12th Bullet: The Chain Dogs/ unLUCK, We so Are

Downtown, San Francisco

The tall hatted man wrapped in leather clothing walked in the bustling and poverty ridden downtown side of San Francisco. Compared to the brighter side of the city, the buildings were crumbling, cockroaches and rats scuttling on the cracked alley paths and puddles of water, blood, urine and other bodily fluids mixed in with dirt. Some of the people wore scuffed clothes, torn pants and battered shoes. The smell of sweat and exhaust fumes punched his nose. Despite him wearing a black mask, the smells were strong enough to penetrate. The man had seen many slums and dumps but San Francisco never failed to remind him why it was the worst place he had ever been to.

His boots stomped on the sidewalk, each with purpose and intent. Some people eyed him and others were either laying on the streets or too pumped with drugs to even care. A beggar avoided the man, hiding his hat of money. A group poor kids tossing a ball around scurried away, ditching their ball made of plastic and old rags. The tall man eventually arrived in a dilapidated warehouse. He pushed the rugged metal door open, squeaking and groaning piercing his ears, and walked inside to see groups of lower class Desperados, all carrying scythes and many having vicious snarls on their faces. However, some of the snarls quickly turned into feared glances, bravados dying as quick as the man walked. Some were killers who wanted the sweet taste of Death Matter, some were cowards who only killed to survive in the cruel world of the Badlands and some simply wanted freedom from Death to do whatever they pleased.

But the tall man was not a Desperado for the same reasons. No, not even a light year close to their reasons.

A boy in his late teens, walked forward. He had fiery red hair, the only hair he had, no shirt, long jean shorts that touched his knees and what seemed to be some sort of corset wrapping around his waist except it was made out of titanium and other strong alloys. His white skin was deathly pale and his green eyes looked as if the flame of life in his body was dying out. Not all of his skin was white. Some of it was rotting purple and brown, stitched unevenly like a child version of Frankenstein. A brown patch of skin was on his forehead, his hairline struggling to grow and another patch on his cheek.

"Severin Colt, the man of legend," Hanze-fi began. He walked forward, his feet touching the concrete ground of the warehouse. "My master has told me many stories about you. Such as you being able to take out a Sandworm with less than five shots, firing at a running man's head from a sniper's distance and drawing at the speed of a raindrop."

Colt scoffed, his voice was deep and filled with bass. "Stories and tales they are. All are exaggerated to scare children at night and be on their best behaviour. I am not fond of such tales."

"Well, it's what the people build to create what we are perceived as, isn't it?" He stretched out his arms and spun slowly around to emphasize his point, showing all the Desperados as the 'people'. "They are what we are. They can only be the determiners of our actions. After all, we'd all be biased if we were the only to describe ourselves." He stopped, looking up and dropped his hands. "It's who people make us out to be."

Severin Cot dipped his hat further over his shadow-covered face and hummed at the words. "I didn't except you to be such a philosopher."

"Nah, it ain't philosophy." Hanze-fi face his head forward. "It's just what happens when you're trapped in a room for twelve hours a day with nothing but a metal door with a smiley face staring back at you. You think more on average."

"May I ask what you do with the other 12 hours."

Hanze-fi stared deeply. "Let's just place it at... tests."

Colt grunted and Hanze-fi nodded.

"Killrights are expected to come, just as Q planned. That Killright's big mouth sure is annoying but it has made our job easier."

"Then I suppose you're proceeding in the next phase?"

"Yes. I take out each Killright, one by one. However, I shall be picking the order."

Hanze-fi made a low whistle with his teeth. "Q won't be pleased. I believe you won't be getting your pay either if you continue to walk on this uncomfortable path of defiance."

"I don't care about the dollars." He turned to leave. "I am a man of code and honour. I don't believe in the scandalous acts of the Mavericks. My only 'pay' is to have a fair duel with the strongest man in the Badlands."

"So you're going to take out the strongest Killright in the group?"

"Exactly that." Colt turned his head to look at Hanze-fi one last time before departure. "Hanze-fi... A man's choices are his and his alone. There is no rating or judgement, only action and reaction.

                                                                                     ♱♱♱

Vadars drained a tall glass of milk in one swig and licked his lips. He hummed pensively for a long while and smacked his lips, setting the empty glass onto a table.

"Not enough sugar," he said alas. A large piece of clothing was tossed onto his head. He took off the clothing to eye it. It was about a size larger than his usual wear and had a unique mix of a trench coat and a cloak, a hood fashioning the already huge collar. Around the wrists were belts with silver buckles and the same around the waist. The buttons were fashioned with chrome buttons, crucifixes carved in fine detail. On the back was the Killright's emblem in huge and bold silver. A crucifix and a pair of pistols overlapping each other behind it.

"It's the new uniform," Uvo announced, handing it regularly to Janda and Akio. Uvo wore the same but on the edges were shiny silver accents. Janda and Akio took off their cloaks, revealing the standard black shirts, bola ties dangling on their chest, and long black combat pants and boots. Their put on the coats and moved their limbs around to feel the full rotation of their joints. No restrictions and it felt as if they weren't even wearing it at all.

They stood in the now empty lounge of Delta. The warm furniture of it all was appealing, photos and paintings hanging of previous Killrights of the division and a huge one of the current division. The floor of the main room was lower and a step to the left lead to the multiple resting rooms of Killrights, some sharing rooms and other sleeping singular. Forward led was the exit to the gigantic halls to the Cathedral. Every line and detail was crafted carefully and superbly to the fittings and wishes of Miss Death.

Vadars wore the coat and stretched and shot out a few punches and a high kick.

"Neat," he reviewed with a smile.

"Miss Death custom made it," Uvo informed. "All the Killrights should be wearing it by the end of the week. These are just the samples so careful with it. I don't want any milk stains on it like your last one."

"I'm careful," Vadars scoffed.

"Absolutely not," the three said in unison.

Vadars rolled his eyes. "Who needs Desperados when you have your own crappy colleagues..." The three of them hit him on the head and he moaned in pain. "It was a freaking joke! And why the hell did you hit me, Janda?"

"I got bored."

Vadars glared and Uvo clapped his hands.

"Righty-o! Let's get this show on the road. I assume you all know the mission details?"

Vadars and Janda stared like mannequins.

"Miss Akio," Uvo said. "Please inform the rooks for the 157th time."

Akio glared at the rookies before stepping forward. "Our mission is to liberate San Francisco of its brewing gang war between three gangs: The Chain Dogs, The Black Angels and Imperium. It is said that multiple lower-class Desperados, E and F-classes, have been used as soldiers by a C-class."

"C-class?" Vadars asked. "So he's stronger than Khasta and Feast?"

"Much stronger with B-class potential. His name is Hanze-fi. He's worth 2.5 million and is a captain of a regime within the Mavericks. He's about 19 years old."

"My age...? Jeez, is he a robot or something? No way in hell some guy like that exists."

(Author's Note: Beings in the Afterlife use human years and other human numerical measurements as an accurate measuring stick. In reality, they're all very much older but time is much slower for us than for them.)

Janda muttered something about inflation and bounties.

"We are just as deep in the unknown as you, Keinricht. He's quite new amongst the Mavericks, no other personal history being available. But I suppose you can apply that to a lot of the Mavericks. What we do know, however, is that they're three main Mavericks that are orchestrating this war. Hanze-fi is the only known one. Thanks to the help of the Tertius Division's espionage works, we have some grounded and solid information at the events at hand." 

Vadars turned quiet and Janda continued to have that seemingly blank stare of uninterest.

"So what's with this Hanze-fi character?" Janda finally spoke. "What does he have to do with the dealings?"

"He's supposedly supplying weapons to each of the gangs in secret. It seems like the Mavericks plan is to use the gangs' destruction of one another to ultimately convert San Francisco into their turf."

Janda scoffed. "Bunch of morons..."

"So," Vadars broke in, "what's our job?"

"To help free our informant and defeat the gangs."

"By ourselves?" Vadars asked with his mouth open.

"Fortunately, no. Delta and Primus are understaffed and we're being paired with a couple of Tertius members in San Francisco already."

"How many?"

"Including the captured informant, three."

 Vadars rolled his eyes and Janda shook his head. "This is ridiculous. We can't just take down three huge gangs with only nine Killrights. The hell are we supposed to do all 'at?"

Uvo's brow raised. "Who's the ninth?"

"Rosner?" Vadars answered with a confusion littering his voice.

"Pal's not coming in for us. Only one Captain per Desperado mission if needed."

Vadars grew a large vein on his forehead. "The hell ain't he comin' again?" This wasn't Rosner's first time not participating in jobs. Back before when they mainly did Sandbeast fights and bandit calls, Rosner would bench the whole time and send Vadars all the time. Janda got special treatment and wasn't called as often.

"Don't you remember when Feast took a bite out of his shoulder?" Uvo grinned. "An old man needs his R&R."

Vadars grounded his teeth in annoyance. "Give me a reminder to beat the hell outta him when we come back."

"Noted." Uvo began to move to the stables. "C'mon. We have a city in peril calling our names."

Vadars moaned. "I really don't wanna start this scene..."

                                                                                        ♱♱♱

With a strong rev of his Desert Mover, Vadars bolted fast into the desert grounds. Tunker neighed and caught up to him, carrying Uvo. Vadars gazed at the black stallion through his goggles and laughed, enjoying the rushing speed. He kicked it up a gear and blasted through the winds. Akio rode steadily, carrying a carriage and Janda slept calmly on top of the carriage.

Their cloaks rumbled in the strong currents of the air. The blazing hot sun hit the cooking sand and lizards scattered into the deep sands. The unfortunate ones were killed and eaten by the flying birds. 

"Don't waste fuel, Keinricht!" Akio yelled from behind. "And we must stay in a group!"

"I'll be fine, Akio!" Vadars said, looking back at her. "You're like an ant from here! Well, an even smaller ant than before!" He revved the bike and zoomed over a huge jump and bashed onto the the ground in a rough landing. Sand kicked up and the desert seemed almost endless, the perfect place to ride wild. Vadars jumped into the air over a rock and did a backflip off the other. He skidded onto the sands and placed his hand low, feeling the hot sand in his finger tips.

Vadars noticed a large tunnel up ahead and grinned with joy. He jolted with efficient speed and the loud humming of the Desert Mover sounded through out the whole tunnel. The air turned from hot into cool. The wind felt gentle like a warm summer's breeze. He hooted and hollered and laughed wildly and by the time he noticed the massive drop from below him, it was too late.

He flew off the cliff, into the open sands, and rolled down the rocky hill and down into a large area of rocks and sand, completely separated from the others. His Desert Mover tumbled and bashed against the rocks and Vadars took an even worse beating. His body was struck against multiple rocks and his head banged against one with a loud crack.

He finally stopped rolling and laid on the burning sand. He groaned and sat up, blood dripping from his forehead. He placed the goggles around his neck and moaned in pain. He felt the pooling amounts of blood, it dropping into the sand, and gazed to see his new location. Only wavy vast sands and rocks greeted him in a jeering fashion.

"Crap..." He looked around and couldn't find anyone. He tried to move but his legs gave out and he was hugged by the hot sands. He needed to calm down and recuperate. 

Vadars slowly swung his body up and balanced his legs. After his body got used to the weight, he straightened himself. His vision swam and his head was beating like a drum. The throbbing pain was hard to ignore. He suddenly remembered his bike and turned his head to see it banged up and lying next to his wrapped Death Arm named Heavy. He walked over and stood it up. He tried to rev it but the hum would putter and then give out a strangled sound like a swan getting choked.

Wait, how many hands does it take to choke a swan? Three? But their necks are really long so four would be more reasonable. Perhaps five. Nah, too much. Definitely—

A loud screamed pierced his ear drums and he snapped his head to the direction of the scream. It sounded like that of a woman's. He then heard loud motors and cackling laughs of multiple men.

He grounded his teeth. Bandits and lots of them.

Could he even get there in time, let alone fight them?

No... that didn't matter. If he could breathe, he could fight. That is the way of the Killright.

He grabbed his Death Arm and shook his head to focus. Swiftly, he took off the wrappings and gripped the handle tightly.

If he remembered correctly, Vulshock is a technique that requires energizing his Death Arm with an excessive amount of Death Matter followed by a sharp and instantaneous release of it, like blowing up a balloon and popping it like an explosion.

Now, could he do that but instead of popping it, he simply let it go?

He concentrated, feeling the Death Matter in him bubble up and into his arm and through Heavy's blade. He felt the Death Matter fill up the whole blade before letting out a thunderous yell and swung the sword behind him and blasted into the air, a stream of purple and black splitting the view. A loud boom of air was followed and he was flying in the air with uncontrollable speed.

Vadars tried to straighten his body but it wouldn't comply and he could see the women, dressed in brown and carrying larges bags, and the bandits down under him as he fell on the huge tank of a vehicle.

A crash filled the air and sand kicked up. Everyone stopped to see the cause of destruction.

"What the..." A bandit said and another turned to see the barely standing Killright on top of the large, heavy armoured dune buggy, his coat billowing in the air, holding a gigantic sword in one hand.

"You pieces of..." Vadars' body lurched and he threw up on the leader. He coughed and wiped his mouth unceremoniously and licked his teeth. Note to self: don't try out new things on the fly.

The leader, a huge man with a tattooed fat belly and only wearing a pair of red battered cargos and boots, boiled in fury.

"Ugh, sorry about that," Vadars said. "Don't worry about it though. I don't eat anything exotic, just meats and milk. You might wanna get something strong to wash it out. But, hey, you're bald so no hair problems."

The leader stood still in a silent fury and his lackies backed away.

"B-boss," the only brave enough one to walk towards his leader spoke, "you'll be okay. It's just... milk. And a bit of meat chunks. We'll get you a bath and some beer and laugh about it, okay?"

The boss reached into his holster, grabbing a huge pistol and blowed off the bandit's head. The women screamed in terror.

"Kill the runt!" the leader roared out. "I want him dead! Rip his guts and feed his eyes to the Hounds!"

Vadars leapt off and dodged the scurry of bullets. He gripped the pommel and wrapped the chain around his arm. He used the flat of his Death Arm to block the assault of bullets in his direction. With a yell, he spun the blade around and kicked up dust, causing a miniature sandstorm.

The gunslingers shots turned wild and unplanned. After they ran out of bullets, they observed for Vadars but it was too late. The Killright leapt and swung out, bashing multiple bandits with the flat side of his sword. Four tried to come in close but Vadars grinned at the close quarters approach and unequipped his chain. 

He ran in and jolted out a massive left followed by a bone-crushing kick to the skull and a mid-air spinning kick another and finished with a exploding-air-tumbling kick. All of them laid out unconscious. He landed roughly and clutched his fists tightly. He flexed and cracked his fingers and walked over to grab his Death Arm. He turned around and pointed it at the remaining bandits, frozen in fear.

Vadars beamed with adrenaline pumping in each vein of his body. "Let's start this scene, alright?"