[04] Western Shootout!

[Kill Town]

Western Shoot-Out!

Description: Players are teleported to the OK Corral, where they seem to be caught in the middle of a giant firefight. Armed with revolvers, the goal is to make it past the street and escape across the bridge. Once you get to the bridge, you’ll be faced with one more giant problem: a giant shotgun-wielding bandit who is seemingly indestructible. Have fun.

Hint: How and when you get to the bridge is completely up to you. Hell, if you’re feeling just running through the streets avoiding gunfire and/or firing back, you don’t even have to make it there. Basically, I’ve just given you a layout. The rest is up to you. I’m sure you guys will do fine.

Also, if you guys already have guns, feel free to use them instead.

Participant: Victoria, Trafford

[Victoria]

“Pah!” Victoria spat out the sand that had gotten into her mouth, and looked around dubiously. All of the places she would be stuck in and it had to be a desert. No, wait. She looked left, and then right, and noticed that the buildings were old and rustic. It was not as bad as she had first thought. She climbed to her feet and ran a hand through her long hair, sand mingled between the strands. “How is it that I walked through the portal, and you still made me come out the other end in a tumble?” She asked the sky. She sighed and let her arms hang lazily at her sides. “What’s this place, then?” She started to walk, taking note of the dry atmosphere and the wooden buildings. A tumbleweed danced across her path, and a door slammed in the wind. “Ghost town?” She wondered aloud, and stopped.

Ping!

A bullet hit the sign above her, making it turn erratically on the pole in which it had been hung. Vic looked up in shock, and then behind. A man held his gun up, barrel smoking, and grimaced.

“Tch, missed.” He cocked the gun and pulled the trigger again, without hesitation, making the girl jump and bounce two steps to the side. A cloud of sandy dust rose from the ground and she stared from the man to the dust.

“What the hell? Why’re you shooting at me?!” She held up a fist in anger.

“You’re one of them, aren’t ‘cha?” He aimed his gun again, ready to shoot. Victoria didn’t have time to play games; she jumped out of the street and onto the wooden patio. She pushed through the doorway and into the dark building. She could hear whispering, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see many faces.

“Shit, what’s going on here?” she asked, looking at the frightened occupants.

“Shootout, best find a safe place before you get shot.” A young man replied.

“’Eh, get out here, you green bellied whelp!” The man called, and stomped onto the patio.

Vic turned, and clenched her fists. “I don’t hide, and I’m not a whelp!” She slammed open the double doors and hit the cowboy right in the face. He stumbled backwards, nose bleeding, and spewing vulgarities. “You want a fight, you’re gonna get it, no one messes with me.” She pointed her finger at him vehemently and looked down her nose.

“Why, I oughta!” He whipped his gun forward and began firing at her. Victoria jumped out of the way, rolled, and held up her hand as a gun this time. She fired at him in turn, and he stepped away just in time, her electric bullet hit the wooden building making the wall splinter. “Bad aim, too bad for you!” He shot at her again, and she dodged left and right. He was quick with his return fire, but she wouldn’t be beaten so easily. She grinned and lifted a second hand to match her other.

“Games over, cowboy!” She shouted and began letting lose energy bullets upon him. He dodged the first two, but the third nailed him in the leg. The fourth shot got him in the chest, and he slumped upon the ground in agony.

“Oh no, Delilah! I’ve failed!” He moaned, and clutched at his heart before finally bleeding out to death.

“Give me a break.” Vic placed a hand on her hip. “I hope they’re not all that dramatic.” She turned and began trekking further into the town. Gunfire could be heard, along with shouting. It seemed that this gunfight would not be simple, nothing Gamer designed was simple. She imagined there would be more than enough cowboys and the like to keep her busy. What’s the angle here She wondered, looking slowly around for any danger. First zombies, and then a sinking ship, and after that a bomb mission. What am I doing here? Or did he just want to watch me shoot people? She clenched her fingers into fists tightly.

A man came running out of an alleyway, and he pushed past her. He lifted his gun and let lose a barrage of bullets, but not aiming for her. His face had been covered in fear. She turned to see another man, larger, dodging all of his bullets. He laughed and fired back. The younger man fell and clawed at the sandy ground, his gun having fallen a foot from his grasp. The pursuing cowboy pushed Vic out of the way, making her fall onto her ass. He riddled the fallen man with lead, grinning sadistically.

“And what’s this,” he turned to cast his gaze upon her. “Strayed from the saloon maybe?” He licked his lips and stared down at her thighs. “You’d make a find addition to the bandits!” He pulled a loop of rope from his belt and loomed over her.

“I don’t think so, asshole!” Victoria shot her leg upwards, making him double forward in anguish. She jumped up, slammed her knee into his face, and grabbed him by his shirt. She pulled the fabric forward and over his head, making him scramble about in blind rage.

“You stupid wench!” He grasped for her, but she dodged away and fired her hand-gun at him. Blood spewed into the wind, splattering the sand, and he fell over onto his victim.

She planted a foot onto his chest and held up her finger, smoking like a real pistol. She blew off the tips and grinned smugly. “This town ain't big enough for the both of us.”

[Alexander Trafford]

His eyes flashed left, then right, and then back once more as he examined his surroundings. He did not know how it had happened, or why it had happened, but, once again, he had been transported. Sleep deprived and agitated, Alex was somewhat relieved to find that he had landed in a venue that he recognized: a bar. But that did not take away from his displeasure towards his ridiculous attire. He found himself wearing a sky-blue, long-sleeved, button-up collared shirt with wide shoulders, extremely tight denim jeans, narrow leather boots and a high-crowned, wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

The way he figured it, this event could go one of two ways: either that of his favorite actor, Clint Eastwood, or the way of Brokeback Mountain. He shuttered as he imagined having to role play a romantic cowboy scene with one of the other male participants; in his mind he could picture Juno, with his onyx hair whipping around in a cool mountain breeze, making an advance on him in front of a warm campfire.

He shuttered again, and threw back the double shot of whiskey that had conveniently been placed before him. The bartender immediately shuffled over, and refilled it. He could definitely get used to this place.

“Watch out!” someone screamed from outside the saloon. The nearly silent tavern became the epicenter of bustling activity as a single bullet shattered the venue’s front window and the patrons dove for cover in anticipation of more gunfire.

A second shot came immediately after the first. Alex, who had remained seated at the wooden counter atop his creaky stool, could feel the air around him stir as the bullet careened past him – mere inches in front of his face. His glass shattered violently as the cartridge burst through it before embedding itself in the saloon’s rear wall.

“Whoa,” he muttered. Normally he would have reacted more violently, perhaps he would have fallen from his stool, or even screamed, but a firefight seemed far more normal than everything else he had experienced recently. Instead he simply held what was left of the broken, rigid glass – the remains of which had been scattered across the countertop amidst a sea of spilled whiskey.

He closed his eyes and rubbed the sealed lids gently with his index finger and thumb respectively. After a moment he released his therapeutic hold and his hand fell to his chin, which it massaged in turn, while his eyes turned skyward. Why was it that whenever he thought he might have a moment to relax something had to disrupt him?

Slowly sliding from his stool, Trafford rolled his eyes and placed the shattered shooter atop the wooden counter. Looking on the bright side, he thought to himself, at least he was in a firefight and not a gay cowboy romance.

“Let’s get this over with, I guess,” Alex sighed and rolled his eyes once more. What did a guy have to do to earn a nap around here anyway? This shit was getting ridiculous.

He unsnapped the leather binding on his holsters and withdrew his two massive handguns, quickly noting that they were not the six-shooters that he expected, but rather his twin, gold-plated Desert Eagles. His fortunes were turning.

What happened next was even better. Having noticed a continual flickering in the upper-left corner of his vision, he shifted his gaze in that direction and saw a small, almost unnoticeable, text box. Text was streamlining within the black-outlined rectangle, it read: “cheat activated: unlimited ammunition.”

His eyes lit up like those of a fat kid in a candy shop.

Placing one of his handguns on the countertop, Alex removed a cigarette from his back pocket and slid it into his mouth. With a wink the tip became lit, and he inhaled upon the filter of the long, white cancer stick. Then he grabbed his Desert Eagle and made his way towards the half-sized, swinging saloon doors that marked the exit.

~~~*~~~

“Who’s on my team, damnit?” Trafford shouted from behind a building corner. Everyone appeared to be shooting at one another, and it did not seem like there was any logical framework to the firefight. It was not bandits on one side and law enforcement on the other – his precarious situation was nothing more than one giant cluster-fuck.

Alex peered around the corner slowly, but found himself immediately leaping back behind cover as a bullet slammed into the wooden wall perpendicular to the one he was hiding behind. Luckily, he had managed to spot his assailant – the foe was little more than a hundred paces from him, along the building he was using as cover, behind a splintered barrel.

Trafford checked his ammunition, which he later realized was unnecessary due to the programmed cheat, and then burst out from his position. The leather soles of his effeminate boots slapped against the hardened dirt as he sprinted down the small, western town’s central street.

Bullets continued to careen by his head, their paths bending in accordance to his will. He raised his own gun, and, after waiting for the exhaled smoke to clear from his vision, fired off a series of his own shots.

His aim had been terrible, but, luckily, the bullets slowly curved and crashed into the thin, wooden barrel. And wouldn’t you know it, the damned thing just exploded – knocking his foe onto his ass. The cowboy did not move, whether he was dead or unconscious was a mystery to the young psychokinetic.

Trafford slowed and unwisely came to a halt in the middle of the seemingly deserted street. With a flash of his eyes, he evaluated his surroundings and, not having seen any further opponents, took a moment to catch his breath. The sound of gunfire served as a foreboding backdrop to the bullet-riddled town.

“Hey!” a familiar feminine voice shouted.

Alexander whirled around and leveled his guns, having been caught off guard, and pulled back each hammer in preparation for another firefight.

“Whoa, ease up.” The girl threw up her hands, signaling that he should not fire. Which he did not, rather he holstered his firearms. It was one of the girls that had been with him on the Titanic. He knew nothing of her, except that he was also a participant in this strange video game.

Trafford put forward his hand in an effort to reintroduce himself, but his words were cut off by the increasing volume of gunfire – they were getting closer.

“Come on,” the girl grabbed his wrist and jerked him towards a narrow alley, “this way!”

She seemed very in control of this situation, as opposed to Alex, who seemed to have lapses of lackadaisical carelessness. Perhaps she just had not experienced one of these absurd simulations before. After Dante’s Abyss he was fairly sure that he could not actually be killed, and so he did not really care.

Regardless, he obliged and followed her into the narrow alley.

“Alright Alex . . . it is Alex right?”

“Uh, yeah,” he responded after a moment. God damnit, he thought to himself, he was hoping that she had not remembered his name because now it was awkward that he hadn’t remembered hers. He thought it was Victoria, but he couldn’t be sure and did not want to risk using that name in case it was wrong.

“Alright, I’m not going to hide. I’m going to give these guys a helluva fight.” She lifted her hand as if it were a pistol and crept towards the alley’s exit.

“You coming?” she turned back and questioned him after having noticed that he was not following her.

“Sure,” Trafford nodded and responded quickly, not wanting to appear a coward, “I think that I should go first though.”

He pulled his massive weapons from their respective holsters and stepped forward. She shot him a disapproving look, perhaps she thought that he figured her incapable, being a woman and all.

“Oh, right, you don’t know,” Alexander quickly moved to correct his vagueness. “I can, ya know . . . stop bullets.”

“What?” She threw him a curious look, as if he had piqued her interest. Trafford simply nodded in response and took another step forward, preparing to charge out into the central travel way once more.

[Victoria]

Bullets, they rained upon them, like endless water. Alex’s movements were fluid, and the gunslinger had to admire his skill. He moved into the fray, golden guns held in his hands, and cigarette blazing whilst clinging to his lips for dear life. His lips formed into a cracked smile, and the bullets rained, they poured towards him in such succession that she had to watch in disbelief. Mere cowboys couldn’t do this, no, they were digital monsters. She held up a hand, the scorching sunlight flashed across her view. A multitude of noise echoed across the open square, and the lead rain fell short of its target. He leaned his head back, and quickly shot a look to the side at her, a cocky one at that.

“See,” he said, and took a drag from the addictive product perched between his lips. The smoke filtered out from between his lips, and drifted upwards with the cool wind. “Can you do that?” He asked, and lifted his guns.

“No, not that,” Vic raised her hands to watch his stance, she slowly turned as the bandits and cowboys began to get ready for round two. She could hear each click of their guns, feel their eyes gaze eagerly upon her. Her hands began to glow, and she positioned herself at the gunman’s back. “But I can do plenty of other things.” She finished, and smiled smartly.

“We never got a chance to fight in battle together last time.” He stated, and made the first move. Bullets fired off from his guns, they blazed through the air, and buried into their respective targets. The men cried out in agony and collapsed to the ground. “This is more like it, don’t you think?” He laughed and as he turned, Vic matched his footwork to remain facing the opposite direction, almost touching back to back.

“Hell yeah, I’ll never pass on a gunfight.” She replied, vigor in her voice. “I’m just glad they gave me a partner that knows how to shoot. I’ve been on missions with bad partners, and if I don’t kill them for their stupidity they usually get themselves killed.” She shot out her hands and fired off her ki guns, nailing a bandit in the arm, and then in the chest. He spun with the force and smacked into the building. He slid to the ground, leaving a bloody smear on the wall. “I’d like to think I was named Victoria because I’m always victorious.” She chuckled calmly and admired her handiwork.

Bullets flew towards them from every direction, and the two trigger-junkies let loose everything they had. Victoria’s hands moved left and right, flaring ki shot off successively towards their enemies. Alex followed, turning with each of her movements, taking out desperados with precision. Lead dropped in front of them, a few stray shots whipped past the coral-haired fighter, but so far her partner did a good job at nullifying the attacks.

“There must be more to this game,” Victoria lowered her hands, and leaned over with labored breathing. Despite their quick attacks, and almost perfect performance, the enemies did not cease. They either fired on the duo, or at each other, it was nothing more than chaos. She looked around, eyed the buildings and the dusty street. Cowboys and bandits ducked behind doorways, boxes, and whatever else was lying around. The whole area rang with gunfire, and she scowled. “Do you have any idea what the goal to this game is? There’s always something.” She looked over her shoulder at her newfound companion.

“Not a clue,” he replied nonchalantly. “I just assumed we had to kill as many of these guys as possible.” He motioned with his gun and took another drag on his smoke.

“Sounds stupid.” Victoria stepped away and then hopped back as a shot exploded in front of her.

“Careful, they’re not as stupid as they look.” He looked at her in amusement. “I bet I can kill more.”

He wants to play a game now? She narrowed her eyes, but the man looked at her expectantly. “You’re challenging me?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You afraid of losing? If that’s the case…” He turned away, and held up his guns. They glinted in the sunlight, and she had to look away. His attitude had a way of pushing her buttons, but not all the wrong ones.

Victoria grinned and planted her hands on her hips. “I’ll kill more, I’m not a rookie.” She nodded her head at him, a smug look overcoming her features. “What exactly is the bet for, then?” She asked.

“I’ll tell you win I win.” He took off and let loose an attack on the nearest targets. Vic watched in shock, and then tightened a fist in the air before her.

“Friendly competition, I can deal with that.” She held up her other fist and watched Alex take the lead on kills. “Meanwhile, I’ll find a way out of this town, or look for an objective.”

She leapt forward and past the man, and gunned straight for a group of criminals. She let loose a cry and cocked her arm back. They fired at her, but she hit the ground and rolled right towards them. She snapped back to her feet and began a vicious assault on the lead man. He hit the air from her jab to his chin. She quickly spun on one foot and forced another man into a pile of wooden boxes with her leg. The hunter unleashed a series of punches upon the last man standing, making him fall into a blood heap.

Victoria kept in the general vicinity of Alex, careful not to stray far from her only known comrade. If any other players were here, they had not shown themselves. She ducked down short alleyways, dodged bullets, and fired back excitedly. Her heart pounded, and her blood rushed. It was the thrill of battle, the eagerness of killing more than her pseudo opponent. Despite it being completely useless, the bet kept her going. She needed to keep ahead of the game, on her feet, and always ready to take the next threat down. The girl could feel sand cling to her sweaty skin, her dry mouth ached for water, and the awful sun beat on her like a relentless master. She laughed into the air, at the harsh world, and fired another energy bullet into her latest victim. “Twenty-Two, Alex, how about that.” She shouted.

“Not bad, but I’m at Thirty-Five.” He called back, and wiped his brow.

“Shit,” Vic swore under her breathe and held her own hand to her brow. She looked down the street she had just come upon. Past the tall buildings lay a bridge, it glinted in the sunlight and water trickled down the small rivulet. She looked over at Alex and raised a hand. “Hey, there’s a river!” She motioned at him.

Some water would do nice, I’m fucking dying out here. She shielded her eyes from the glaring sun, and looked at the river eagerly. Gunfire filled the air and Vic felt the force of the metallic object rip through her arm. She cried out and stumbled slightly as she grabbed her bleeding arm. My arm again. She looked at the wound, remembering the one she had received from her spar with Orion.

“What the hell!” She cried and looked up angrily. A large man stood in the street; he held up a pistol and blew off the smoke. He was dressed in black, and wore a matching cowboy hat. He stared at her intensely, and holstered his gun.

“Can’t let you pass.” His voice was cool, matching his steeled gaze. Vic grimaced and looked at her bloody hand. Her wound was beginning to heal, but the loss of blood had made her woozy. She lowered her bloody hand and twitched her fingers.

“Is that so?” She replied coldly, and both of her hands twitched slightly. She wiggled her fingers and narrowed her eyes. “A duel, is it?” She licked her dry lips, and tasted the gritty sand.

“I’ve got the quickest shot in town, you don’t stand a chance, girl.” His southern voice floated with the wind and she eyed him carefully.

Tumbleweed bounced between the two, and a strange noise echoed between the buildings. Victoria’s lips twitched and she watched the cowboy closely. She couldn’t underestimate this man, she hadn’t even seen him come out, let alone get the first shot on her. She parted her lips, and wiggled her fingers eagerly again. He’s fast, but how fast? If I put everything into this attack… She thought to herself, and smiled coyly.

“Go ahead,” she said, and grinned at him darkly, “make my day.” It would be a battle of speed, whoever got the first shot would be the one to walk.

The cowboy leaned his head back slightly to get a better look at her. He seemed amused, and his had moved closer to his pistol. “You’ve got guts, kid.” He replied and narrowed his eyes to match her gaze. He glanced at her hands and then back at her face.

“You've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?’” Victoria retorted gruffly, ready to take the shot, put it all on the line. “Well, do ya, punk?” She spat and flexed her hands. It was now or never.

[Alexander Trafford]

Alexander had not been facing the two duelists when they exchanged final words, or when they had exchanged bullets for that matter, but he could feel the foreboding tension build in the moments prior. The echoing chorus of gunfire had faded into silence; all that could be heard was the deep, rhythmic beating of drums and the high-pitched twanging melody that signaled a showdown.

“You’ve got to ask yourself one question: ‘Do I feel lucky?’” There was a slight pause, before the girl, whose name was indeed Victoria, continued, “Well, do ya, punk?”

“What in the hell . . .?” he whispered in confusion. Trafford cocked an eyebrow and whirled around on his heel, his mouth slightly ajar in confusion. “Dirty Harry, really?”

His dumbfounded cries were drowned out by the sound of gunfire; the two combatants quickly raised their respective weapons and fired. The cowboy recoiled as the bolt of electricity slammed against his torso and ripped open a fatal hole just above his abdomen. Alex’s eyes flashed from the collapsing body to his partner and, as he sighed in relief, noticed that she was standing unharmed.

An air of confidence surrounded the coral-haired warrior, who flashed Alex a smug grin as she tallied another fatality. He rolled his eyes and took one last inhalation on the ‘dead’ cigarette before removing it from his lips and casting it down into the coarse sand.

“Let’s head to the river,” Victoria recommended as she made her way across the momentarily silent street.

Alexander nodded absentmindedly; he was still wondering how despite all of the Clint Eastwood quotes that actually pertained to gunfights in the Wild West she had managed to choose one of the few that did not. On the other hand, as a major Clint Eastwood fan, he was impressed that she had recited the line so flawlessly. Eventually, as they started walking towards the river, he let the subject drift from his mind.

“So, uh, you seem to be pretty damned good with that thing,” Alex muttered, breaking the silence as he pointed towards Victoria’s still smoking fingertip. He’d seen warriors unleash devastating energy blasts before, but none who fired them with such precision and compact power. And her energy seemed different, in a way. His partner, the confident female fighter with rose colored hair, reminded him of Sage, except that instead of using ice she used electricity.

How cool was that? Alexander thought to himself. He wished that he could shoot electricity from his fingertips! It seemed that the further he ventured forth into this new world of super-powered enemies and allies he found men and women with equally new and unique abilities. In a strange way it actually made him feel . . . normal. He could not explain how in words, but in his mind he imagined a line graph that described how he felt: as the number of people with abilities increased, his perception of himself as a freak decreased. It was an inverse relationship that explained his complicated emotions; although he was still lonely, he was not alone.

“Not so fast you varmints!”

Victoria flashed her eyes at Trafford for a moment, and then wheeled around to face the voice that had originated behind them. Alexander took a moment longer, as he had taken to pressing his palm against his closed eyes and shaking his head.

“Why can’t we just get to the river… and get the hell out of here? All I want is to get out of these damned clothes and have a damned nap,” the young psychokinetic whispered in such a low volume that he was sure not even his partner could have heard him.

Eventually he too turned around to face the source of the threatening decree. And as he did so he had to stifle his need to burst out in laughter.

There were six men in total, all but one were dressed in exactly the same manner as the duelist had been (the one that Victoria had killed a few minutes prior). They seemed to be the most powerful bandit faction in the small ghost town. But the thing that had Alex on the verge of howling in laughter was the man in the center. He was the sole cowboy dressed differently than his comrades. First off, the lead cowboy, presumably the source of the warning, was incredibly short – nigh a midget. A high-crowned cowboy hat with an absolutely massive brim sat upon his head, which was masked in a sea of red facial hair and very thick auburn eyebrows; he had the single most impressive mustache that Trafford had ever seen – it nearly reached his long-sleeved brown tunic and, in a few years time, it could easily reach his dirty, blue denim jeans.

Alexander recognized the man, although he was not sure that Victoria did. It was, of course, Yosemite Sam. One of his favorite Looney Tunes characters, who was only seconded by Elmer Fudd.

“Yosemite Sam?” Alex questioned, just to be sure of the man’s identity.

“Yeah, Yosemite Sam, the roughest, toughest, he-man-stuffest hombre who’s ever crossed the Rio Grade . . . And I don’t mean Mahatma Ghandi!” the tiny, fiercely-mustached man bellowed his riposte. He let loose a few shots into the air to show that he meant business. “Now all of you skunks clear on outta here! I’m a-commandeering this here town.”

This declaration was met with more gunfire, and howling from his pack of loyal cowboys. Trafford wasn’t sure if he should be afraid or awe-struck – this was Yosemite Sam after all. First pirates, then the Titanic, after that a space battle and now a firefight with a classic cartoon villain and his band of buffoons. How much more ridiculous could this reality get?

Luckily, Trafford was rarely without a clever idea. Fire must sometimes be met with fire, his father had so often told him, so, he figured, it must hold true that hyper masculine machismo must be met with equally unnecessary machismo. There was only one man who was tough and rugged enough to counter someone like Yosemite Sam, and it was none other than Clint Eastwood.

“Let me show you how this quoting thing is done,” Alex leaned to the side and whispered so that only Victoria could hear him.

“Ahem . . .” he feigned a cough and subsequently gained the attention of Yosemite Sam and his gang before directing his index finger and counting his opponents, “One, two, three, four, five, and six - six, the perfect number.”

“Whattya talkin’ about,” Yosemite Sam replied instantly, “I thought three was the perfect number.”

Sam’s version did not follow his segment of the quote word-for-word, but it was a fair adaptation of Angel Eyes’ interaction with Blondie in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.

“I’ve got six more bullets in my gun.” Alexander completed the quote and lifted his guns.

Yeah, he thought to himself, I just drew my Desert Eagles on Yosemite Sam. How badass is that? No one back home will ever believe this story, he thought to himself, not even Moe.

He smirked and pulled back on the tight triggers, consequently sending the first two bullets towards the bandit gang. He did not stop there, however, as the massive handguns recoiled he quickly brought them back to rest and continued tugging on the weapon’s simplistic firing mechanism. A sea of golden-hued steel cylinders crossed the divide between the two participants and their cartoon-led assailants.

“Ooooooh!” Yosemite Sam bellowed, as he so often did in his cartoon, and leapt in the air as his mustache-masked face contorted in frustration.

[Victoria]

Blood hit the air, spewing out and spilling onto the dusty road. It gushed, running and running, pooling around the body it had been forced out of. Her foot planted down onto his chest, and she applied pressure. Her face stormed over, and she stared down at his still face. The blood squeezed out of the hole in his chest, increasing the pool, and proving just how fatal her hit had been. He was dead, she had to be sure. She stepped over his corpse, and held a hand to her brow. The sun was getting higher, drenching them with scornful heat. She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s a beautiful day for death.” She said quietly.

Alex approached her, and she placed a grin on her face. The two continued together down the road, and the man seemed lost in his own thoughts. Despite their small conversation, she found that she could relate to the man. He was not overly annoying, and he could fire a gun almost as good, if not better, than she. The dead bodies lay behind them, but soon live targets would swarm around them once more.

None of it was real, but still, something had to keep her going. Victoria ran both of her hands against her face, and through her long hair, and looked at the sky once more. She missed her home, and it was home, it was the only place she could call home. She missed him.

She kept along Alex, keeping in synch with his steps. The glinting bridge was her salvation; she could see it and already taste the cool water. She ducked as bullets sailed towards her, and lifted her hands casually. Energy flew through the air, slamming into fleshy targets, and various responses ensued from their dying lips. They cried for their wives, their children, or just for God. She could only press on, fight the enemy attacks, and crack a delicate smile. Alex commented on her smoking fingers, noting her ability. He took care of any enemies on his side with equal skill, tallying more bodies for his own count.

Bandits ran out, guns held high, and circled them. “It doesn’t end, does it?” She asked, and held up both hands lazily. Alex seemed to recognize the lead man, as strange as he was. The short evil-doer shouted at them, and she couldn’t help but stare dubiously at him. “Is this guy for real?” She asked, and Alex shot her a grin.

“Let me show you how this quoting thing is done,” he whispered to her. She wasn’t too sure what was going on, but she watched with intrigue. They exchanged words, and Vic stood by cautiously. The small man, Yosemite Sam, could be more devious than he looked. Their words ended and the fight broke out. Before she knew it bullets were flying through the air. Alex already had two of the bandits down, but the miniature bandit was ready to take him out.

“I got these guys,” she declared and ran to cut off the lackeys before they could team up on her comrade.

Her fingers formed guns, and she smiled coyly. “I have to warn you,” she started, and looked at each one of them, “I like to kill.” Her hands moved fast, so fast that she had one of them screaming in pain from her sudden attack. She leapt aside, and the hot lead missed her leg. She ran toward the injured man. Her fingers curled inward and formed a fist. She nailed her fist into the his face, and the force caused him to move backwards. She unclasped her fingers and grabbed him by the collar before he could continue his fall. “Na ah,” she quickly shouted and pulled him with all her strength into her other fist. His cry came out gargled, and a few teeth dropped down in a gush of blood from his mouth. He slumped into a painful heap, and she lifted a hand towards the remaining two men.

“So, who’s next?” She motioned towards them with her hand. The bandits hesitated, looking at each other. “Too late, you’re next!” She pointed at the one on the right. He began to sweat, but he raised his pistol and let loose the deadly bullets. One sliced past her arm, grazing the flesh painfully. She let out a snarl of pain, but jumped forward and slammed her palm against his forehead. She carried the force, pushing him down onto the ground, and then jumped off of his body. She reached out quickly before his friend could run away. Her fingers gripped around the back of his shirt, and she slapped her palm against the back of his head. A sudden force of Static Latency expanded around them. She threw the second bandit down next to the first and fell between them. Her hands landed on their chests, equal and level and she hesitated for just a moment. As she kneeled between them; head bowed, she parted her lips. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” She said, placing the last of her charges on the unsuspecting men. She kicked off of the ground, flipped out of the Latency field and snapped her fingers. The field suddenly sucked inward onto itself, and as it did a dome of electricity encompassed their bodies’ causing the triggers to explode into deadly electricity. The two bandits fried to death, leaving naught but charred remains.

Vicky lowered her arm from her eyes, the blast had subsided. She dusted off her skirt, and turned away from the slaughtered men she had left to rot. She looked towards Alex, and hoped that he had faired similarly. “That guy,” he started, and she showed relief at the sight, “was annoying.” The male gunslinger wiped his brow with his sleeved arm.

“Did you know him?” She asked, and looked down at the slain villain.

“Kind of…it’s hard to explain.” He replied and chuckled. “Suffice to say, Gamer must like early morning cartoons.” He shook his head and holstered his guns.

She looked towards the sky again and began walking towards her destination. “Reminds me of home,” she said to herself, suddenly finding a similarity between this desert and the one she lived in. “I didn’t want to understand then, or accept it.” She said, remembering the circumstances revolving around her capture. “He was right, I needed this. Look at how strong I’ve become.” She looked down at her hands and clenched them tightly.

“What do you mean?” Alex had stepped in beside her, and she had momentarily forgotten. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but it was too late. She hesitated, but didn’t feel the need to lie about anything to this man.

“I’m not used to fighting this way, and in a way, my…Boss, he let me get taken here. They thought that if I came here, in a way, I would improve.” She explained and shot him a smile. “At the time I thought it was bullshit, but now I think they were right.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Alex looked at the sky this time, and away from her piercing blue eyes. “I’ve been through some crazy shit, just like this.” He didn’t say more than this, but she accepted the few words he did supply. “By the way, I’ll get you back for stealing all those kills from me.” He smirked at her, and she laughed in return.

The road was quiet, almost too quiet. She looked towards the ghostly buildings, down the empty lanes, and kept towards the bridge. “I’m gonna go ahead.” She took off in a jog, giggling girlishly while leaving the man behind. The buildings stopped a good couple of yards away from the river, and a few trees struggled to strive upon the harsh environment. She jogged into the clearing and watched the soft breeze caress the leaves, blowing a few stray ones from their weak hold. They drifted upon the wind, and fluttered down onto the ground. She moved a few rogue hairs that had joined in the dance of the breeze, and she tucked them behind her ear. Just what I need, a good drink of water, maybe splash some on my face. She walked towards the riverbank and knelt beside the water. Victoria dipped her hands into the water and cupped it carefully before splashing it against her face; she reveled in the refreshing feeling, and looked up through watery eyes. She could see someone, a figure, looming across the water. Watery beads clung to her lashes and she rubbed them away, blinking, she looked again but he was gone.

Was it Alex, did he catch up and cross the bridge already? She stood up and wiped her mouth, she looked down the river and then turned towards the bridge. She walked towards it, her guard only partially up. The bridge had to mean something; it glowed like a heavenly gate. She had assumed it had been the sunlight before, but it sparkled like gold and silver. She stared in awe and approached it. She stepped onto the smooth wood, and looked back. The wind suddenly picked up, lifting her coral hair and causing it to dance away from her body prettily. She moved some it from her eyes, and smiled timidly. Something felt right, just then, like everything would be okay. A few yards away she could see the male Gunslinger, his shaggy hair waving in the wind. He smiled briefly at her, ready to join her in crossing the bridge. They were winning; she could only surmise that this was their victory. “Today has been okay.” She whispered, and then noticed Alexander’s face fall in sudden surprise.

Blood, again, spewing into the wind and mingling with her long hair. Victoria’s eyes widened and she parted her mouth in silent protest. Alex dropped his hands; he gripped his guns, and stared at her across the distance. She held her hand out, having been about to wave, and looked down at the blood splattered against her arm and hand. The wind continued to play with her hair, and she could see the tainted crimson clinging to the silken strands. Her face contorted, her eyes closed partly, and she let out the faintest of groans. Her knees shook, and she stumbled forward before gripping the glorious bridge with a bloody hand. “Not again.” She held her other hand to her abdomen and fell to her knees.

A laugh echoed behind her, but she ignored it. She closed her eyes and focused, her ki moved through her body, and she moved with it. Electricity sparked inside of her veins, clinger to the vessels, and charged the cells. She gritted her teeth in pain, and began to triage the gaping wound. Whoever he was, he had gotten her just above the kidney. She tied off the flow of blood, and let her regeneration take care of the rest. “You…got blood on my hair.” She whispered, and opened her eyes.

“Pretty girls like you should be in the saloon.” His deep voice crept down her spine and she tightened her fist against the bridge, the wood dented under the pressure, another filthy bandit insulted her gender. “A shame I have to kill you, I usually like to play with my food, so to speak.” Victoria wasn’t facing him, but she could already tell that she didn’t like this guy. She pulled herself up using the rail of the bridge, and leaned on it while clutching her wound.

“What makes you think you can kill me?” She said, bowing her head and taking in careful breaths of air. His shot was good, but he’ll need to do a lot more than this. She shifted her eyes at the sound of his weapon clicking. She turned then, and faced the bandit.

He was huge, larger than anyone she had ever seen before. He had large muscles, and held a massive shotgun in his hands like it were a part of him. His face held a smug grin, and he stared at her with bloodthirsty eyes. By all accounts he was the ugliest, most unnerving villains she had ever had to face. She took a cautious step back towards the town and let go of the bridge.

“One more hit and you’re dead, and I don’t miss.” He replied and aimed his shotgun at her. She stared intensely at him, gauging just what her next move would have to be.

“You missed the first time.” She pointed out. The first hit to her had missed her internal organs, if he were trying to kill her; he would have aimed for a more devastating location.

“Like I said, I like to play with my food,” he replied, and chuckled darkly, “despite my orders to kill anyone who comes across this bridge. I just can’t help myself.”

His finger hit the trigger just as he had finished talking, and she moved with what agility she had. She hit the dusty ground, and let out a grunt of pain. She needed time, but it wasn’t on her side. This was not her victory, it was her end.

A flash of red appeared, and she looked up in surprise. Bullets exploded and hit the bridge and water. The bandit dodged the attack, and fired back. The red clad man returned fire, and fought off her foe valiantly. His bullets came very close to the bandit’s feet, arms, but nowhere near his vital organs or head. She looked up wearily and shielded her eyes from the glaring sun.

“A-alex?” She asked, unsure of whom this man was. His trench coat was different, and the sun made it hard to see. He turned and blocked out the light, holding out a hand to her.

“No, my name is Vash,” he smiled as he helped her to her feet. She looked him over, and wondered if he were another player in this twisted game.

“Why did you save me?” She asked, and he began firing at the bandit again. The large man moved away, and continued blasting at them. She raised her arm as the artillery caused dirt to fly up around them.

Vash turned on her and raised his hand into a peace sign. “This world is made of love and peace,” he replied and then adjusted his glasses. “I can’t help but save a damsel in distress.” He laughed and turned back towards the enemy.

“I can fight now; I don’t need to be saved.” She looked at her healing wound, and then back at the large bandit. “This guy is mine,” she shot the man a look, and raised a fist. “If you’re on our side, make sure no more bandits or cowboys come over here. This guy looks tough, and I don’t need any surprise attacks.”

Vash grinned and held up his revolver. “You got it.” He took off towards the buildings and took over as their backup. She couldn’t help but shake her head at him, he was unusually quirky.

She turned to her foe again, and began charging her inner ki. This was no zombie, or space mission, he was the real thing. “I’m gonna enjoy kicking your ass.” She smiled devilishly. Alex sidled up to her, eyeing her in surprise.

“You’re okay?” He asked, looking at the partially healed wound. “I tried to get here as fast as I could.” His breathing was heavy, but she smiled lightly at him.

“Today has been okay,” she said it again and he looked at her curiously. “I’m going to be okay, let’s do this.” She held up both hands and ran towards the bandit; he was not hollering and getting ready to unleash another attack on them. It was two against one, and she had an Ace up her sleeve.

[Kill Town]

“Alright,” Alexander Trafford whispered to his female partner after they had bunkered down behind a small rock wall overlooking the gun-toting madman standing on the bridge. “I liked the whole dramatic speech you gave back there, but unless we adjust our gameplan, we’re as good as dead.”

The bandit fired off another slug from his shotgun, the blast forcing the heads of the Kill Town competitors to sink lower, readjusting so that they weren’t penetrated by cold steel. The gunman laughed maniacally, firing a few more rounds into the air in apparent celebration. Whoever the bandit was, the pair thought individually, he was fucking crazy. Unfortunately, his insanity didn’t make his aim suffer any. In fact, even though neither of them wanted to admit it, his aim was probably better than theirs. That, coupled with the man’s apparently inhuman response time, made the prospect of winning seem incredibly bleak.

“What, you mean you don’t like the all-out offensive approach?” Victoria grinned. “Okay, sure, I know he caught me by surprise before, but that bandit has the upper hand, here.”

“You seem to be forgetting that I can stop bullets,” Trafford made a waving motion with his hand. “Remember? We went over this before.”

“I know, but the bastard fucking shot me,” Victoria said. “I want to be the one who kills him.”

“Fair enough,” the man in the suit shrugged. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you what: I’ll distract him while you go in for the kill. Sound good?”

“I suppose that will do,” the bounty hunter hated the thought of such a cheap victory, but at that point, she knew that she had to take what she was given. They both nodded, and with little more to go off of concerning the symmetry that their teamwork had gained, the plan began to unfold. Trafford burst from his position, vaulting over the small wall that he had been hiding behind. As the bandit’s eyes lit up upon spotting his new target, Victoria took the stealthier approach, rolling around the ledge and attempting a wider angle, trying a wide enough angle to escape her foe’s notice.

“Got you, you little rat!” the gunman shouted as he gripped the trigger of his shotgun, aiming the barrel down at the psychokinetic. The buck shot left the weapon, and although it happened in almost the blink of an eye, Trafford managed to stop the round mid-air, holding an arm out for added effect. Grunting, the bandit fired a few more rounds at the man, but they all fell short like the first one. The situation seemed to play right into Alexander’s hands, but the smugness on his face melted away upon Victoria’s sudden gasp.

While certainly capable, the bounty hunter allowed her focus to be solely placed on her enemy, creating blind spots in her awareness that had not been there before. As she readied her shot, a hand reached around her head and covered her mouth. Before she knew it, a revolver was pointed at her temple.

“It’s about time you dumbasses showed up!” the bandit leader shouted. “Go ahead and kill her, if you want to.”

“Victoria!” Trafford whipped his vision over towards his companion just as the gunman fired off another shot. As his focus shifted, the bullets previously suspended in mid-air fell to the ground, narrowly missing another shot as it spiraled over them. Before he could return to the matter at hand, the shot hit him square in the chest, knocking him off his feet and onto his back.

“No!” the female bounty hunter screamed and delivered an elbow to the henchman’s stomach, making sure that her head was clear of the barrel of his gun. As the man sank to the ground, the bandit quickly turned his weapon on Victoria, but she had other plans. Leaping off the ledge and into the river below, she make too herself too difficult a target. She found herself suddenly surrounded by water, but she managed to maintain enough focus to lift her gun and point it not at the man, but the ropes that supported it. A single bullet tore through the rope, and buckled the entire bridge. The bandit lost his footing and sank like an anchor, crashing into the water below.

“I…I can’t swim!” the bandit cried out, struggling to stay afloat. Finally, his muscles gave out, and soon, he could no longer be seen. “Bury…me…with…my…money…”

Had this all been real life, and if his body hadn’t been lost to the water, Victoria might have considered granting his request. As it stood, however, all she could do was exit through the portal that opened next to her.

Winner: Victoria

Alexander Trafford will wake up in the prison.

A really good read from both of you.