DISCLAIMER – I do not own any Sonic the Hedgehog characters, settings, etcetera (anything copyrightedly relating to SEGA's works). Fang the Sniper / Nack the Weasel is property of SEGA, although some aspects of this story are my own work. Alterations to the Sonic universe in this story are not to be considered canon. Do not steal (forge in your or another person's name) or sell this story in any manner. I have a good lawyer. You may, however, place this on your website without permission. Please ask permission before using aspects of this story in yours. If sections of it look similar to another, please inform me. I'm no thief myself. Thank you, and enjoy.
Bounty Hunter
By Rusty Dillingham
--Chapter Two – Into the Shadows--
With the hideous rain still pounding Station Square, along with a good portion of South Island in the higher scope, the streets were bare, flooded. Almost entirely devoid of life, the miserable day was almost mistakable for that of a holiday to the point where it was a wonder if anyone even lived in the city anymore. The abysmal weather, however, did make it much easier for Fang to cruise along above the community at speed, seated in the Marvelous Queen. He had to be exceptionally careful with how much he throttled the accelerator, but since the airbike was essentially a miniature fighter jet, it could cruise along without utilizing major power for some time. The Queen was low on fuel, but he'd have enough to make it to his destination.
Through the downpours he sped, racing along above the dark, misty blue city. With nighttime approaching, coupled with the less-than-spectacular weather, he could perhaps have the opportunity to go out and get a drink somewhere after he rested up for a bit. Fang wasn't exactly on the right side of the law himself, so he preferred to keep his place of residence in an area where the police department wouldn't tread – Usually in the abandoned districts. He had numerous hideouts around South Island, though, but while he didn't have a particular favorite, his Station Square residence certainly seemed the nicest out of them, despite how he basically lived in an abandoned apartment building complex.
One thousand damn dollars had all he'd gotten for all the trouble he'd been put through thanks to that jerk-off Hemorrhoid the Hippo. Sergeant Baker and his little crew of donut-suckers had been the biggest help ever with their oh-so-generous contribution of the thousand clams. Now Fang could buy that pet rock he'd always wanted. And maybe starve in the process, too. It had to be one of the biggest crocks ever – A police department issuing a substantial reward for a bounty and then giving less than a tenth of their original offer. It was either full-blown illegal or outstandingly brilliant; Fang didn't care which. It pissed him off either way.
Sweeping down between a set of deteriorating buildings, he made a quick right around an empty corner, and up ahead stood the apartment complex. Old, brick-layered, and dilapidated, the small, abandoned complex served as the perfect get-away for a fellow in Fang's line of work when he wanted to be alone – And alone he was. The nearest speck of civilization was the still-active church, about a quarter mile down the road, and further along was where the real action commenced: The seedy, fly-filled bar – Dead-Drunk Dave's – a half mile from the apartment buildings, a pit hole that was more often than not either bustling or dead itself. It allowed Fang the necessary peace and loneliness he required when he wasn't on the job.
The Marvelous Queen slowly hovered closer to the grass amidst the rain. Fang thumbed a tiny black button on the dash, and a heavy steel garage door slowly began rising up in the side of the complex's main building. Keeping the engine output at the bare minimum, he cruised forward slowly and carefully maneuvered the airbike into the roomy place of storage, deactivating power to the craft entirely as soon as he was entirely inside. With another press of the button, the door closed behind him tightly with a sound rumble. Slipping himself off the craft, he began removing whatever equipment he'd brought with him, including the blue-finished rifle inside the holster near the seat.
It only took a few minutes, as he wasn't carrying much in the vehicle besides the rifle and some luggage in the small, compact compartment in its rear. Heading through a doorway that connected to the complex's main hallway, he dragged the equipment, along with his now-removed gunbelt, over into another room where he let it rest on an old decrepit table that had been in the building for as long as he could remember. Most of the furniture in the building was likely as old as he was. It had all been there when he'd first come across the place, so he had figured he might as well make good use of it. Some of the more termite-infested crap he'd needed to throw out, but that was understandable with such a setting, and everything could be replaced anyway, although the only thing he had actually been able to purchase as of that time with all the hunting he did was a vibrating recliner that no longer worked or even tilted back.
Shutting the door between the garage and the hallway, he stepped forward and headed into the building's office, which he had made out as his personal room. By now, after living there for so long, each of the rooms in the apartment complex had some purpose – The office was his own real living quarters, while one of the building's many bedrooms had been set up as a computer room. Another bedroom on the other side of the building had been made out to be the quaint little area where he kept and serviced his weaponry; to make sure the guns were clean and he had plenty of spare ammunition every time he entered. The list of random rooms went on, and their eventual furnishing gave Fang a sense of accomplishment, despite how he held no titles to the complex at all. Still, he paid for his phone, his electricity, and the building's water, and who really owned the place didn't seem to concern any company. It was unlikely anyone even owned it at all, considering the quality of the part of town it was in.
He slumped into the stupid broken recliner and thumbed a switch on the remote sitting nearby, causing the eight-inch television on the other side of the room to flicker with life. The old boring clock on the wall told him that it was nearing six o'clock in the evening. Fang tried to catch the news whenever possible, as it kept him up to date on wanted criminals and other notable occurrences that the media shouldn't have been sticking their big, fat noses into in the first place. It also frequently gave him some information on other bounty hunters. He'd been having a real problem with some of them lately – Always trying to bag his captures as their own when he wasn't paying attention, and he always was.
He'd come across quite a few rival bounty hunters in his time. There had been who knew how many who had tried to steal some of his thunder from ever since he'd started up to that very moment. One of the more recent notables happened to be Jagged the Hyena, a stupid, filthy, dirty, smelly asshat who had the temper of a tea kettle. While he and the guy had no real issues with one another, more often than not their confrontations ended in turmoil since dueling egos could never sit by and watch one another talk the talk and walk the walk. Now, thanks to a few secretive details he'd noticed over the past few months, he had the sneaking suspicion that Jagged had somehow become one of GUN's field agents. That would figure – He would fit right in with all those sinister bastards. GUN was full of them already, why not squeeze another in there?
Wedgie the Penguin, who was probably the absolute worst bounty hunter Fang had ever met, had once tried to cut in on his capture of a big-name mafia wannabe, Vinnie the Walrus. Naturally, Wedgie had nearly gotten his freezy ass blasted off when Fang got annoyed with him, but his interruption had caused the walrus to evade capture. It took another week before Fang had caught up with him again and finally brought the smug bastard into custody. He'd seen Wedgie a few times since then, and the penguin had been very apologetic. By his good graces, Fang had forgiven the little piece of crap so long as he promised never to stick his nose into bounty hunting ever again. A terrified Wedgie had accepted these terms.
Then there was a trio of hunters working for Bountech, an up-and-coming corporation that likened itself to something of a bounty hunters guild and had their members test equipment in the field before offering it up for sale to military branches. The Kangaroos were even worse than Jagged the Hyena as Fang's largest concerns when it came to rival bounty hunters. They weren't brothers like the Ed lizards, but if anything they were more horrible and awful than those scaled weirdoes could have hoped to be. Smiley the Kangaroo headed the bunch, and he was probably the outright most vile piece of giddy scum Fang had ever heard of. From photos he'd seen of the fellow, Smiley got his nickname thanks to his almost patented ear-to-ear, maniacal grin. Fang had grown to loathe that grin.
Speedy the Kangaroo was Smiley's right-hand dirtbag. Speedy was supposedly extremely quick on the draw, and couldn't have been called a terrible shot either, and that was all the info Fang needed on him. If he ever encountered a situation where he would be forced to best the Kangaroos, he'd most likely have difficulty choosing between Smiley and Speedy for his first target.
Shifty the Kangaroo was Smiley's left-hand goon. He was nothing but a yes-man, when it came down to it. Fang didn't have much information on him, though, other than that. All he knew was that he, like the rest of the Kangaroos, probably knew how to use a gun. That was his largest concern. Not that it would matter much – Fang was quicker and a better shot than all of them; he was sure of it.
And then there was Claw the Mole. Claw wasn't really a bounty hunter, he was more of what Fang would call a retarded fantasy-land-dwelling faggot. Claw couldn't really decide whether he wanted to be the world's greatest bounty hunter or the world's greatest criminal. He sucked at both jobs, so Fang couldn't see what the point of sitting around thinking it over was. However, Claw claimed himself to be both a bounty hunter and criminal, which Fang also couldn't quite understand. If one was a bounty hunter, yet at the same time had a criminal record, how in the world would they be able to actually collect bounties without getting themselves busted? They'd probably have to use cronies, but Claw was just so stupid and jerkassed that he didn't have anybody who even wanted to be his friend.
Fang had long ago made a note to take care of a select few rivals. Claw the Mole was one of them. Jagged, he had no immediate problem with, so he would only take out the crazy psycho if he had to. While he didn't hold any sort of respect for the Kangaroos, troublemakers as they were, they were essentially in the same category as the hyena – Eliminate if necessary. Wedgie wasn't around anymore, so he didn't have to worry about him. If any of them deserved to die, it was Claw.
At least six months earlier, Claw had gotten the brilliant idea that he was going to perform a bank robbery. Heck, he was smart enough to do so, and skilled enough to do so, so why not? He'd later found out that being smart and being skilled does not entitle one to free bags of money, and he actually wasn't smart or skilled anyway, so he'd ended up blasting the hell out of an entire bank and killing numerous innocent civilians including at least three bank guards and two children. Claw didn't get away with a single cent. He deserved nothing for his acts. Fang would eventually bring justice to the mole as a personal gift to himself – Permanent justice. No amount of jail time could serve the penalty that came with death.
Patiently sitting through the garbage that the commercials barked to him about, the usual dribble about the pills that would make him perform better with the ladies and that Red Cow energy drink stuff – "It gives you a means by which to fly!" – he waited for the news as he propped a leg up onto the nearest table, but immediately grimaced at the intense pain that coursed through both of them when he did so.
Shit! he cursed in his mind angrily. The pain suddenly dulled, but this only felt even worse. Fang grabbed his knees with his gloved hands, shutting his eyes tightly to try and block out some of the horrid feelings.
His leg problems had been going on for some time – he didn't remember exactly when they'd cropped up. He wasn't out of shape or anything, but he couldn't decipher what exactly was wrong with them. The steel-braced boots he wore kept them out of harm's way, along with keeping them from bouncing around too much as he walked, but when he ran, things got bad. He'd always feel the after-effects afterwards. It never failed. Many who knew of him questioned his inability to run quickly like the majority of those like him, including Sonic the Hedgehog. Sonic the Hedgehog's approximate-and-absolute top speed at sea level in a straight line was close to eight hundred miles an hour. Fang couldn't even hit one hundred.
What didn't help was his lack of physical strength altogether. He might have been tough like leather, but he lacked raw body power, and his only real offensive advantage in terms of fitness was his springy, prehensile tail. The power of the thing was comparable to Knuckles the Echidna's arms. That, besides his dead-eye, quick-draw, and icy trigger finger, was his strongest point. It almost annoyed him that he had such handicaps, and his leg issues weren't making things any better for him. It often frustrated him to no end, but he rarely let the pain get to him. If he did, he wouldn't do his job very well. He could have no other interests but his job while he was busy. Focusing on anything else would potentially get him blown away.
The pain began to disappear, allowing him to breathe in relief. Already, the television's images had left the crap that were commercials, and the news finally came on. An attractive female with a sparkly smile pasted on her face appeared, along with the usual kiss-ass logo in the corner of the screen. "This is SS-4 News at six – With Tricia Dortmund!"
Fang sniffed, still feeling the effects of his cold thanks to being out in the rain for such a long period of time while hunting that obnoxious hippopotamus. Great – more of that thousand dollars down the drain. Hello, drug store.
"Hello, I'm Tricia Dortmund," Tricia Dortmund stated matter-of-factly, "and this is SS-4 News at six."
I had no idea, Fang thought impatiently. He'd only seen this program thirty trillion times.
"Three of South Island's most wanted criminals are now in the custody of the Station Square Police Department. Last night, the notorious Ed brothers, Ted, Ned, and Jed, were brought in to the downtown precinct's front office, all taken in to the authorities by the hands of a bounty hunter who had been after them for some time. The brothers had been evading capture for months, but they finally met their match just outside Capital City, when the bounty hunter made a surprise attack and put them all under arrest before they could once again escape justice."
Fang raised an invisible eyebrow. The television picture changed from sweet, braindead little Tricia Dortmund to a photo of the three lousy lizards next to Sergeant Baker, along with the predator who had nabbed them: Jagged the Hyena, who had at the time been in the process of shooting the bird to the photographer when the photo had been taken.
"The Ed lizards are currently awaiting trial for bigotry, grand theft auto, and multiple instances of robbery. With the reward for the lizard gangsters being so high, they had been pursued by bounty hunters ever since the call came out from the government for their arrest. Each lizard carried a bounty of at least thirty thousand dollars, coming out to a total of ninety thousand dollars awarded to their captor. Sergeant Bob Baker of the Station Square Police Department was only too happy to give the reward."
Well, that's nice, Fang started to think, until: "WHAT!!"
"Sergeant Baker reiterated the importance of a system that justified the blah blah etcetera etcetera..."
"THAT SON OF A BITCH!!" Fang shouted in what was likely the loudest tone of voice he'd ever used in his life, leaping out of the chair in a frenzy. That damned miserable bastard Baker! "ONE THOUSAND, MY PURPLE ASS!"
"The Ed brothers are expected to be transferred to Prison Island to await their trial, which has by now been scheduled for a yet-to-be-determined date in late July." Tricia Dortmund smiled for the camera happily. "Lawyers for the victims are reasoning with GUN to pre-empt that date, however."
"NINETY THOUSAND SON OF A BITCHASS DOLLARS!!" Fang roared.
"With the wanted brothers in custody, the department is already the target of scrutiny, as the Ed brothers are not only notorious for robbery and the rest of their crimes, but for breaking away from a police convoy that had been escorting them to Prison Island for earlier crimes two years ago. Critics wonder if the department is safe and competent enough to hold such criminals of notability."
"AGGGHH!" Gripping his cheeks while grinding his teeth in fury, Fang wondered how he could have been so naive. He should have demanded more at the time – Screw Baker's begging, whether the man's fright had been real or not. One thousand dollars was all the department had? Right. You didn't hand over ninety thousand dollars without checking your bank account first. The police would never let themselves get so agonizingly close to the thin line between profit and the hole. Baker had been flat-out lying. Either that or Jagged the Hyena had threatened him in the same manner as Fang did if he didn't get the almost hundred-thousand clams. "Damn it! Damn it! Son of a bitch! I'll kill him! I'll rape his ancestors! I swear to frickin'—"
"Now let's go to our traffic report—" Tricia Dortmund started pleasantly in the middle of Fang's tangent.
"SHADDAP!" Fang kicked the switch on the television to shut it off.
This was all wrong. Sergeant Baker must have been back there, sitting at his desk in his comfy little office, counting his money while guffawing to himself over the silly bounty hunter who had been there not an hour ago; the bounty hunter who he'd made a complete fool of. Oh, we're not really offering fifteen thousand! Just one thousand! We just really wanted Hemorrhoid the Hippo in custody – Just like the Ed brothers! Screw you, Baker. I'll have my money before you can ever even realize it's gone, you fat pig.
Of all the dirty, black-hearted tricks. Fang was angered all over again, but he forced himself to calm his boiling nerves before he could have a heart attack. He'd get back at Baker – Oh yes. By God, he'd get started now.
Rushing over to his phone, he snatched it off the base and flipped open the phone book, skimming through it with the speed of Sonic the Hedgehog.
Officer Bill had by now started to doze off after throwing Hemorrhoid the Hippopotamus into one of the cells – in particular the one that contained Bubba the Grizzly – and doing the other usual and very nonsensical errands that Baker repeatedly shoved down his throat daily, but before he could slip away into dreamland, the noisy phone on his desk piped up, sending a hideous wail throughout the station. Startled, Bill grabbed it before it could wake up Secretary Josie and blinked his eyes a bit to get the bags out of them. "Hullo?"
"Yeah, hello, underpaid phone monkey," the extremely pissed off voice on the other line snarled, "get Sergeant Baker on the phone now."
Bill's eyebrows rose. "Uh, may I ask who's—"
"NO, GODDAMN IT!" The department building's entire structure rattled. "GET BAKER ON THE PHONE BEFORE I COME DOWN THERE MYSELF AND PUT HIM ON!!"
"Y-Yes-sir!" Bill hurriedly pressed the phone's Hold button, and switched the line over to Baker's office. "Sergeant Baker?"
Baker coughed and cleared his throat. "Grf--? WHAT!?"
"There's a, um, slightly concerned fellow on line one. He sounds rather fixed on speaking with you at the moment."
"Is it another one of those media jerkasses?" Baker groused in annoyance. "I've talked to at least two of them today! That's two too many."
"No," Bill muttered, rolling his eyes. "I don't know who it is."
"WELL, WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU ASK WHO IT WAS!?"
Bill sighed. "He sounds like a GUN agent." He certainly had the attitude of one.
Baker suddenly sounded like he was choking on his phone's cord. "A GUN agent!? Damn it, quit hogging up the line, Bill!"
"Yes-sir."
"And while we're at it, get me some coffee!"
"Yes-sir."
"Oh, and check on the prisoners, too."
"… Yes-sir."
"I think Hemorrhoid needs some medicine from a pharmacy or something for that, uh, condition of his. Go down to Osco and—"
"YES-SIR!" Bill slammed the phone down onto the hook in anger before he could consider the consequences. "Whoops."
Fang stood there in his office, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for a voice to come across on the other line. If they put him through to someone other than Baker, he would hang up. He wasn't about to play monkey in the middle with a couple of secretaries. He needed to talk to the Sergeant, and if he didn't, he'd go right down there, grab the man by his slimy throat and shake that fifteen thousand out of his pocket if he had to. You don't screw around with a bounty hunter like me and get away with it, you bastards.
Finally, a second before he considered just hanging up and going down there in person, a grizzled, irritated voice cleansed the silence. "This is Sergeant Baker of the Station Square Police Dep—"
"Be quiet, you bastard," Fang interrupted. "I want to talk about my money."
Hesitation. "Your money?"
"YES, my money, you DEADBEAT! You owe me fourteen thousand dollars!" Fang's hand gripped the phone so hard he threatened to squeeze it in half.
Baker got angry -- fast. "Nack the Weasel! Damn it, I thought I told you we don't have fourteen thousand damned dollars! After that stunt you pulled, you were lucky to get what we have! One thousand!"
Fang ignored the bastardous name throttling. "Oh really?"
"Yes," Baker growled, "really!"
"Tell that to Jagged the Hyena." The bounty hunter grimaced at the thought of the fellow bounty hunter, running around and likely blowing the reward money at Casinopolis or something. Fang didn't like Jagged in the first place – and vice-versa – but this only made it worse. Jagged didn't deserve ninety thousand dollars, but Fang felt he did. Perhaps that was just his ego, and he unconsciously didn't believe himself, since Jagged had made the captures by himself. And what the hell was a moron like Jagged going to do with ninety-thousand dollars? Blow it on nachos and Thirstbusters? "Him and his ninety thousand greens."
Silence encrypted the line once again. Baker must not have been expecting the bounty hunter to know of Jagged's exploits. That was almost a given anyway – Baker had probably never heard of the evening news, despite how he should have known his ugly mug would be all over it that night. The Sergeant finally resumed the conversation, his voice low and dirty; it suited him well. "Where did you hear about that?"
"The news. You'd be surprised at how they, you know, cover the news." Fang glowered at his currently lifeless television, remembering silly little Tricia Dortmund and her sillier little smile.
Baker's voice was metallic and stuffy thanks to the poor phone connection. "The news? My God, don't they know when to keep quiet?"
"It was only the biggest arrest in the last year," the bounty hunter commented, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. "I'm really surprised too that they actually talked about it. I'm sure the Station Square Elementary pie-eating contest was much more interesting. Was that what you were expecting?"
"I specifically told them to keep the reward money issued for the capture of the Ed brothers under wraps!"
"Why?" Fang questioned. "So you could keep on with your little con? You know, the one where you owe me fourteen thousand dollars!?"
"Well," Baker remarked, "one thousand dollars was all we had! We don't have any more."
"Hah!" came the immediate laugh. "You'll have to do better than that, you worthless sack of uniformed trash."
"It's the truth! I—"
He was interrupted before he could go off on another excuse-filled tangent. "So you're saying you don't have my fourteen thousand?"
"That's right," Baker responded bluntly, "we don't."
Fang lowered his voice. "Then where am I going to get it?"
Baker went silent again.
"Well?" Fang was growing impatient and frustrated with the hell-bound police official.
"How should I know?" asked a slightly disconcerted Baker, obviously growing more than a little uncomfortable while on the phone with the notorious sharpshooter.
"You're the one who owes the money," the bounty hunter snarled. "You figure it out."
"The Station Square police department owes you nothing, bounty hunter. You got your reward!"
"But it wasn't the FULL REWARD!" Fang blared, his voice rising. "The reward was for FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS! Do you have the mentality of a blind, deaf, retarded APE?! Check the friggin' wanted poster! I didn't see anything about a Reward Subject To Change Thanks to Authoritative Idiocy disclaimer anywhere on there!"
"We changed it," Baker returned, his tone very similar to Fang's, "and THAT'S THAT! You are NOT GETTING another DIME from us!"
Fang's expression went black, and he honestly wished he could reach through the phone and just strangle this bloody fool until his teeth rattled. "I'll come down there and I'll tear your department down brick by brick until I have that money! What's the matter with you, you curd-faced redneck? You issued a reward for fifteen thousand dollars, and I got one thousand! Less than a TENTH of my REAL reward! I'm not the one at fault here, you cheating bastard! You're the one who's trying to keep that money away from me! Why? So you can GET THE DEPARTMENT ITS DAILY FILL OF DONUTS, FOR ALL I KNOW!!"
"You'll NEVER SEE THAT MONEY!!" Baker erupted, the phone on Fang's end scratching loudly. "NEVER!! YOU COME DOWN HERE AND TRY THAT, you ignorant, arrogant little VIRUS! I'LL SIC EVERY BOUNTY HUNTER ON THIS ISLAND AFTER YOU!! You'll be hunted by your OWN KIND, YOU SNIVELING LITTLE DEMON!!
"I'll get my money," Fang said, his voice suddenly easy. "I'll have it. You won't be able to keep it from me forever. One day, you'll look in your bank account and say, hey, my dear girl, where's that fourteen thousand I was going to use to have my ass waxed by that lovely man who works at the tanning salon? And the ten-dollar hooker you bought will look at you and say, that bounty hunter took it, you dumb shit. You knew he'd get it sometime, didn't you? Frickin' moron."
His sharp change in demeanor only angered Baker more. "You'll DIE before you ever see that money, weasel! Do you hear me?"
Fang repressed a smirk.
"YOU'LL DIE!!"And the line went dead as the phone on the other line slammed down onto the base, likely breaking the whole contraption in the process.
For his part, Fang hung up his phone rather more peacefully. He didn't really have the money to buy another phone anyway, since his thousand dollars was as good as spent on maintaining his home and equipment. "Son of a bitch."
He would have been less angry with the Sergeant if the man had actually bothered telling him the truth. What really annoyed him was that Baker was simply a flat out liar, and was hounding money for his own pockets. Fourteen thousand dollars worth, at that – With all the work that he'd gone through to actually get the reward money, Fang felt he deserved it if anything. Hemorrhoid had been the biggest pain in the ass ever to bag, what with his obnoxious little grenades. He would never, ever have gone after the hippo if the reward were only one thousand dollars. Hemorrhoid's life wasn't worth one thousand dollars, Fang would give him that much, but his capture was worth quite a pretty penny. Too bad the people taking him in were such tightasses.
But part of what Baker had said concerned Fang. It didn't worry him – It only concerned him; gave him something to think about. While he'd been lying about how much dough the department carried, he no doubt hadn't been telling a tall tale when he'd threatened to send Fang's fellow bounty hunters after him. Fang was already convinced he'd best any of them, no matter how big or dangerous, but that would have been a lot of work – Work he really didn't need or want to worry about. Such a load on his back would be unnecessary and more than a little irritating.
He held a hand to his forehead. This was ridiculous. Things always had to be so much harder than they could have been, but Fang reasoned that nothing in life ever came easy. It was all too true with Baker, Hemorrhoid, and everything else he had been put through lately. Everything was difficult these days, from his current troubles with the department, the bounties, even his own legs were putting up a fight. But he had to keep strong through it all. He wasn't a person who could fail and get back up. If Fang failed, then he was doomed. No one would help him get back up. They'd keep him down if anything. He always had to stand, no matter what. He would never surrender – He'd fight as hard as he could. He had to do so in order to keep living.
He sighed, looking through the office and out a window in the hallway, into the heavy rain. It still wasn't letting up, and it only worsened his already abysmal mood.
People like Baker got on his nerves so much. Fang just wished the world would be cleansed of such imbeciles. It would make society so much easier to deal with, and it would certainly be easier on him, although he'd likely have to find a different line of work. His source of income revolved around imbeciles like Hemorrhoid the Hippopotamus. Even the most intelligent of criminals had trouble when dealing with Fang the Sniper. The weasel-wolf crossbreed was mentally as sharp as a tack, and his brilliantly cold, calculating mindset was often enough alone to get him through a fight. At this thought, Fang decided that perhaps morons in the world weren't so bad.
Baker was in his own league, though; a league of extraordinary assholes. That's what the man was, at heart – A monumental asshole, and while it probably wouldn't look very nice, Fang's boot was going to be stuck there when he got through with him. That ought to teach the bull-headed dog not to mess with employees of his who don't follow his rulebook.
He shuffled over to the wall, flipping the brown, black-banded outback hat off his violet head. Heading out of the office – his room – and stepping into a bathroom, he did what it was there for and otherwise made himself ready for bed. While it was only after six in the evening, the day had been particularly rough on him, what with the annoyance that was Hemorrhoid the Hippo and all. This was how it usually was. While many bounties he took on weren't necessarily as difficult as the hippo's, they often lasted days, if not weeks. One or two bounties he was still after – which was a very rare occurrence for Fang – but they had disappeared long ago. They were likely buzzard food by now.
Removing his gloves, he brushed his teeth and stepped over to his messy bed, sorting himself into it slowly to keep from angering his legs anymore than he already had. Sleep would help. Sleep always helped. He'd head over to the nearby bar in the morning and get something to ease his mind and pain, so long as he didn't get in any fights. That place was notorious for all sorts of rough individuals, and quite often the whole bar had to be closed because of some sort of random ruckus. Even during church down the street it could be bustling with activity. Hell, more people went to the damn bar than the church on Sunday mornings. Typical for an environment such as this. If only it were like the rest of Station Square.
But that didn't matter now. Sleep mattered. Nothing but rest would help Fang feel any better about the events forced upon him as of late. The darkness of unconsciousness was a place he could go to relieve himself of the constant worries he suffered. Baker and the rest of the world were nothing there, and for that reason, he couldn't wait to fall asleep.
Leaning his head back on the pillow, he started to think about the situation all over again, but everything went black before he could do so.