Blah blah blah, I suck.
I don't own Outlaw Star. No surprises there.
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"It could be worse"
An infamous line, often followed by a comical way of "getting worse". A line so infamous, in fact, it no doubt flits through the minds of millions of people everyday when they have run into a jam. The phrase, so short and so vague, holds enough meaning to be known almost religiously by mankind. But today, Fred Lou was not one of those millions of people telling themselves that life was still manageable. Because today, our young merchant's life had just hit rock bottom.
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"Where is Gene when you need him?" The brunette's voice cracked with panic as he whispered his thoughts aloud, mostly to calm himself as he shakily loaded his handgun. Fred's dark brown eyes rose just barely above counter of his main gallery to peer over at his attacker. This beautiful room of business was being torn apart, once again. The first time was no less than memorable; a rival in his industry had hired a notorious assassin who called herself 'Twilight Suzuka'. He had been her first and last failure thanks to his now absent friend, Gene. Fred couldn't honestly say he'd much mind being this new assassin's first failure either. Snapping back to reality with the scream of one of countless bodyguards, Fred lined up a shot, perspiration forming on his brow, and his red-orange headband working quite efficiently to catch it as it fell.
Hopes rose and fell as the small battle went on, but mostly just fell with each bodyguard sent to unconsciousness by some means or another. Time itself seemed to slow, that bullet Fred held lined up sitting idle in its metal cradle while Fred crouched petrified with shock behind the counter. His finger began to shake with the pressure of the trigger as he held it half pulled back, his fear the only thing keeping him from releasing a lethal shot. One deep breath and two more pounds of pressure later, the hammer of the gun came down to set that bullet free, loud crack of sound ripping through the noise of all the chaos.
It was in that instant that every guard and guarded in that room was filled with a sense of victory, the one man army staggering backward as the bullet tore through his hooded cloak and into the side of his head. Strange silence filled the room, as eerie as the assassin as he stood upright again, unfazed. It was a short lived victory. Primal growl rolled in the assassin's throat, hood slipping back as he rushed forward to take out another body guard to reveal long ears of the C'tarl C'tarl race. Someone yelled for help. Another person cried out. There was a clink of metal against tile as an empty handgun fell hopelessly to the floor. Fred's head spun with confusion, taken by a momentary insanity brought by the sudden knowledge that he was going to die. That was the pure and simple of it. He was going to die. Success and money were sending him to an early death that he didn't want, and now there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.
With the speed and agility only C'tarl C'tarl seem to posses, the cloaked man picked off every last man standing. Every under trained and overworked bodyguard that approached him quickly lost, every attempt to do their job given in vain. Then there were two. Two pairs of eyes stared knowingly at each other, one pair muddy brown and the other brilliant gold, one pair scared for life and the other dilating with power. Slowly, the assassin moved to close the gap between them, booted feet thudding ominously against the body littered floor, Fred scooting backward against the wall behind the counter in an attempt to save that distance.
"You're coming with me," the C'tarl's thin lips spread to form words that rumbled between beast and sanity, the man most likely saving energy by staying between forms. Fred's hands pawed behind him to find the gun he had dropped so carelessly. He was going to die anyway, he might as well give the whole escape plan one more try. Hand flew out behind him, letting go of the empty chunk of metal to careen into the side of the C'tarl's face, wasting no time to get to his feet and make a run for the door. Arms pumped at his sides to build momentum, Fred doing his best to give this last shot his all, though he seemed to run much slower in reality than he had hoped for in his head. 10 yards to an exit. Was that C'tarl man still behind him? Was he gaining? Fred dared not look behind him as he ran. 4 yards. Brunette's breath became ragged, headband saturated, and his mind still urging his feet faster. Maybe he was going to get away. Maybe he was going to live! 2 feet...
"Rotten, sneaky bastard..." The nameless man snarled, his face contorted with an overwhelming expression of anger as he dashed in a fraction of time to catch up to Fred, gun in hand. A quick motion of a hand was all it took to dash Fred's hope of escape, the sick "thock" of a blow to the head stopping the sound of feet against the floor. As he fell to the floor, the young merchant looked hazily up at his attacker, and he knew it was the end. Goodbye world, goodbye fame, goodbye Gene.
Then all went black.