A collab with RimaInazays, whom I have finally persuaded to get an account on Protag. I apologize in advance for the terrible character naming. For my character, at least.
Steve walks warily down the street, the brim pulled way down low,
Ain't no sound but the sound of his feet, machine-gun ready to go,
Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this, are you hangin' on the edge of your seat?
Out of the doorway, the bullets rip, to the sound of-
The music player stopped. Jack looked at the bartender and frowned. He was a huge fan of classical music. So what if most people stopped listening to that song for two hundred years?
The bartender smiled apologetically. "Sorry, music player failure. That's been happening lately."
Jack sighed. This was one of the better places to get a drink on Serenity's capital. Although he never actually drank any alchohol here. This was just the place where he got jobs.
Serenity. He liked this planet. Safer than some of the other places he'd been to, though the streets were always crowded with merchants from other worlds. He heard that they named the planet after an old, really popular pre-colony show that was made back on Earth, but he didn't really believe that.
"Wasn't that the one I bought for this place, Fred?" He asked the bartender.
"Yeah," Fred replied, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "But there was a gang a few weeks ago, and..." his voice trailed off.
"Safe, beautiful and friendly city my foot," Jack said, referencing the failed advertising campaign that had become famous in Serenity. The Goverment had tried to improve tourism on the planets capital, and launched a large scale, expensive operation to do so.
The advertising flyers were now common enough on the planet to be used as toilet paper in some areas.
"Hey, sorry, and I really did appreciate the music player while it was here. How'd you get the money to buy it for us, anyway?" Fred asked, snapping Jack back into the conversation.
"Ah, you know, I have my ways. Savings and such."
The ways in question had been an assassination contract he had taken two years ago, for the CEO of Galactic Express, formerly one of the largest transportation companies in known space. Thirty five million credits. That's how much he was payed. And it was so easy. Not one of those fancy laser-sniper-rifle-from-the-rooftops things.
All he did was trail the man and his bodyguard to his apartment, fix a silencer on his weapon, and shoot them both. The CEO first, then the bodyguard. The bodyguard was an amateur. He was using one of those fancy railguns, with the targeting computer built in. While waiting that half a second for the computer to give him a firing solution, Jack shot him and ran off without a trace.
That's the problem with using railguns and coilguns, Jack remembered thinking at the time. Computers mess them up. A good gunpowder weapon like mine has everything you need. A bullet and a way to send that bullet flying towards the other guy. And people ask me why I use antiques.
With the money, he had lived pretty well for the past two years. With the CEO of Galactic Express gone, the company itself went bankrupt, and a whole lot of people lost their jobs. But Jack didn't really care.
What he did care about, however, was the fact that there haven't been any jobs for him the past few months. He was getting bored. Sure, the GalEx money would last a decade or two, but where was the thrill in that?
And then he noticed that the girl sitting next to him was asking a question.
"Know anyone who can shoot a gun?" the girl asked.