Summary: AU. No wings. In the near future, America is a place of destruction, where the law of the land is guns and power. Maximum "Quick Draw" Ride has the guns and the power. She's well known in the city she lives in, and feared as well. This is the life she's known since before the world had gone to hell, when she was just a kid. Fang is the leader of a crew of kids who all carry guns and steal to survive, though before the world was a land of destruction, he'd known a pleasant childhood. So what kinda shit goes down when these rogue teens meet? You can only read to find out.

Rated M 'cause I'm swear-happy and I'm afraid a T rating isn't strong enough.

"Hey, bitch, get down here and finish what you started!"

Maximum "Quick-Draw" Ride just smirked as she stood on a bridge 50-something feet above an empty road. Her hands twitched at her sides, but she forced them to stay there. Not yet, she told herself, wait for the stupid fuck to drop his guard.

"What the hell ya doin' up there? I'mma shoot if ya don't get yer pretty little ass down here so we can tango!" The dude was big, sure, but he posed no threat to Max. She was a damn good shot, and she was fast, too. Everyone was afraid of her. Anyone who wasn't was just plain stupid.

"Man," called Max nonchalantly, gripping the railing with two hands and leaning forward slightly, "you sure can talk the talk, can't ya, big guy? But the real question is, can you own up to that shit you're talkin'? I don't think so. You just look like a big cowardly dumbass to me, ya know that? Shoutin' all these big words but you're not gonna come the fuck up here and get me, are ya?"

Max knew these guys too well, swinging their shiny toys around and talking big to make themselves feel strong. Because in this country, having a gun supposedly meant you had power – but Max didn't necessarily agree with that. Just having the guns wasn't gonna get the job done – you had to have the balls and the skill to use them.

Max just so happened to have grown herself a pair of balls since this place had all gone to hell.

She also happened to know how to mess with these guys; challenge the power they held onto so dearly to make them ballistic. And when that happened they usually did something stupid.

The man shouted "Fuck you!" before running closer to the bridge and ducking behind a large blue cargo container. Max grinned wickedly as he began to shoot at her; no regular garden variety idiot with a gun could touch her. Who was this guy kidding, anyway?

Max easily dodged the man's bullets; actually, she barely had to move. This guy was an awful shot, his bullets bouncing off the railing in front of her while making small pinging noises. Max sighed and palmed her face.

"You're a real amateur, aren't ya?" she sneered, clearly amused.

"Who the hell are you callin' an amateur? I'll have you know I'm one of the best-"

In an instant Max had a gun in each hand. The prick hadn't happened to notice the symbol on the container – but Max did. She had an eye for detail. In this day and age you couldn't trust anything to protect you, not even a brick wall.

In a matter of seconds Max's shots rang out, and the big blue containers before her opponent lit up, engulfing him in an explosive, fiery tomb.

Poor idiot never knew what hit him.

"And that," Max said as she holstered her guns dramatically, old-Western style, "is why they call me Quick-Draw. Ya douche."