Disclaimer: Fang the Sniper/Nack the Weasel © Sega . . . well didn't they technically scrap Fang? So does that mean he's up for grabs? Cuz if he is then I want him. Oh, yeah, sorry, back to the story.

Warning: Story contains violence, foul language, incredibly awkward situations, the use of alcohol and some stupidity

Chapter One

Stand the Fuck Still

-I don't know where to start. Maybe my dangerous job. No. How 'bout my crappy life? No, that's too boring of an intro. Damnit! I hate being the stupid narrator! Oh just screw it and go!-

'That's right, stand the fuck still.'

A sniper scope zoomed in slowly. Its crosshairs neatly lined up on a man's head a long distance away. Holding the sniper and laying on his stomach was a violet weasel, left eye closed tightly while right eye peered through the scope eagerly. He had been lying on his abdomen for four hours, his scope focused on the general area where his target would appear. After four grueling, mind numbing hours, the weasel just had to be pissed, who wouldn't? He hadn't eaten yet, his stomach was sore from lying on it for so long and he was starting to get really mad at the constant change in winds.

Despite the slight changes in wind speed, the weather was favorable. The sun was high in the sky along with a few stray clouds and a quaint breeze and reports were coming in, saying that the entire month was going to be filled with nothing but clear skies. The weasel scoffed as he remembered the cheeky news reporter report the weather with her awkward smile. He was never one for hope. For all he cared, he would rather have it rain or snow then stupid sunshine.

The violet weasel liked gloomy weather. Not because he was angsty or depressed, but because bad weather usually provided a lot more cover. He could blend the sound of gunshots along with the thunder, he could hide the flash with the lightning and his footsteps were easily unheard amongst the sound of rain. Too bad there was no rain or lightning. His chances of getting caught were higher, but did he care? Let's put it this way. He doesn't give a shit.

-Guess who I am. Oh, come on! There's only two options! I'm either the guy holding the gun, or the dumbass who's gonna have his entire day ruined. Come on! Guess!-

The target was roughly 2,400 meters away from the weasel. He was a human male wearing an expensive looking suit, around twenty, a smug grin on his face and his brown hair slicked back with gel. He was talking to some other meager employee about something, which quickly turned into an argument as the man started yelling. The man soon started to badger the meager employee with verbal threats and taunts, saying that he was just worthless employee. Instead of rising up to defend himself, the employee quivered in fear, not because of the man yelling at him, but the large men surrounding him.

Around the yelling businessman was an entourage of broad, buff men wearing black suits and frameless black sunglasses. Most people would feared the large men in black suits. They thought they resembled the very government which they loved and despised at the same time. Luckily they weren't though. Instead they were just buff men payed to wear expensive suits and stand around solely for the purpose of inspiring fear into other people. Did that tactic work against the weasel? Not at all.

-The guy who's surrounded by huge homosexuals who get a lousy pay is Mark Shizler. He's some uptight business owner who manages to make money off of other peoples' misery. You see, Mark here, is the head CEO of Shizler's Repo Company. That's right, he takes your shit when you don't have enough money to pay for it and he makes some sort of sadistic game out of it to. Hell, his company's trademark is 'We take your Shiz.' Pretty intimidating huh? He loves taking things and now he can do it legally, which is a real bitch to the people he's taking from. But luckily in a couple minutes he won't be doing it anymore, because his head is gonna come clean off.-

Three miles away, some deconstruction was going on. The workers compromised of humans and even Mobians worked together soundly, hooking up small pieces of C4 to the inner workings of an old, decrepit building. After decades of working for a numerous amounts of attendees, it was finally time for the building to go and get replaced with another, sturdier building. This was the basic cycle of things in some philosophers' eyes. Out with the old and in with the new was the name of the game these days and everyone had to admit to that. So in order for the building to be destroyed, it would have to be blown up.

But even the spectacular destruction of a building wouldn't go off without another good reason. Instead of just providing entertainment to the onlookers that watched its fiery demise, it would also provide for a loud enough noise to drown out the sound of a large fifty caliber sniper rifle. Sure, the weasel could've always put a silencer on the elongated sniper's muzzle, but that would decrease the range and make the shot a bit sloppy. The weasel didn't want that.

Even though he could remember countless times where he had barged into a room with guns-a-blazing, he didn't want this shot to be sloppy. The reason was simple, he was getting paid to make it a clean kill.

-Now that guy laying on his chest and aimin' the gun is me. Fang the 'Stand the Fuck Still' Sniper. Catchy name right? He's the guy wearing the cowboy hat and toting the large caliber sniper. Reason being my job pays to kill. What's that you say? Why get payed to kill? Because the pay is good and busting caps in people's face and or ass is fun, that's why. Get used to it, or get the fuck out.-

Fang the Sniper waited impatiently, an irritated grin on his face. In his mind he kept on repeating the time of the scheduled explosion like some sort of stupid song that he couldn't get out of his head. Shooting things in the head was fun, but waiting to shoot something in the head was boring. It was kind of like waiting for an extremely violent game to load up. It was tense, heart pounding and made him excited. His muscles tensed as the countdown began in his head, his crosshair focused on Mark who was still arguing.

'That's right asshole, Five.'

Down below with Mark, the human continued lashing out onto the helpless employee, his arms flailing around to emphasize his point.

'Four. . .'

A grin spread across Fang's face showing off his trademark single fang jutting out from his upper lips and pointing downwards.

'Three . . .'

Mark continued to yell angrily. "And that's why you're not head CEO, because you can't get your head out of your ass!"

'Two . . .'

CEO Mark Shizler just started laughing at the employee. "You know what? You. Are. Fir-"

Fang's grin widened as he squeezed the trigger.

'See you in hell.'

A large explosion went off in the distance as the building was destroyed from the inside. At the same time, Fang squeezed the trigger as a large caliber bullet shot out of his gun and sped towards the human CEO at lightning speed. Thankfully the sound of an explosion drowned out the sound of his shot. In the blink of an eye, the bullet covered a distance of roughly 2,400 meters and smashed right into Mark's head, the impact making it explode almost immediately, showering the bodyguards and the frightened in brain matter and blood.

-Time's up! That's right folks! I am Fang the 'Stand the Fuck Still' Sniper! I'm a professional killer, who loves his job! Pretty mother fuckin' awesome, right?-

Everything was precise. The explosion drowned out the sound of the shot. Fang was too far away from the bodyguards to trace the shot and now the weasel was going to get away with fifty thousand dollars in his pocket. Seconds after taking the shot, the weasel got to his feet and stretched his muscles. After lying on his stomach for four hours his chest had gotten sore and now his stomach was grumbling from starvation. Fang let out an aggravated sigh as he slung his sniper rifle over his shoulder and began walking away. The weasel then walked over to a round, aerobike sitting quietly on a patch of grass. Its shiny yellow pain with navy blue race stripe shined brightly in the sunlight and it definitely seemed clean.

Fang walked up to the round, yet cute looking bike and glided his hand across its cold metal. The weasel then retracted his hand and punched the bike angrily with a dull thud.

-You see, my bike looks cute. CUTE! I'm a heartless, cold blooded killer and I'm stuck with a round floating piece of crap! Sure it can catch up with a normal car. Sure it has saved my butt countless times, but its fucking cute! I'm not cute god damnit!-

The weasel hopped into his bulbous aerobike and withdrew a key his kept from one of the pouches strapped onto his belt. He then slid the key into the ignition and turned it, making the old engine within the bike sputter to life. After speeding out of the forest and onto the streets, Fang reached into the small glove box within the aerobike and withdrew a small dark violet cell phone. This was probably the best part of the job. Telling the contractor that the target was dead and getting the cash wired to his bank account. This made Fang feel good, knowing that he had killed someone and gotten money for it. It was like listening to a beautiful symphony, exciting and pleasing.

Fang quickly punched in a few number and held the phone to his ear as the ringing started. It rang once, then twice, once it rang for the third time Fang's patience was really starting to run out. After ringing for the fourth time, a clicked sounded on the other line as the person finally picked up the phone.

"Hello?" asked the other male voice casually.

"Geez what the fuck were you doing before you answered the phone? Smoking crack?" asked Fang agitatedly as he twisted the throttle on his aerobike to make it speed up even though there was no other vehicle on the street.

"Oh, it's you." stated the other man dismally. "You get the job done?" he asked, skipping Fang's question without another thought.

Fang scoffed. "No, of course not, I just wanted to call you so I can ask how your day is going," he said sarcastically. "Of course I got the fucking job done!" he then yelled.

"Okay! Okay." said as the man nervously. "Money's going out now, calm the hell down." he said, trying to ease Fang's anger.

"It better, or you'll find my foot so far up your ass that you'll be able to taste the leather." threatened Fang cruelly before ending the call.

-That might've been cruel, but it's necessary. People need to know that you should never mess with me or there will be consequences. It's happened before, so that's why I do it. Last time someone tried to scam me, they ended up in the hospital with no legs and his severed arm shoved up his own ass . . . don't ask me how I did that. I was pissed. Really, really pissed.-

Time went by and Fang had finally made it to his wonderful abode. Wonderful wouldn't really be a good description of the house though. Fang parked his aerobike in front of a small one story house in an old destroyed slum of a neighborhood. The paint on the house was peeling off slowly and almost all of the windows were broken due to vandalization. Weeds grew out of the dead, dried up grass and cracks covered the concrete. The houses around it weren't pretty either. All of the houses were equally as destroyed and useless, but some of them provided shelter to some junkies and people too last to go buy a real home.

He sighed, he would love to get a real flashy house, somewhere on Emerlad Coast or Apotos, Casinopolis would work to, but no. Instead, Fang had to choose a broken down piece of crap in a hellhole of a neighborhood because he had to remain hidden from the government. If he had purchased some expensive penthouse, G.U.N. would find him and arrest him. Fang wasn't good with technology so he couldn't come up with a good alias.

Fang jumped off of his aerobike wand walked towards the ruined house. He didn't need a key, he had a foot. The weasel quickly kicked the door open, but instead the force of the kick forcing it off its hinges and to the ground. Instead of worrying about it, Fang just tossed his sniper rifle and hat onto the old, dusty couch and walked into the kitchen to get something to eat.

-Even though I'm actually filthy rich, I'm forced to live in a broken down, shitty excuse for a house. Rarely can I buy some expensive Chinese food or buy some new clothe, because I'm afraid that the government might trace my credit card or have the security cameras trained on me. This is one of the reasons why I love killing government officials, I feel like I'm finally getting back at those bastards for making my life miserable.-

After taking out a cold half eaten burrito from the rusty old refrigerator Fang walked over to the living room, slumped into the couch, pushing the sniper rifle and hat onto the ground with a clatter, before dining. He then flipped on the TV to see what was happening around the world and he reveled in the fact that there was some news about him.

"Mark Shizler, head CEO of Shizler's Repo Company, has been sadly murdered today." said a white fox wearing a brown suit and black hair smiled at the camera as she sat behind a large desk with papers in hand. Fang could just tell that the papers didn't have anything written on them. "The police haven't released any more information on the murder, but there's a rumor going around that it may have been an assassination."

She continued to talk about the unfortunate death of Mark Shizler and how there wasn't enough evidence to pin it on anybody in specific. The weasel took solace in that information. It was just another day of killing, running and getting payed, that's really all he cared about. No mess ups, no evidence of him ever being at the crime scene, not even a speck of suspicion against him. In his mind, Fang chalked up another name on his list of people that he had killed. His large death toll didn't bother him though, Fang slept soundly at night. He had no nightmares, he had no real conscience that told him what was right and what was wrong, he was a cold hearted killer, good and evil were nothing to him. Instead, he just worked for whoever payed the most.

Soon after, the fox news reporter switched over to another story. The picture of a cocky blue hedgehog appeared next to her as she began rambling on about how he had saved someone yet again while Fang was out working. She continued on and on about how Sonic had saved some guy from a burning building. Fang didn't care much about the specifics though, he instead snarled angrily at the picture. The very sight of the hedgehog brought back some bad memories.

-Okay the cocky blue bastard of a hedgehog on the news is Sonic the hedgehog. The fastest god damn thing in the entire god damn world, also one of Mobius's greatest heroes. A couple years back I used to help his friends Team Chaotix and that red idiot, Knuckles as a detective. I betrayed the retards for money, they got pissed, I fought Sonic and I lost. How the hell am I supposed to shoot something faster than my god damn bullets! Anyways, I steer clear from that guy now, but I sometimes take jobs from that fat bastard of a doctor that he calls an enemy. Hell, without Egghead, I wouldn't be able to afford my new weapons.-

Fang then began to flip through the channels, finding absolutely nothing to watch. Hours passed by, still nothing to watch, his burrito slowly disappeared into his stomach and into his digestive track, while he slowly faded into the realm of sleep. Instead of drifting off into that placid state of relaxation and rest, his phone went off loudly. The weasel jolted back and shut his eyes tightly as he gripped his head in irritation. He then grabbed his dark purple phone and held it to his ear.

"This better be fucking important!" he yelled into the receiver angrily.

"Heh, good to see you haven't changed." said a hearty, yet familiar voice on the other end.

The weasel's gray eyes shot open at the voice, remembering the owner clearly. He quickly shot up into a sitting position, knowing that this person would only call him for some really big deals.

"Eggman, you've got a job?" asked the weasel slyly as he put his free hand behind his head.

The doctor laughed at the question, but he knew it had good intentions. "Do I have a job for you? Oh I've got one alright," said the doctor happily. "And this one is going to be a challenge."

Fang got up and grabbed his hat before putting it on. In his mind he was wondering how much the obese doctor was going to offer him. Usually it was well over one million. But the jobs were never easy. Get rid of this government official there, transport this to here, destroy this power plant, kill that guy. All of the missions given to him by Eggman were never simple, but luckily none of them had anything to do with Sonic the hedgehog.

"Alright then Eggy, what do I have to shoot, maim or destroy this time?" asked the weasel carelessly.

"In time Fang, in time. Just get to this location and I'll tell you the rest, get there fast enough and I might give you enough money to buy a new vehicle." said the doctor with a chuckle before hanging up.

The small purple phone then chimed as it received a text message. Fang opened it to find an address and he knew that that would be his next location. He sighed agitatedly before walking over to a small door within the house. He opened the door and was greeted with a dimly lit room filled with guns all shapes and sizes. On the shelf next to the door were two pistols laying there with six cartridges of ammunition on both sides. The weasel grabbed the two guns and holstered on his left and right hip before slowly placing the cartridges in the pouches around his waist. Before the weasel could leave, he had one more weapon to retrieve. He walked over to the far end of the room and looked down on his most prized possession.

In front of him lay a shiny silver Colt .44 Magnum Revolver. Its platinum stainless steel finish shined brightly even in the dim light and the power it had was quite favorable for a handgun. When Fang was still working with the Chaotix he used to use an old cork gun because he wanted to be non-lethal. After becoming a merc however, things started to change and in order to survive, Fang had to bring in some real guns. In order to cherish the old western style of his previous gun, Fang purchased this beauty of a weapon. Even though it wasn't as robust as some other antique western six shooter, it still had that feel and theme, which made Fang feel good.

The weasel smiled before picking the gun up and sliding it into the holster on his back. He brought the pistol for reassurance even though he already carried two other weapons. Working as a mercenary was tough, and it payed off to be prepared for anything. Fang then continued outside of his house and onto his small aerobike before proceeding to the destination which Eggman had sent to him.

Within the weasel's mind he was coming up with rough estimates on how much money Eggman would give him for the job. He also remembered the cars and motorcycles he had seen around Station Square and he was wondering which he should buy. Fang put those thoughts behind him though as he continued to drive towards his location. All he cared about was the job and how he would complete it. It's all about the money, the guns and getting out alive.

-So this is me, Fang the Sniper, a lowly thug who gets his kicks out of shooting people. I don't have to tell you that my life sucks, or the fact that I'm a bad person, because that's pretty damn obvious at this point. But that's not all, oh no, we are far from being done. Because here's the mother fucking kicker. In this story . . . I'm supposed to be the fucking hero.-

A/N: Okay so starting off with a different story. I give thanks to Blue Kaous's story 'Fuel' for giving me a bit of motivation to make this story (read 'Fuel' it's another Fang based story!)

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