rush hour in the middle of a Tuesday.


    - "Listen, we first want to know your business" - I say, drinking from the alcohol honey - "How do you think we two can aid you with such a big mission?"


    - "I got my ways" - Says Dani, seeing our skittishness - "Let''s just say, I have some allies from the other side of the border, and they''ve just so happened to come here for the upcoming Mardi Gras, and they also know how to use a gun"


    - "If so," - Says Leslie, who I can see is still a bit torn between believing him or not - "then why did you decide to help us both instead of letting your allies do the job?"


    Dani leaned over the table, resting his face over his thin fingers, the shadow cast over him making him look sinister.


    - "It''s simple, first off, the more the people, the easier the task" - Says Dani, taking in a glance sideways to make sure that nobody was hearing him - "It''s way more than just that, not only the two extra people, but also the rank and training of those people, as I''ve heard that Mr. Nachtnebel is a decorated war veteran, and sadly, I cannot yet confirm of your ability, Ms. Leslie, but we have time to train and see. And there''s also the fact that by not killing you, I''m directly going against directives, which is a spit and a slap in the face according to any member of the Mafia, so we''re methodically, metaphorically, and might I even say, Ideologically fucking with the mafia."


    I look at Leslie, who seems to have a growing ease, but still some skepticism.


    - "Okay, you''ve convinced me." - I say, finishing up my mead, then I look at Leslie, who had already eaten her food - "Your place, or ours?"


    - "Lead the way, we''re going to your house" - he said, handing us a crumpled up piece of paper - "If you didn''t know, Mr. Duport has one of these at home, Arcade was smarter than you thought."


    I knew it, Ganon did write another letter, and we couldn''t intercept it in time while we were busy disguising ourselves from the news. You''d think a man as smart as him would be more than a burning, rotting corpse who once led poor and illiterate teenagers to do petty robberies in the poorest part of the county. But oh well, who am I to judge?


    Then, we left, Dani paying for everything and even leaving a generous tip behind. crossing the bridge and getting to Leslie''s house. Dani sighed and threw his arms to the roof, turning to us before signaling too his empty bandolier


    - "Did I ever mention that they also stole my pair of shotguns? My precious Sebasti¨¢n and Armando are in the Chateau, and the only weapon I had left was that flimsy knife I stabbed your wall with." - He said, even furrowing through his pockets to show us that there''s nothing in there, before dramatically turning to me and striking a pose worthy of a fashion magazine - "So, I won''t be of much use unless I have something to defend myself with. Speaking of which, don''t you own like the biggest gunstore in the whole county?"


    - "Yes, I do. Why do you ask?" - I asked him, sure, I had a gun store, that was locked up and with better security than a bank vault, but was under the watchful gaze of that freak Sharon - "We can''t go back there, if that''s what you want, It''s probably either locked down or someone already burned it down"


    - "Oh, don''t jump to the worst case scenario yet, boy! No one cares about the gun being closed, no one knows it was you, except Fat-cat Francois, Thunder-face Tobias, Stalking Sharon, and yours truly" - He said, opening the door and pulling out what looked like a 6x Magnitude sight from her pouch, squinting her eyes to see the gunstore just a street away - "See? No one''s home, let''s go and get armed up, I''m sure you got something to cover for the loss of Sebasti¨¢n and Armando."


    And then, as soon as we were on Leslie''s house, we had to leave, a short trip to the gun store, luckily I didn''t forget my keys, and we could open the door. There were very clearly attempts to vandalize my store, what looked like low caliber bullet fire on the glass, grafitti, and all kinds of colorful messages calling me anything from slurs about my ideology, to the color of my skin, and even the religion I follow. But I paid no mind to the messages, not like they can say that to my face.


    Inside the shop are all my rifles, shotguns, pistols, all untainted. Dani made no waste of time by moving quickly to the "Shotgun" section, to the 12 gauge subsection, and picking up some beauties.


    There was a South Qinese copy from ''72 of the good old Trench Sweeper he took a keen interest on. He took it, racked back the bolt, revealing some intricate Qinese symbols on the bolt, and decided to sling it across her back, before going to find some "Shotgun handgun" if that even makes sense.


    He avoided double barrels like the plague, and while I also don''t find them very satisfactory considering how much a shipment of those costed me, and the less rounds they hold compared to a pump or a semi, I at least could grab them in a pinch, and in a pinch we were, but he took his sweet time


    eventually, he passed over and found a small beauty, a model that I stole off my dead squadmate after the whole Windecke Fiasco, a rifle which had been modified thoroughly, to stop firing 7.62x39, and start firing .366 TKM, or maybe it wasn''t a modification, but a whole new model? I never could reallly tell after the many times I field stripped it.


    - "Yeah, this is my kind of gun" - He said, making sure the magazine and chamber are empty before aiming it, zeroing the sights before  inspecting it and then shoving it into his satchel - "Grab me some ammo, we''re storming the Chateau with this"


    I saw Leslie, not too far away, admiring every revolver I had in the "Civil war and after" boxes, shoving all of them in her bag, I guess I''ll just have to carry ammunition of every kind of revolver, and take a very close inspection of which ammo she''s using, so that she''s not accidentally putting a cartridge of the wrong caliber into a revolver and either blowing the revolver up, or blowing her hands off, or maybe both.


    I myself head to the back of the counter, the gun I forgot to carry, and how could I? The rifle that has killed approximately 3% of the entirety of East Marlon the last 4 years. That being ~422 dead, or if I draw an average, about a thousand shots fired to kill, not counting those spent at ranges. I could count all of the notches in the stock, but I have far more pressing matters as of now. But I still need to add 3 notches more, for the three bastards I killed with it yesterday. My gun was beautiful, roller-delayed blowback, the original bayonet that made it look even more menacing, the flip up sight that was absent from newer models, my Heinrich & Karl Gewehr Model 1959 looked as beautiful as brand new. Save the notches, the nickname engraved on top of the frame, and the slight wear of the rifling. I need to replace the barrel later, or else it won''t be too precise.