Disclaimer: Type-Moon owns Fate, I own my OC, bla bla bla. I'm still a lazy worthless son of a gun for taking so long to update. It's safe to assume updates will happen once a month at the very end of a month. At least until I step up my game. Also, this chapter ends on a small cliffhanger. Don't hate me too much.
Chapter 13- Decisions and Dunces
Nero's POV
My fists were still clenched in anger. Sweat was across my brow. I could still feel the heat in my face. My head was pounding with a migraine.
That encounter had been less than pleasant.
Praetor. The fact that he knew was infuriating to me. I do not know why. Was it because I did not want him to know? Or was it because I had wanted to tell him myself?
I bit my lower lip in frustration. The blood tasted salty in my mouth.
I wanted him to earn that trust. At one point he had seemed capable of doing so. He was not a bad man. I did not see the devil that he did. The fact that he saw himself as such raised a lot of questions.
His identity being one of them.
He had just revealed that for a while he has known my complete history, yet I knew nothing about his. It could not be good. Not with how he saw himself. Either that or he lied. That was possible. Though it did not seem to be the case. Perhaps he simple had gotten more pessimistic. It hardly mattered.
What did matter was the fact that he had given himself the qualities of the devil, yet these same qualities were not given to me. It brought new meaning to the song he had sung, and why he had chosen it.
I had thought it would prove something of him. A man that could sing, and in doing so chose to sing of sympathies for the devil was an odd man indeed. But, unlike the others, he did not simply see me as the Whore of Babylon. Instead he asked me to join forces with him despite his own flaws.
He did not feel a dualistic sense of morality like so many. The kind based on either black or white. He was not the type who would only care for either a comedy or tragedy, refusing to mingle them together into subgenres that lead to their own greatness.
There was beauty in this. In taking the good and the bad, to make something. For a tragedy is rather depressing without some comedy and filler. And a comedy is unstimulating and lacks plot without some form of tension or conflict.
Praetor seemed to be someone who would understand that.
He would have quickly worked with Rin, even though he knew her occupation. Her work as a terrorist. I despised rebellion, and because of this I disliked the thought of allying myself with her. However, Rin had proved to be an outstanding person. Her heart was kind even though she attempted to hide it with her personality.
Very few Masters would let an enemy Servant hang around them, especially when that Servant was lacking a Master themselves. She had done more than that, she had sheltered me. While it is fitting that she do so, I am an emperor after all, it was not something I had expected. To think, a rebel would be the most courteous.
I do not know if Praetor knew all of this about her in the beginning, but when he said she was too good to be in the war he revealed that he at least knew the type of person she was now.
Still, it was frustrating that he had figured out my identity without my knowledge. What is worse is he never made mention of it. According to him he'd learned around when we last met. He could have said something. The thought that my Master knew my identity yet wasn't going to abandon me would have probably changed my mind about leaving.
Did he care so little for my presence? Is he only coming back now because he needs my strength? Or was he just giving me space?
I had to question as to how wise Praetor was. I also had to think of his motives.
He could be playing me. Just like my mother.
This story about revenge on a child killer could be completely fabricated. Perhaps he simply thought of a reason to desire the Grail, and now he wants a Servant to help him get it. Or maybe he just got bored. That actually sounds more like him. He could try and use me as a means of amusement. Like a small child playing with a toy.
What was the most frustrating thing about our interaction would have to be the mention he made of my child. That was a memory I was trying to forget. He refused to let me live in my delusions! Which is why I question his wisdom. He comes across a mother who lost her child, and instead of avoiding the topic he brings it up as a means of reasoning with me.
A manner of manipulating me. Which is why I had to watch how much trust I placed into him. I had thought that I had gotten over Claudia's death. She had not been that old. She was still my child though. My only child. I was her mother. I could not protect her. I could not see her grow up in this world. She was taken from me!
And Praetor, he cruelly brought that up. He joked about it. I had to watch a man that was so apathetic he would casually jest to a mother about her dead daughter!
How could he do that?
My migraine worsened when I started to smell something smoldering.
Absentmindedly I had been digging and twisting my sword into the floor. The realization that in my current state I could cause even more damage to the room unintentionally made me pause in my contemplations. I took my blade out of the horrid carpet and started taking a few deep breaths in order to calm my nerves. Then I began to fix the few strands of hair that insisted in falling on my face. With that done, I felt a bit calmer.
Now, back to the matter at hand.
Praetor.
He was a sordid man. But one that did not judge others who could be considered the same. People like me. I fully recognize that my critics viewed me as a monster. Much like Praetor. However he does not see me as the same.
Could I manage to see him as something besides the shell of a human that he has become? Could I find more in him than this sociopathic maniac?
I think I can.
If he is telling the truth, right now he is fighting to avenge a child. That is not something the average sociopath would do. He has to have a motivation for living. Surely he must have a soul.
I need to find more on him. It is only fair. He had the audacity to pry into my past. As an emperor, it is my privilege to return the favor.
My head still has a migraine. I am still clenching my fists. But not in fury. I no longer need to hold back righteous anger. Now I clench my fists in anticipation.
Praetor has a lot to answer for.
I would give him a long lecture on intruding into my past, then I would question him.
First I needed to get out of here. This place is a mess. The maids could handle the cleanup. After all, they were getting paid to do so. It would be granting them an honor.
Before leaving the room I noticed something. In his haste, Praetor had forgotten the two briefcases he had carried into the room. The ones that held his money. For a moment I allowed the idea of spending it. However, as enticing as that idea was, it didn't seem like the right thing to do.
A small smile crept on my lips, and I sighed at the forgetfulness of Praetor. The only thing I could do in goodwill would be to return the briefcases to him. It seemed only fair, and it was not like I would be going out of my way. I was looking for him anyway.
He would owe me even more for this.
Grasping a briefcase in each hand I strolled out of the hotel without acknowledging the gaping expressions of its occupants. Their expressions did make me a bit happy inside.
Even at my worst, even at a time like this, my public still remained in awe of my presence.
Outside I came across Rin and Berserker. Rin was staring off into the distance ahead. Every once and a while she would scratch her head in confusion. Berserker was stupidly talking about her favorite color of all things.
It annoyed me that she liked red. That was my favorite. Only I could like it. How dare she insult the beauty of red?!
I rushed to them in a fit of anger, only to stop when Rin started gaping at me like the hotel occupants. "I can't believe his favorite color is pink of all things."
I raised my brow in confusion. "Pardon?"
She looked me over and ignored my question. "What happened to you?"
I looked down and noticed that my dress was in disarray. I probably allowed this in my anger. It would be good to avoid such fits in the future. There were even a few bullet holes in it. That was probably because of how Praetor attempted to avoid me. It only took a moment and I was in the exact same dress, albeit without the mess.
Rin blinked a bit before starting to nod. She looked like someone who was trying to look like she understood something she did not. "Where did Praetor go?"
Berserker was the one who pointed in the direction Rin had been staring. "To someplace quiet."
I just stared at her for a moment. "What does that even mean?"
She shrugged at me. "It's what he said."
I could only sigh at her and turn to Rin. "I am going to go find him."
She nodded at this. "It took you long enough."
I glanced at the hotel. "I apologize for the damage to your room. It was the fault of Praetor."
She grimaced when I mentioned her room being damaged. "It's ok. He'll pay for it." The way she said it made me think that she fully intended for him to pay back every bit he owed her.
I smiled at her.
Briefcase in hand, I offered a wave, and we parted ways. Now, off to find Praetor.
Guess who's back, back again. Dante. That's who. It's in his POV too.
What the hell was happening?
My brain was dancing in my head. And I don't even know what the hell that means.
The point is, I'm confused. Wouldn't you be pretty fucking confused if you'd learned that you weren't the age you thought you were? That meant I had years missing. Years that I had no idea as to what happened. Memories that didn't exist anymore.
Hell, maybe all my memories were just fake. They were starting to feel wrong. In the adrenaline rush that was escaping from the police and tracking down Saber I could avoid all these troubling worries. Now they were all popping into my paranoid little brain. Like maggots in a corpse. Slowly devouring the small semblance of sanity I had.
I have to find somewhere where I can just think. Luckily, I know just the place.
Just to be safe I take a few fake detours. It still doesn't take long before I'm there. An unimpressive one story building squished between a noodle shop on its left, and an electronics store on its right. My backup safe house.
Yes, I'm a paranoid fuck. Yes, Bush did 9/11.
Well, time to open the door and sit on my thinking chair. That way I can finally solve this riddle. Blue's Clues style.
I insert the key I kept in my wallet and open the door.
Before I even turned on the light I realized something was wrong. I wasn't alone.
"Turn the light on." A deep voice commanded me from the corner.
I obliged and the lights flickered on. Immediately I knew who I was dealing with. Two intimidating looking gentlemen. Standing right next to a coffee table. They both had suits on. I ruled out police on account of the expensive gold watches, rings, and chains they had on. That meant they were probably gang members sent to kill me.
It was probably Uragiri who sent them. Slimy fuck. Well, it's kind of funny that these guys probably have a 'giri', or duty, to Uragiri. Not only is he the least qualified to be actually giving orders, it's also amusing to think of it as a 'Giri giri'. It sounds funny if you say it aloud. Go ahead, do it. I dare you.
Ok fine, I'll admit it's not that funny.
But pretending to understand a culture you've been forced into assimilating to sure is. Note the sarcasm here. If the world could hear my thoughts a herd of weeaboos would charge me, katanas raised proud. Of course I would then proceed to utterly massacre them and later hunt down their body pillows. Just to be sure that there's nothing left that could ever possibly mourn their departure from the land of the living.
Anyway these two dipshits are standing around acting all menacing. Clearly they think they're tough shit. That kind of shit that is painful shitting out. The constipated shit that you just curse at.
Well, I'm about to curse at these two for being in my goddamn house. They better have at least brought a housewarming present, or else I'll be pissed. I address the one that seems to be the eldest. Mainly because I respect my elders.
I'm joking of course, it's because the other stupid shit is currently picking his nose and doesn't deserve the courtesy of me speaking to his dumb ass.
The old man has a few gray strands in his hair, which is slicked back with more oil than that involved in the Exxon Valdez spill. I bet if I dropped a match on him he'd be a great Molotov.
"You slimy fuck. Why are you in my damn house?"
This is how gangsters must be talked to. Don't question it. Also, don't practice it. Or at least sign a waiver before you do.
The old guy, we'll call him Hedorah because he's essentially just a filthy slime, goes and takes a long moment to perfectly build up the right amount of phlegm. I can tell this is what he's doing because he's standing their making loud noises. Noises you'd hear during the mating of walruses.
He then proceeds to cough it all up on my floor.
All of his walrus sex mucous lands right on my carpet.
Of the house I just got in.
After pondering that my entire existence might be a lie.
And just having to verbally and physically battle Saber.
It's safe to say that their sudden appearance and lack of respect for the building which I bought causes me to be a bit upset.
By this I mean I open fire almost immediately upon them. The bullets impact their chests. They fall, and the lack of blood tells me they probably were wearing bulletproof vests.
Walking over to their downed forms confirms this. Probably the only thing these guys have down right so far. The first one I notice is Hedorah. He's breathing in heavily, but he's still alive. Courtesy of aforementioned vest strapped to his torso. Since he's closest to me I rationalize that I'd be able to respond to his actions first and point my gun, the Pico, at his partner's form instead of his.
Right now Hedorah's trying desperately to reach into his jacket without being too obvious. He fails miserable at his stealthy attempts. Which is unsurprising considering these guys aren't really on a Sam Fisher or Agent 47 level in regards to being sneaky.
I assume that he's going for a gun and respond by stomping hard on his hand and chest. He grunts in pain and looks at me in fury. I just wiggle my index finger back in forth in a display of disproval. Then I reach into his jacket and pull out his gun, a Colt M1911. Pretty predictable.
His partner, who I just now noticed has the moustache of a creepy pedophile, tries the same stealth draw that Hedorah attempted. I respond a bit more aggressively. By this I mean I just shoot his right foot. There's a loud scream from him.
Hedorah attempts to get up, which results in me shooting him in his left foot, and by the end of it I have two pathetic and wounded hitmen groveling on my carpet in pain. I reach across Hedorah and into the jacket of his partner. He pitifully attempts at swatting my hand away with a series of slaps, to which I look at him like he's an idiot. Which he is.
I pull out the gun he was going for. A revolver that I recognize as a Nagant M1895. Essentially the gun a hipster would use if they'd just became a hitman.
The only words I can think of are, "You know, you can put a suppressor on that?"
He just smiles with his pitiful moustache. "Yeah, I know."
Then he goes for something inside his jacket again. I point the Pico at him so he gets the idea that he shouldn't do that. Instead I reach into his jacket for him and pull out a cheap suppressor.
"Well, obviously you don't know how these things work. You put the suppressor on the gun before attempting to shoot the gun. You don't go into the target's house and then attempt to suppress it while the target is pointing his gun at you. Clearly you didn't go to a proper hitman training camp."
Moustache man, we'll call him Dirty Sanchez for reasons, replies with the dumbest thing I've heard in a while. "There's a hitman training camp?"
Thankfully Hedorah has some sense with how he answers him. "No you fuckin idiot! He's just screwing with you."
I give him a nod of approval.
He flicks me off.
I kick him in his wounded foot and he starts crying.
This makes me want to take my nod of approval back. I deserve a refund for showing the guy any semblance of respect.
All I can do is sigh at these two. "How much did they offer to pay you to kill me?"
Hedorah only sniffles a bit, so Sanchez is the one that answers. "100,000 yen."
This insults me a bit. "That's it? That's all my death is worth to them?"
Sanchez just shrugs. It makes me facepalm. "Well, the lack of reward explains why two amateurs like you took the job."
Hedorah makes a weird noise that sounds like something you'd hear a mentally handicapped dolphin utter. I can only assume it was his attempt at defending his honor. I briefly consider paying them the 100,000 yen. It'd be like donating to charity with how sad these two are.
It was at that moment that I realized I'd forgotten the briefcases which held most of my finances. This caused me to groan at my own idiocy. My two 'guests' heard the groan and tried to make conversation.
"What's wrong? You ok?" It was strange that the two hitmen that had wanted to kill me were now asking if I was alright. Then again, I suppose it was stranger that I was thinking about paying them to get them off my back.
I pulled out my wallet and fished out a few ten thousand yen notes. Then I tossed the bills at the two wounded men, who scrambled to grab them. "There. That's compensation for the guns. And for shooting you."
This caused them to gasp in confusion at me.
"Close your damn mouths. You'll catch flies leaving them open like that."
"Why are you paying us?" Hedorah finally managed to come up with a coherent sentence.
"I would have given you what Uragiri was going to pay you if I had it. I don't like owing people things. I'm taking your guns, I have to give you something for them or else I'll be in debt to you."
Both of them gawked at me. "How'd you know Uragiri hired us?"
I laughed at this. "Doesn't take a rocket scientist. I just figured it was the most recent person I've pissed off. Speaking of which." I drew the Glock I'd taken from the police. They cower on the floor, thinking I'm going to shoot them again.
Instead I toss the gun to them. "It's not loaded. I ran out of bullets for it. That reminds me. Got any spare magazines?" I hold out my hand like a kid asking for his allowance.
They looked at me like I was crazy. Sanchez spoke up. What he says doesn't surprise me. Which says a lot about how I view him. "What, like a Playboy?"
I just groaned in annoyance. "No, dipshit. Magazines for the 1911. Or else any spare bullets for your revolver."
He slowly reaches into his jacket to show he's not trying something. Then he tosses me a small box of ammunition. Fourteen of the strange 7.62 mm Nagant cartridges that his weird little gun fires. I'm a bit surprised that they're not the commercially loaded ammunition, and instead it's a box of the original military grade stuff. At least it's not going to be completely useless.
"What are you some type of collector?"
He just shrugs. "It was my granddad's gun."
I stare at him for a moment. I have a vague suspicion that this is the guy's first contract. He's a virgin in the world of hitmen. For some reason I'm proud that I'm the guy's first time. I popped his contract killing cherry. Goddamn that sounds so wrong now that I think about it.
I glance at Hedorah. "What about you?"
He grunts and then tosses a few magazines of the 1911's .45 ACP. A round that I will take full advantage of. That sounds strange too. Where the hell is my mind at?
I offer them a nod of thanks and then gesture to the Glock. "I stole it from some cop I shot. Keep that in mind, and avoid getting caught with it."
"What's this for?" Sanchez speaks up.
"Protection. Uragiri's going to want you both dead if he hears you didn't kill me." They visibly shudder at this. "I'd suggest getting some ammo for it. Or else sell it to get something better. Remember it's a cop gun though, so sell it to someone who doesn't care about that." They both nod. At least they listen to me. "Sell or keep. It's your choice in the end."
They continued staring at me. I walked over to the house's bathroom and went through the medicine cabinet. I came back with a bottle of painkillers and a few syringes of morphine. Ignoring their complaints I injected the morphine into them. Then I handed them the painkillers.
"That'll dull the pain for now. Take these pills when it flares up. Go to a doctor or a hospital to get patched up."
More staring. They were like little kids who were at the zoo for the first time. I must seem like some foreign object to them. Something that's incomprehensible. I can only imagine as to what would have happened had these guys tried to kill one of the more cold-blooded members of society.
"Stop staring at me. I'm not an alien." They just blinked. I sighed. "I'd fix you up here, but I don't really have the patience right now. Don't bleed all over my house. Just take this shit and get the hell out."
They both shared a look. I pointed the Pico at them for emphasis. That got the point across their addled brains and they managed to get up and limp out of my house. Cash and drugs in hand. I heard a faint pair of 'thanks' as they stumbled down the street.
Bastards forgot to close the door. I did it for them.
Then I got to work on cleaning up the small pools of blood that had formed where they were laying on my floor. It was a bitch to clean. After doing so I lit a cigarette and sat down on the only couch in the house, my two new guns laid next to me. Cheap suppressor and all.
This house was a small place. Smaller than the other one. It wasn't my teacher's. It was property I'd bought myself. The front room where I'd had my 'battle' with those two 'hitmen' only consisted of a coffee table, the couch I was currently sitting at, a lamp, and an armchair. There was a small stove/oven combination in the corner. Along with a sink, and a fridge/freezer combination.
The only bathroom was off to the side. It had the basics. Cabinet, sink, toilet, shower. Nothing fancy. The bedroom was across from the bathroom. It only had a queen sized bed and a dresser. There was a storage room on the other side of the front room I was in. Not really anything noteworthy in there. Just a bunch of junk. A few metal folding chairs, old files and books, a few empty cardboard boxes.
This house was mostly identical to the other one. Except it only had one floor and lacked a garage. The only reason this house was mine was because I'd always believed in the importance of a backup plan. With how things turned out it seems my paranoia ended up paying off for once.
I exhaled a cloud of smoke and started to reflect on all that had happened.
Instead of having to deal with John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson I got a duo of amateurs that were complete morons. The only thing that they did right was buy a pair of bulletproof vests. Even that wasn't foolproof. If I'd shot them with the right type of round they would have ended up dead all the same. They were lucky I only had a .380.
I glanced at the four spent casings that were on the carpet. I took the last few spare bullets I had and loaded them into the Pico's magazine. Which meant I only had a few shots left before it'd be a paperweight like the Glock. Unless I wanted to try and find some dealer who'd sell to me after all that happened.
I could of course try my luck at projecting bullets. It seemed like I was in better shape after Plus did whatever the hell she did. Maybe I was just an idiot and hadn't really been in that bad of shape. Couldn't exactly trust Rin completely. She wasn't as much of a greenhorn in magic as I was, but I wasn't exactly talking to a distinguished veteran of the Clock Tower.
Speaking of which, what the hell were they up to? You'd think that with all the shit I was doing they would have sent someone to kick my ass. If not them the Church would have done it. I shiver a bit at the thought of the Church getting involved. There was a slim chance that the two big factions that had a role in this thought I wasn't being too showy. That was a good thing. Or else maybe they were tied up at the moment. A Dead Apostle or two running around would probably turn their attention away from little old me.
Regardless, I had better things to worry about. Like what the hell was wrong with my head. I had to hurry up and sort through my own thoughts to find the truth.
Apparently I was twenty-five going on twenty-six. It could be possible that I'd simply forgotten. It'd be understandable with the amount of fake aliases I had. Or else maybe the police were the ones who were mistaken. I couldn't exactly ask them now. Maybe I should have thought things through before breaking out in a hail of bullets.
If only there was someone who knew something about me.
My teacher was dead.
Uragiri knew little, he was just a contact I'd met from a few odd jobs. Legal jobs too. Things like picking up packages he was too lazy to get. Or doing his grocery shopping of all things. Moron would have me drop them off at a 'secured' location for his men to pick up. It wasn't hard to find out who he was. I was doing his daily chores.
The hilarious part about all of this was the guy probably thought I was some super sleuth. Or that I at least was a serious contender in the information business. I only knew about his mistress because I actually met the girl. She was a ditsy thing, and had heard I helped out Uragiri from one of his thugs. I ended up having to go lingerie shopping with her. Nowhere near as exciting as it sounds.
Other than all the boring stuff, there were a few cases in which Uragiri had me frame someone he had a problem with. It was always a guy from a similar background as him. That background being Yakuza in this case. His connections were how he paid me. Information was worth more than cash.
My relationship with Jake was much the same. Though Jake was much more trustworthy. Our relationship was also older. He was a close friend of my teacher's. That could mean he knew something. Though it was doubtful. The guy had been surprised I'd even existed. He was a military friend, and as such he didn't know anything about my teacher's life after the military. They'd both parted ways after they left the service.
Jake had ended up joining some CIA style of work. I'd only learned about him after my teacher's disappearance. Didn't really have a need for him until now. He was less of a contact and more of that grumpy relative who'd send a card once a year during Christmas. I didn't even celebrate Christmas so it was always awkward replying to him.
I'd be drinking scotch or something, smoking a cigarette, and I'd hear the postman drive up on his scooter and deliver my mail. The first time it'd happened I'd threatened the postman with a gun. It goes without saying, but that was the last time he ever delivered my mail. The next guy they got had nerves of steel. I threatened him every time he showed up, and every time he'd look at me with a face that plainly said 'I'm all out of fucks to give.' It was rather admirable.
I never got mail besides that one letter. I'd always reply in a few sentences or less. Like I said it was awkward. I barely understood the concept of time and I'd always forget what day was what. Probably the main reason I didn't celebrate Christmas. It was just another day on the calendar I didn't have. Jake's letters at least let me know what one day of the 365 was.
In one of my replies I had complained about having to write. He responded the next year by giving me his phone number. That allowed for us to interact more. It was almost like I had some distant relative that I couldn't be bothered to visit. That grandmother that forgot your name but still calls you and repeats the same damn story a dozen times.
In conclusion, the two people that would normally be able to answer any question I needed answered were completely useless. Oh yeah, and one of them kind of wanted me dead. Which meant I had to use 'unique' methods.
One option was manipulating Tohsaka. She had to have some connections. Though it would be a long shot.
The idea that seemed the best choice involved Saber. I dreamed about her past. Perhaps she would have the same type of dreams. They'd just be about my past. It involved trusting her. More trust than I really wanted to give. But, it might be my only chance to know what the truth is. Even if I ran the risk of hearing her interpretation of the truth.
Sure, she'd already shown me that she was less than reliable when talking about the past, but it was worth the risk if it meant I could understand. My curiosity was getting the better of me. With that decided I can focus on the other issue.
Getting payback.
I plan on waiting for Saber for that. While it's possible that the culprit was a normal human, it's also entirely possible that it was a servant. That would explain Minus' death. It also made sense as to why they'd target them in the first place. The only thing that didn't make sense was their reasoning for framing me instead of just killing me.
If they managed to take out Minus, they could probably take me down as well without much of a struggle. I wasn't exactly a tank. But I could still prove to them that they made a mistake in letting me live. I had a goal. Whoever they were, whatever they were, it didn't matter. Even if Saber didn't help me I'd go after the ones responsible for this situation.
For revenge. For Minus and Plus, but mainly for myself.
I get up off the couch and walk over to the fridge. Opening it, I'm not surprised that it only has booze in it. No food. It's kind of sad honestly. A six pack of beer reminds me of the joke I made at the hotel. I've guzzled down two without even realizing it. It makes me feel a bit pathetic.
I lift my shirt up and glance at my body. What I saw disappointed me a bit. While I could still be referred to as lean, it was noticeably thicker around my stomach. I had to sigh at this. I'd expected that I'd eventually get the infamous 'beer belly'. It wasn't really noticeable now, but I could only assume that if, by some miracle, I made it to my forties and fifties I'd end up being part of the chub n' tuck lifestyle. Well, that would be the case if not for the glorious thing called magic.
Just to test things out I attempted to access my magic circuits. It worked better than I expected. Sure, I was a bit more tired than I used to be after doing it, but overall I felt good. Though not completely whole. I don't know what Plus did, but it certainly helped. Again, there was also the chance that she'd just been a placebo. Perhaps I had been fine all along.
But it doesn't matter now. It still felt like things were locked away for me. Almost like how in some video games certain skills were unavailable until you progressed further along.
While pondering this I almost choked on my fifth beer. The moment of uncomfortableness drove me out of my thoughts.
And that's right around where I heard it. The revving of a motorcycle's engine. Followed by the screeching of tires. I knocked back the beer, crushed the can with a needlessly reinforced hand, and dove behind the couch.
It wasn't a second too soon.
Bullets whizzed through the house, punching through the front door and the wall around it. A few ricocheted off the wall behinds me and randomly flew around the room. Some hit the couch. I could tell from the stuffing that flew around the room. The gunfire didn't last that long.
It felt like the gunman had emptied out a thirty round magazine. Though that was just an assumption on my part based on the amount of holes in front of me. My front wall and door had become Swiss cheese. I guessed that since he was on a vehicle it was probably compact.
A guy that was so reckless as to empty a mag into a house like this led me to the belief that he probably wasn't using an expensive or top of the line gun. It was probably an open-bolt he'd converted to full auto. Something like a Mini Uzi or a MAC-11. Maybe a TEC-9 if he was some depressed edgy kid looking for attention.
After processing all of this drivel I made one of the worst decisions in a situation like this. It was a decision influenced by alcohol and the anger I currently felt at being denied more alcohol. I scrambled off of the ground.
Grabbing the 1911 off of the bullet riddled couch, I rushed out the door. The dude who had been so kind as to install several new windows into my house was currently attempting to load a fresh magazine into his gun. He was seated upon a Kawasaki sport bike. It only took a quick glance to recognize his gun as a Micro Uzi. The version that was even smaller than the Mini. Eh, I was close enough.
The asshole looked up to see me standing in front of him with a very pissed off expression. He gifted me with an 'oh shit' face before turning and attempting to drive away. In his haste he actually managed to drop the Uzi. It collided with the pavement underneath him.
Refraining from wasting the time to facepalm at his stupidity, I raised the 1911 and took aim. The recoil from the gun was more than the Pico, but nothing compared to the Model 500. I watched, in what felt like slow motion, as the bullet flew right into his left butt cheek.
The shock of being hit caused him to lose balance and fall off his bike. The noise that came out of his mouth sounded like a cross between a cow being branded and a pig that had just been slaughtered. Basically it was PETA's worst nightmare. He rolled a few times before remaining still. The bike skidded to a stop a few feet away from him.
I calmly walked over to the Uzi. Picking it up off the ground I quickly checked it over. His idiocy didn't seem to damage it more than a few scratches. I felt a bit lucky. Three free guns, and all I had to do was properly school the morons that tried to kill me with them.
He'd managed to get the mag into the gun, but had jammed it in his moment of haste. I cleared the jam, but left the bolt open to avoid chambering a round. I even removed the magazine. Just to be safe. After carefully laying the gun down in front of my door I made my way to the motorcyclist.
He was groaning in agony as he firmly clasped his hands over the wound I'd given him. I glanced at him in the same manner a cat would look at a hurt mouse. Then I turned my attention to his bike. Walking to it revealed that, while I'd scratched the paint job, it was still fully functional.
Guess my loot would be rather abundant at the end of the day. I propped the bike up and wheeled it inside my house, finally propping it up against the wall.
After doing so I felt the need to take a break. The sixth and final beer was downed without much enthusiasm. I haphazardly tossed the can into a corner and made my way outside.
The guy was still groaning and literally clenching his butt cheeks. I walked over to him and lightly tapped the tip of my foot on his wound. He inhaled a sharp breath.
I chuckled. "I just tapped that ass." The joke was immature, and not that funny, but despite that (and the fact that he'd been shot) my assailant laughed.
So in order to further his merriment I brutally kicked him where he'd been shot. The laugh was silenced as he started screaming in pain. I kept chuckling. "I totally kicked your ass. Literally and figuratively."
He attempted to grab my foot. I aimed the 1911 at his head. It goes without saying that he stopped trying to grab me. I stopped chuckling. Then I shot him in his right butt cheek. He jumped from the impact.
"Have to make it even."
He tried in vain to get up. The pain kept him down. Along with my gun and foot. "You thought you would be the one to kill me? Huh Mr. Dullahan? You think I'll let you kill me?"
He didn't answer. I grabbed him by his collar and lifted him off the ground. "All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Now you're the third chuckle fuck to bother me. Come on Forrest Gump, LBJ wants to take a look at the wound on your buttocks."
Once again I have to thank King Keith for assisting me. He helped me fine-tune Nero's perspective, and added what it needed to feel more emotional. I should have added some ellipses or hyphens in order to show hesitation but I completely forgot to do so and also where I should add them. There's also the fact that my junior high English teacher would have killed me for doing so, but then again he would have done it had he known about my use of the parentheses. Mwahahaha, take that Mr. Wolfe, you can't keep my artistic creativity down. (Never let me say that again.)
Shout-out to SilverstormXD as well. I'll be frank with you. I assumed you were either the most enthusiastic person in the world (minus the Dos Equis) or else just drunk/high (possibly because of the Dos Equis). However after translating your reviews I came to the conclusion that you made a really valid point about Dante's powers. I'll be honest. I actually kind of forgot the whole 'lost power' thing and kind of went with the flow. We'll see where it goes and if I can reel it back in. All jokes aside, I got to show some gratitude to you for leaving all those reviews. It gave me a warm fuzzy feeling to see that I'd gone from 18 to 23 reviews in a day. Which is kind of pitiful and something I shouldn't have admitted. But screw it! I had a laugh so it's all good. So thank you for spending the time to review!
Of course I also have to thank all the others who reviewed. Tear, it's good to hear that the story's still funny at Chapter 5, let's hope it stays funny for the rest of it's life span. To the Guest, you're great too but next time sign in so I can give you a personal compliment and it feels like we've bonded. Plus you'll forever be remembered* in the annals of this fanfiction.
*No guarantee that this is true. I accept no responsibility for any disappointment that might be felt when this turns out not to be true.
I'm thinking about changing the story's rating to M for 'mwahahaha'. Just to be safe, there's a lot in this story that could already be considered more M than T. (T standing for 'Tyrannasaurus' of course.) I consider a T story to be around the same as Mr. T in terms of how far they're willing to go. An M story is a story that might be a bit too crude or violent for even Mr. T's tastes. I think Dante passed that mark somewhere in Chapter 2.
Should have wished you guys a Happy Thanksgiving last chapter, but I forgot I was updating the day before Thanksgiving so . . . . Happy extremely belated Thanksgiving! Enjoy the turkey that's already been fully digested and decomposed for a month. While I'm at it I'll wish you all a Merry Christmas. Again, it's a belated one, but at least I'm only off by a few days and not a month. Happy (Merry?) Kwanzaa too for any of you that celebrate it. I don't. Nor do I know much about it. But it's the only other holiday I can think of that happened in late December this year. (Hanukkah doesn't count this year. Next year it will.) I refuse to wish you all a 'Happy Holidays' because 'Murica that's why. Oh, yeah today's New Years too. So. That's cool too. Happy New Years. Please don't make me say anymore holiday greetings.