The Attempt

I sat down on the chair, the wheels squeaking like a mouse hiding in the walls of an old abandoned church. It wasen't going to be the same this time, not like it was back in the day when things were better, happier, and less complicated. My fingers flew across the keyboard in a flurry, the keys loud in the quiet night, like a hundred soldiers marching away to their ends in a war they would never fully realize.

I found it, eventually, I had to search. They hid it, and they hid it well. I was on a time limit, and I knew I had to act fast before my chance was over. It only took a few moments, just a few minutes in the span of an hour. I really expected more, that little element of surprise to jump at me and give me a challenge, that new rush, a natural injection of adrenaline into my system. But I never got it. There it was, the piece of the puzzle, he'd never suspect it, never suspect that I would have part in it. Until it was too late.

Gone forever, deleted, trashed and thrown away like it was nothing more then a piece of garbage. Like most of my life. I did it for her, for them, in remembrence of the times that were better, when we could smile and joke about little things in life. Friends. And then the sounds I was dreading more then anything else.

The voices, footsteps, the worn creak of a door opening. It figures they would find me, someone had to turn me in, that snitch Johnny had turned me in afterall. I'd take care of him after this, because I wasen't going to surrender peacefully, not yet, not while I still had to finish. I was holding my only two friends in this dark time, my two babies. 'Justice' and 'Truth' old flintlocks, old flintlocks that looked old, but had the inner workings of something much more.

You see those cheesy action flicks, the kind back on old earth that had the slow motion and the kung-fu fists. No, this wasen't one of those kinds. It was brutal, pure energy and bloodlust on my part. And those old friends of mine practically sang to me, that old comforting song.

They wanted a dance, and so they got it. We danced, that terrible dance of death, the expunged shells from the flintlocks screaming a symphony of destruction as they fell to the wooden floor. I riddled that door so full of holes, it fell from the hinges, revealing nothing more then empty space.

Clever bastards. Click, clink, and bam. Reloaded, and ready for round two. I raised the two flintlocks, jumping to the side for cover behind a stack of metallic boxes, boxes filled with stolen goods. I had been hidden away in a much more secret RDS warehouse, hiding and waiting until I could sneak to where I needed to be. I had to wait, locked inside that wooden box for days. I won't recount the experience, it's certainly not for casual conversation.

The metal boxes rang as bullets from the thugs automatic rifles emptied themselves into it, hoping for a stray shell to take me out. No such luck this time around. Jumping up, unloading the flintlocks into the three of them with unerring accuracy. Screaming as they found themselves bleeding their lives away slowly.

"Hey, Giraldus." I turned, striking out with a pistol, intending to whip the speaker. Except that attempted strike never landed, and I found myself being thrown over the metal boxes, the pummel from a red katana having rammed itself in my face, a boot kicking me harshly over them, I tumbled and twisted, trying to regain my foothold as the figure rushed me with a pair of deadly blades.

I lost one of my flintlocks, and unsheathed my tilted silver blades. Flintlock and blade in hand, I blocked, parried, dodged, keeping on the defense. This was no ordinary attacker, he was the very person I had attempted to bring down most of my life. Mick Nafizer, a more well known criminal within the RDS world. Records would tell you Mick was a very built man, twisted psycologically, his mind bent on doing what pleased him. And that fit perfectly with those in the RDS. His entire body was a altar to his lord, Simon. Scars and Tattoos littering his entire physique.

And he came at me with the fury of his lord himself. We duelled for what seemed like hours, my muscles screaming their pain at the exhausting fight. We both struck blows, hammering each when the oppertunity arose. Blood and sweat were traded like cheap drugs on a side street, and there was only one outcome for this battle. Death.

I wasen't walking out with the farm in hand tonight.