Chapter 2: Low-Key


        I was amazed at how people stood still. Right here, right now, a young woman is about to be raped and they just stand there. Stand there and watch. I could tell by the looks on some of the older men they wanted to help. One actually got up.


“Hey, you,” He said, “leave that young woman alone!”


I was amazed. He was an old man. A giant bald spot and white hair around it covering his head. Wearing dirty, from the shade, blue overalls. With a button down multicolored shirt. From what my brother taught me about colors and shades, it was plaid.


In no time at all, a tall fat man with short hair walked over. One of my little friend's muscles.


“Or what?” he said threateningly.


“Oh... I...,” The old man sat down, he looked so sad. So sad he had no power to actually stop it. He must've been sitting with his wife of god knows how many years. Big bushy white hair and a plaid jacket. She was scared. I don't think she wanted her husband to get involved. Somehow... I felt... something. Like an urge for nothing to happen to them. I felt sad at his sadness.


It's hard to believe this is about to happen. Hard to believe in a little bar like this, a little western style bar, someone is about to be raped and no one will stop him.

I could hear her screaming... but it's as if time slowed down as my heart continued to pound. I noticed everything. The little ripples in the glass with my whiskey, the nervous sweat on everyone's face. The tear slowly running down the old man's cheek falling onto the wooden floor. Everything is this bar is wood. But why do I notice this now? Am I trying to distract myself? To not look at the tragedy about to take place?


I couldn't help it—my eyes were fixed on him. Slowly unzipping his pants, moving closer to an already broken girl. It's hard to believe no one will do anything... it's hard to believe in such a small place a travesty like this will happen. ...It's hard to believe I'm already getting drawn into this shit.


I took a quick shot of the whiskey and slammed it down hard, so hard everyone looked at me. ...That's not like me, purposely drawing attention to myself.


“Hey, asshole,” I said, demanding his attention.


One of his goons stood up.


“What did you call me?!” He yelled, stupidly.


I had turned slightly to them, so they faced my side.


“Not you, dick wad,” I said, then slowly pointed to their leader, “...him.”


He zipped up and roughly threw Emma on the table.


“You must be new,” he said confidently, “because no one that lives here would be stupid enough to talk that way to a Marino.”


“I am new,” I said, spinning my stool and leaning back, resting my elbows on the counter as I continued to keep my head lowered, “thanks for noticing.”


He scoffed and smiled. “Boy, you MUST be stupid—threatening me and my... associates.”


“I could be stupid,” I replied, “or maybe you guys just don't seem like a threat to me.”


Emma picked her head up slightly. “Don't!” She cried out to me, but before she could continue, a hand came down and smashed her head back on the table. Her head started bleeding.


“Shut up, you whore,” The leader of the gang said, “If your friend wants some, he's welcome to all he can have. Boys.”


He called his goons to attack me. There were exactly seven. All wearing similar suits, with the biggest one that threatened the old man in the back. They all charged me.


One charged me, aiming to punch me while I was still in my seat. He was fast. Unbelievably fast. I jumped up, blinding him with my trench coat and grabbing his arm and under his rib cage. Flipping him over the counter as he landed on the other side. I heard a snap. I think I might have accidentally broken his arm.


“Oops,” I said sarcastically, “I think I might have broken something.”


I turned to look back at the rest of them, all having shocked expressions on their faces. Most likely due to the fact I reacted to someone so fast.


“You might wanna get him looked at.” I said, smiling, but keeping my eyes covered with my fedora.




He started growling and grinding his teeth in anger.


“Fine,” he said, “I'll let you in on the reason the Marino's rule this pathetic little town.”


The smile reappeared on his smug little face.  “Fire power.” he said, as he pointed his finger to the sky in triumph.


“Most of the weapons were destroyed to attempt to create peace after the war,” he tilted his head down, menacingly. “But let's just say we know this guy with an armory stocked with weapons! All the guns and bombs you can take!”


I was shocked. A guy with all that still in commission? That can't be good. I had a look of aggravation on my face, grinding my teeth slightly. Hasn't the war proven we're done with weapons and bloodshed? Do people never learn?


Before I knew it, he took out a pistol. Just a regular pistol. I watched him carefully with my eyes, watched his blood red aura circulate around him. But none was going into the weapon, thank god. I REALLY don't feel like dealing with an AC right now...


I parted my trench coat on the other side so they could see my sword as I lifted it. The strap was around my hip like a belt, but was moveable and long enough for it to allow the sword, still in the sheath, to reach my chest.


“A rifle?!” The big goon said, as they all looked stunned.


But no, this was no rifle. It's much more than that. It has a red wood handle that makes it look like a rifle. The complete shape and even the black trigger and a golden circle on the end, much like what you would see in any rifle. But, as I removed it from the sheath, I revealed that it was a sword. The blade itself started from where the barrel of the gun would be. It was thin, but it was extremely sharp.


They all had this look of relief on their faces that this was nothing more than a sword. ...Or so they knew of.


“Just a sword? A sword doesn't beat a gun. You really are stupid!” Their leader exclaimed in a triumphant tone.


He fired one bullet, clean at me. I may hate living with these eyes, but they do come in handy. Staring at it, I slowed time and saw the bullet rushing for me.

I picked up my sword using the adrenaline in my body to boost my speed. Blocking it, it made a clash sound and bounced off my blade, hitting my drink.


Everything grew silent. The chatter of the people in astonishment faded. The people judging who I was or calling me foolish all disappeared. All I saw was the tragic scene of good whiskey falling to the cold wooden floor.


I turned back, angrier than I was before. Angrier than I had ever been. You can rape the women. You can insult me. You can threaten the elderly, AND beat the young. But you spilling my drink? Now you've gone too far!


“You...,” I said, annoyed, “spilt my drink... I'll kill you for that!” I looked up in a furious rage at the utter travesty that had taken place not five feet away from me.

…My poor drink...



The other six charged at me, I ducked at the punch the next one threw, turned sharply while my knees remained bent and sliced him at the waste. Blood squirted out quickly and without pause. He fell, and died instantly. At the spot I cut him on, must've hit some internal organs. His death was painless.



I charged and jumped on the table. Jumping off and to the side, I sliced the next two. One got his head cut off, the other got cut in half. Both of them had blood that busted out like a fountain. Both died instantly. Both were painless. 


The next two charged me, one actually taking out a small pocket knife. As if that would do any good. I kicked the one in front directly in the face while spinning, making him spin and land on the other guy. As they looked at each other I dove to the side and stabbed both of them in the heart. Each instant, each painless.


As the pocket knife fell, I held onto the two corpses that had enough stiffness to lift me off the ground for a second and kicked the knife. It landed on the forehead of the big one. He jumped back in pain, but it only cut him slightly. Yet enough to stay in.


“Too shallow.” I said as I pulled my sword out of the two bodies.


I rushed forward to him, as he tried to punch me, I sliced up, cutting directly in between his knuckles, making him once again jump back in pain. I stabbed my sword in the ground and, using it as a kickstand, jumped off of it into the air.


I spun in the air, making a fist and falling down to the head of the monstrous giant.


“You won't be threatening anyone... anymore!” I yelled as I punched the knife stuck in his forehead, making it go deeper in his empty skull. 


He fell instantly, making a great big thud as he landed. Goddamn, how much this fat ass weigh? His death... was not so painless.


“So, you gonna get me that drink, and let the girl go?” I asked, demanding.


“Like fucking hell I will!” He shouted as he picked the gun back up and fired another shot.


I used my eyes again, as tiring as it becomes, it's better than being dead. I did a back flip to avoid the speeding bullet, but then I noticed it...

It was too late to stop it, it was already there.


The bullet hit... I could hear the liquid fly out... Splashing on the floor and covering the once pure wooden floor with a dark sin. It splashed like the ocean hitting the rocks on the beach. Or, at least how my brother had described it to me. Splashing and spreading as if it was liquid wild fire.


He hit... the bottle of whiskey on the shelf... and that was the last straw.


I stood there in silence and astonishment at how fast things can go from crying over spilt milk, to killing over spilt whiskey.


“...You son of a bitch,” I proclaimed, “I'll fucking end you.”


I grabbed the sword which, thanks to my back flip, was now right next to me. Convenience is handy.  I charged him as fast as I could as he unloaded the rest of the clip.


I blocked each one using my sword, and after reaching him, cut the barrel in half. Flipping the angle of the sword, I swung down, giving him a scar on his other cheek and slicing his suit open and tie off. He quickly fell to the floor, panicking, like the baby he is.


“Please,... please... let me go. I'm sorry,” he cried, “I'll never do it again, I promise.”


“I know you won't,” I replied as the end of my blade followed his neck as he crawled away, hitting the wooded padding in between his table, and the one next to him, “I know you won't, because you won't be alive to do it again.”


I raised my sword to the side of me, planning to slice him. But not kill him automatically, you see. His death... shall NOT be a painless one.


“My father... he will kill you for this...!” he said, as a desperate final threat. I scoffed and pulled my arm back further, but had a realization.


If his father is going to get revenge, this guy is obviously not in charge. Which means more people will buy from this said armory of weapons. And this town will still cower in fear over the Marino's control.


“Your father,” I said, “Is he the one getting these weapons?”


Once again, this jackass finds the tenacity to smile.


“Yes, yes he is,” he replied, once again, arrogantly confident, “and he will keep coming after you with all the artillery at his disposal.”


“...I see,” I said, “Okay, run. Run to him and tell him Van is coming for him. And when I get there, I'm killing all of you.” As I said that, I pressed my blade against his chin, raising his head. Then I let the blade fall.


He quickly got up as soon as I let my sword down and ran out of the bar, leaving  his one living goon to sit there in pain.


“I can't let more wars and fighting continue”, I thought, “after all, these people have had enough suffering.”


I stood there, with full attention from everyone in that bar. They were all staring at me. Were they stares of admiration, or of scorn? I could not tell. One question did plague my mind, however. For someone like me, the first rule of living is do not draw attention. Sitting there in the center of what felt like millions of astonished eyes, including those of Emma, I could only think:




“What the hell did I just do?” 







The End

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