Cinnigis Kaylor the bounty hunter didn't stay down long.

Ever.

And certainly not by the man he was hunting, that annoying Michael Morano. And that bitch friend of his, Cinnigis thought as he quickly rubbed the spot where she had hit him with the energy baton. Getting up, he once again reared his XX-Mark laser gun, and ran out the police department after Michael.

By now, a large crowd had gathered around that station, gazing in shock at the wreck. When Cinnigis stepped out carrying his gun, they all screamed and ran away from him, falling and tripping over each other. It made the man laugh at how puny and insignificant they all were. When all else fails, fear prevails, the Fedrellon thought with a smirk. Standing up tall, Cinnigis peered over all their heads, searching for his bounty and his friend. It didn't take long. One of the things that always made Michael easy to find in a crowd was the man's unique red hair. Very few humans had it. As soon as Cinnigis saw the top of his curly hair, he knew exactly what direction to go, and started down Market Street, past the dozens of screaming people; past the bar where he had been drinking when he saw Michael standing inside the police station. Out of the corner of his eye, Cinnigis saw another blue-and-red jacketed cop run out from the crowd, gun drawn. He dubbed the man as an amateur, especially after he just started firing away without thinking. Cinnigis simply ducked, took aim, and fired a second later. The Tunesean cop screamed in terror as the laser blew his upper body to shreds of skin and blood. The gutted cop was thrown a meter in recoil, and landed in a clump, his wine-red blood staining the ground under his flight path. Cinnigis calmly rose from his knees, and started away at a run towards Michael's direction.

He didn't get far before more retaliation came, though; this time it was the civilian crowds, the ones who were supposed to be running. A majority of the men and a small group of women charged towards him, arms ready open and ready to try and restrain him. Cinnigis almost laughed at how pathetic and stupid these people were. He armed his gun again. Once they saw him doing that, most of everybody skidded to a halt and started running back in the opposite direction. Cinnigis just grinned and squeezed the trigger, then twirled in place, letting the laser circle the open space. At least a dozen were bloodily cut down, with more injured, some very severely. He then changed the gun's setting, and a second ring of grenades secured itself over the laser shaft. Pointing the gun into the air, Cinnigis fired another rack of six grenades into the air. He then ran farther down the street past the retreating crowd, as the bombs descended onto the crowd and exploded, sending bodies and then body parts flying around Market Street. Cinnigis reset the gun back to the laser.

Stopping at an fork in the road, Cinnigis scanned both directions for any sign of his bounty. That inconvenience with the crowd had cost him more time than he wanted. The bounty was no where in sight amongst the running crowds. Frustrated, Cinnigis activated his tiny torso jetpack, and let it guide him off the ground, giving him a better view of each direction from up high in the air.

And there he was–again easy to find due to his red hair–down the right fork.

Cinnigis smirked and powered down his jetpack, letting himself down easy. Once again, the crowd occupied the road, all running like a ripple in water. They were still in the way though. So Cinnigis brought his gun back up. "Move!" he shouted, and squeezed the trigger. The blast went deep into the crowd, shearing one man and child to pieces, and clearing a path down the street. He didn't waste anytime, charging down the road after them.

--

Michael pointed Clara to a shop at the end of the row, and they both ran towards into, both anxious to get out of the crowd, as it was hard to move with it. The shop—or rather the tavern—was completely empty. Not even the owner or any of the workers were there. Some chairs were turned over, tables knocked down, and there were spilled drinks and broken glasses everywhere. A lone, abandoned automobile was parked out the back entrance.

"Watch your step," Michael uselessly cautioned.

Clara noticed that the tavern had a sea theme. The place was decorated sea food and amphibians native to Sudia as well as other Tunesean planets. Miniature models of boats and yachts decorated the bar and the tables, with fish nets of all sorts hanging on some of the walls. There was also what appeared to be a champion harpoon gun in a wall case behind the bar. Clara pointed it out to Michael. "Get that," she told him. "Your better at using guns than I am, I'm sure," she said with dry humor.

Michael went back to the entrance and peered down the street. "No. Guns don't work against him for some reason. I've tried it a million times."

Clara looked at his face as he stared out the door at what might of been Cinnigis. And as she did, the reality of what had happened in the past half-an-hour came back to her. All at once, the memories came back to her: her beloved husband lying gutted on her living room couch, seeing the weird looks people gave her as she passed through the Market Street crowd, crying, her wedding ring–the only connection she had left with Lionel–on Cinnigis's finger. It didn't take her long to realize the one sole factor that connected all the tragic events; all the crying, all the running, and all the pain.

Michael.

Clara could never remember what happened in the next few moments, only the anger building up in her system, and Michael shouting "Clara, what are you doing?!" When she snapped back to reality, she found herself having Michael pinned against the door jam, hands gripping his throat, nails digging into the back of his neck. What am I doing? She thought. But she tuned that thought out, letting every bit of her anger seep out. "He's after you isn't he?"

"Clara–!," he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes, trying furiously to fight her off.

"He's a bounty hunter! Of course he's after you!" she half-shouted into his face.

"Please, I didn't–!"

"Why wouldn't he be? You're number fifteen after all!"

"No–!"

"You said–you said–you said they wouldn't find you, that they'd never figure it out! So much for that!"

He gritted his teeth again and finally managed to get a good grip on her hands, able to pull her nails out of his neck, but not release her grip on his throat. "I'm sorry about Lionel," he said in a raspy voice. "I really am—!"

"Oh, so now your sorry–!"

"—but strangling me won't help you right now. What's happened will still have happened, and Cinnigis will still be coming this way." He looked her dead in her angry eyes. "I know how to fight him." He managed to wretch hands off his neck, struggling. "And you don't."

All at once, her anger started to subside. The furious tears welling in her eyes dried, and the adrenaline stopped pumping. She snatched her hands out of his, releasing him, and rubbed the blood on her fingernails on her jeans.

Michael keeled over against the door jam, rubbing his bloodied neck with his palm, and then wiping the blood onto a metal table, yelping slightly and breathing heavily. For a moment, he glared up at her, the hate in his eyes almost matching the hate Clara had had the moment before. "Sorry," he said in respite.

Clara said nothing in response.

He stood up, staring out the doorway. His eyes widened in fear. "He's coming!" he whispered. He jogged into the tavern, eyes frantically searching the room for anything he could use against the bounty hunter. They ended up falling on one of the many nets in the room, and the automobile parked out back. Then suddenly, a twinkle appeared in the eyes and a slight grin on the face. "I've got an idea. Listen."

--

"Hurry up!" Clara shouted as she stared directly into the distant face of the green-skinned Cinnigis. He smirked at her, and raised his gun. Clara ran back into the tavern as the laser blast slammed into a wall behind her, cutting through the wall in seconds and impacting the back wall, shattering many different drinks and melting the harpoon gun in the case.

Michael ran back in from outside and signaled her with a nod. "Ready," he said as silently as he could. He looked her sternly in her eyes. "Be sure to grab that beamer if you can."

Clara nodded. "Got it."

"Oh boy!" they heard Cinnigis yell. "Can't wait to see how you're gonna try and stop me this time, Michael! You're not a hider!" His voice was getting closer. A second later, he blasted another hole in the wall of the tavern. Clara and Michael ducked out of the way, Clara making sure to back into one corner of the tavern. Michael picked up the nearest piece of metal he could, and brought it up and around like a baseball bat, ready to swing. Cinnigis walked in, and immediately fired off a blast at Michael, who barely had anytime to dive out of the way.

Using his time wisely, Cinnigis scanned the tavern for Clara, and found her a second later in her corner of the tavern. He chuckled. "Well hello again. Be with you in a moment." That distraction worked flawlessly.

Michael was up in no time, wielding the metal rod in his hand. Moving faster than Cinnigis had obviously predicted, he slammed the rod against the bounty hunter's head before he could retaliate.

Clara didn't waste any time. She bolted out of her hiding spot, right at the man who murdered her husband. And Cinnigis–unbelievably–didn't see her. His anger at Michael caused him to focus on his bounty, and he forgot about Clara. So as he charged after Michael, she reached in and soundlessly pulled off the beamer on Cinnigis's belt—the one device that allowed the man to beam directly back to his ship. He didn't notice at all. Clara grinned victoriously and backed away to the other end of the tavern. Now it was up to Michael.

--

Michael ducked to dodge a shot from Cinnigis's handgun, then jumped onto the front door of the parked automobile, which he had turned on. He then turned on his acting skills, and pretended to loose his footing on the door, giving time for Cinnigis to catch up a little. Regaining his footing as Cinnigis fired a second shot, Michael leapt over the interior of the convertible automobile, and landed on his knees on the street on the other side. He quickly reached inside his trench coat and pulled his small personal pistol, as Cinnigis climbed onto the front door of the automobile. Michael fired off a shot while simultaneously ducking to avoiding the return fire. Meanwhile, his shot hit on the inside of the front door, causing Cinnigis to lose his balance and fall into the drivers seat, right where Michael had laid the net from inside the tavern. As Cinnigis struggled to rise and untangle himself, Michael had already begun moving back to the driver's side of the automobile. He grabbed the steering wheel and turned it towards the guard fence on the other side of the road. Opening the door, and making sure he didn't entangle himself in the net, he jammed his foot down on the accelerator, and the automobile streaked across the wide road, nearly hitting another automobile. Once he had built up enough speed, and Cinnigis still struggling against the messy net, Michael let go of the accelerator, dodging Cinnigis's flailing hands, jumping backwards out of the driver seat and slamming the door shut. He fell hard onto the road, and rolled a few meters.

The automobile smashed into the guard fence–solid rock–and blew straight through and then down, splashing into the river twenty meters below.

Michael watched this, grinning widely in victory. But his moment of joy ended quickly, when he spotted four large green fingers grasping the edge of the rock fence. Instincts kicking in, Michael jumped to his feet and brought up his pistol, running towards the wall. Another hand appeared next to the other one, and Cinnigis began to pull himself up from the side of the wall, head coming up first, then upper body. Somehow he had gotten out of the net. But Michael didn't allow him to even get that far. He fired off a shot, hitting the bounty hunter square in his chest, and knocking him back over the wall, wounded. But once again, Cinnigis managed to keep one hand hanging onto the wall, holding on for dear life. Michael was about to shoot that off when he saw Clara's ring glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Setting his gun down, Michael reached into another pocket in his trench coat, and pulled out his small pocket knife. With precision and quickness, he sliced off the finger with the ring on it. "This is very dear to Clara," he told him. "You can't have it." With that, he set the ring in his inside pocket, and picked up his gun again as Cinnigis struggled to climb up the wall. With calmness, Michael shot the hand, slicing off two more fingers and causing him to lose his grip. As the defeated bounty hunter fell towards the river, Michael fired one last shot off, which impacted Cinnigis right in his face. The force of the blast caused him to fall head over heels, his body looking limp and dead. Michael watched him until he fell into the river, and waited until his unmoving body drifted to the surface and floated there a while. Michael, not feeling the pain of his severed fingers, which had been even more bloodied when he had used that sharp metal rod, breathed proudly, having defeated one of the most fearsome bounty hunters in the galaxy. For good. But it wasn't for his sake anymore. That was for Lionel Thompson, he thought as he stared at Cinnigis's dead body. And Clara. Speaking of which....

Michael patted the wedding ring inside his trench coat reassuringly, and ran back towards the tavern to find Clara and see if she was all right. As he beamed his victory, he searched for Clara inside the tavern—

—and couldn't find her. She was gone. He called her name several times but got no answer. She had disappeared. All he found was the beamer she was supposed to have stripped from Cinnigis, on the floor near the door.

Michael's mind raced to find an answer. She wouldn't have abandoned him. No, no, no....yes it had been partially his fault that her husband was dead, but she must have known he never meant for that to happen. Or at least he hoped she knew.....

Dammit, where was she?!......