A budget Sci-Fi western I wrote ages ago. It's not a bad story but I do admit I have done better. I like the character I had created though. Very cool...
He walked with a heavy step on his right leg. His knee-length black over-coat swayed behind him like thick curtains in a breeze. His silver spiked spurs jingled and clinked behind his tall military style boots. His large, wide-brimmed, musketeer style hat was tipped forward and tilted over his right eye, while his left eye was a bright cyan blue. He was taller than most men yet slim in build but with thick, rock-hard muscles. Around his neck was a gold love-heart and beside it a spent bullet casing hanging on a thin platinum chain. His pants were dark grey and Khaki with pockets on both thighs which fit semi-tightly over his bulging leg muscles. On his chest was a simple black t-shirt. His hands looked rough, with a scar running from his wrist across the top of his palm on his right hand. Beneath the hat was a head of neck-length jet black hair in a wavy, unkempt style. His face was surprisingly soft and handsome, with a short nose and supple lips. Overall he could have the appearance of a gentleman when dressed sharply. Yet this man was rough, with a devil-may-care attitude, something was troubling him inside which may be why he choose his profession. He was a bounty hunter.
‘Ah, you must be Blake, Mr. Fairchild informed me of your services. We have an un-invited guest in town.' whispered the Barman as he poured Blake a glass of The Famous Grouse, vintage 2789 and added a few cubes of ice.
The Barman leaned in close to Blake and whispered ‘he's on the West side of town, out in the fields, calls himself The Executioner. He's hiding from the law.' He looked Blake up and down. ‘Hmm, I doubt if he will leave here alive.'
‘What weapons does he have?' asked Blake. He had a rough but clear voice.
‘A Tesla, modified to suit his... work. Triple the Power Cells, double the voltage, triple the distance. As well as an ebony scythe and two Magnum 2800's with a modified magazine barrel, it sucks energy out of the air to reload, so it has unlimited ammo. All his weapons have been stolen from the people he killed.' The Barman whispered starting to look a little anxious.
‘Hmm, any body protection?' John asked.
‘Just standard ballistic armour modified to electrocute anyone who touches it. You'll have to pick him off from a fair distance away. Speaking of weapons...'
He pulled a sturdy, silver, light-weight Sub-machine gun from under the bar table.'
‘This should help you, when I knew you were coming I got it for you to help take out this criminal. It's the latest Sten Sub-machine gun, the S-38 9mm. I went all the way down to quadrant 9 for it. A good friend of mine's a weapon maker, traditional Qualdok, still believes in the prophecies. ‘He orders the parts and puts it together himself and polishes it with silver, you know how the Qualdok's take pride in their work. These sub-machine guns were destined for the new King of Balrocha's royal guard, but the king and the royal guard were all murdered before they even got a chance to use them.'
‘How was the king murdered? Did they catch the culprit?' asked Blake as he picked up the Sten and examined it in awe.
‘No, but you will, the king spent an hour under rule until he was mysteriously electrocuted by a man in the crowd. Heh, three guesses who?' the barman asked rhetorically, leaning a little closer as a drunk Qualdok stopped drinking and looked up from the table next to them.
There was a strange noise and a flash of blue light out of the window of the pub.
‘That'll be him now. You'd better go soon, he's in town to pick off the Voltanian governor to try and start a war. We are all counting on you not to mess this up. Whatever you do, do not let him get away.' the barman suggested as Blake drained the last of his whiskey. Picking up the gun, he turned towards the door on his seat.
‘No-one gets away from me. He sounds like a bloody amateur assassin put out of work but continuing to murder for revenge. He should be no problem.' Blake Stood up and looked to the barman, ‘Don't expect me to return'
‘Good luck Blake' said the Barman.
He walked with a heavy step. His black over-coat waving briskly as he left the pub. His silver spurs jingled and clinked on the wooden floor. The Sten that he slung over his shoulder lightly knocked against his back as he stepped out onto the dust and sand covered ground with his hat tipped forward and leaning on one side to cover his right eye.
The double doors swung shut behind him and you could just see him swinging his leg over a large motorcycle with many different weapons stored in the side panels.
That was the last time that anyone saw Blake, in that town.
Some say he was killed, however, outlaws, assassins and criminals all over the universe are still disappearing, only to be found dead months later, and with no weapons. He has been sighted here and there across the galaxy but only for a second. A few days after the sighting another outlaw disappears. The legend of Blake "Hell man" Heller is one known throughout the universe. Some say he found the elixir of life lived forever, preventing assassinations and ending wars. The story of Blake is a mysterious and bloodstained tale, but is one never forgotten.