Sly Cooper: Armed and Dangerous

Paris, France

11:06 am

Julio sat on the couch, twirling his handgun on one finger. He had, of course, unloaded it, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that any minute it was going to go off. He was paranoid, and had a right to be, since he'd been on the same ship that had killed his father.

His mother had died during childbirth, and his father, Miguel Juan Benedek, owned a freighter, which he smuggled illegal goods for the black market with. Sure, it was risky, but they needed the money.

However, Miguel's luck ran out when, with a shipment of explosives and his son aboard, he'd run into the police. His sailors had all fought, but they only had pistols, whereas the police had assault weapons and bulletproof vests. Eventually, the officers made it down to the hold, and began to ransack it, looking for the illegal goods.

Miguel had then grabbed an AK-47, took his 10 year old son by the shoulder and said "I won't be around much longer, so you need to promise me something son; never ship for the black market. It's a business no one should be mixed up in. Promise me, son."

Julio had been confused.

"What are you talking about, papi? YOU shipped for them, and what do you mean you won't be around much longer?"

Miguel had simply shaken his head and said "It doesn't matter, just promise me!"

He'd shoved his son closer to the rail as Julio, close to tears, said "I promise. But, papi, I won't leave you!"

"You don't have a choice!" shouted Miguel as he had heaved Julio over the rail and into the water.

It took the wolverine pup two years to learn what happened aboard the ship after that. Only one other man survived, a sailor aboard the ship who lost an arm and a leg in the fight. According to him, Miguel had run into the hold, spraying lead at the police, until he reached the explosives, opened one of the cases, and fired into it. The result was the ship going up in flames in an explosion that also caught the police cruisers with it.

To this day, his father's final words rang in his ears; You don't have a choice.

Julio never did have a choice.

All through his childhood, he didn't have a choice but to scrounge in the gutters for money, and then after he lost his father and became a teenager, he'd become sullen, and had started starving himself. One day, however, luck was with him when he'd come upon an alley that had been a former battle scene between two gangs. Clenched in one of the corpse's hands, he had found the Buntline revolver he held today, as well as enough ammunition for him to experiment with, fail miserably, try again, and successfully duplicate, since his life was practically all trial and error.

Since that moment, he'd turned to a life of crime. He robbed businesses, had shootouts with street gangs, and sometimes ran a marathon escaping from the police. On his fifteenth birthday, he'd robbed a gun store, and in the back he hit the jackpot that launched his brain swell in motion; in the back of the shop, he'd found several illegal explosives.

At that second, that key in his life's puzzle, his genius grew, and his experimenting began again. He'd snuck into the library and taught himself how to read in order to learn about guns and explosives. He taught himself high mathematics, and his ability to craft more compact but more deadly explosives became stronger. Along the way, his intelligence became larger, and soon he knew things like college level physics, forensics, genetics, and computer hacking. His crimes were put onto a larger scale, and he became notorious, both with the law and out of it.

However, there was one day in Portugal that he would never forget; two weeks before his sixteenth birthday, he finished his prototype wire frame stock and detachable scope for his Buntline, two days ahead of his predicted schedule. Eager to try them out since he now had some time on his hands, he set up some cans in the alley he called home. He cocked back the hammer and aimed through the scope to line up with his target, but before he could fire, he sensed that someone was in the alley with him.

There were been two things that told him this; first, living in the streets, he had become rugged and stronger, and his senses had become more acute, so he could hear the quietest footstep, or the slightest scrape of fabric; or the sound of gunmetal sliding on leather.

Second; someone was pointing a gun at the back of his head. This was the more obvious of the two.

He turned slowly, hands up and gun pointing straight in the air, to find himself facing an eighteen year old black panther, pointing a silenced Glock at him. Sitting in another holster on his left side was a second silenced Glock. Julio couldn't help but be impressed. Glocks were hard to get on the streets, and off the streets, the guns and silencers were worth top dollar.

Before he could take his thoughts any further, a New York accent said "For Christ's sake, Mikhail, put the guns down!"

And in stepped Marty McCoy. Well, actually, he stomped in, cracking the pavement in many spots.

The seventeen year old horse brushed the gun aside as Mikhail scoffed, then holstered the weapon with a frown creasing his face. Marty then turned to the wolverine. Julio would remember every word of their conversation.

"You're Julio an Raj Benedek, right?"

"Yeah…" said Julio, immediately suspicious.

Marty caught on and smiled, shaking his head and saying "No, no, nothing like that. I simply have an offer for you; I hear you're pretty handy with that six-gun there,"

Marty pointed at the Buntline in Julio's hand, which was still cocked.

"Yeah, so what?" asked Julio, still slightly suspicious.

Marty nodded at the cans, which were about seventy feet away.

"Let's see you knock 'em down."

Julio thought for a second, then said "You first. I want something to compare myself to."

Marty shrugged, then, quicker than the eye could catch, drew, aimed, and knocked down four of the six cans. His last shot caused one can to spin, then right itself. Julio ran down, watching his back for signs of treachery, put the cans back up, then came back. Marty reloaded and nodded to Mikhail, who somehow drew even faster. Julio blinked, and it was all over. Five cans were down. Mikhail wordlessly reloaded and holstered his gun. Marty replaced the cans this time, jogging back with an expectant look on his face. Julio took a deep breath and knelt down, putting the gun to his face. Sighting through the scope, he held his breath, waited for a second, then snapped off six quick shots. When the smoke cleared, everyone could see that all the cans were down. Marty grinned, then extended his hand, which Julio shook, slightly confused.

Ten words explained all;

"You've won yourself a spot in the McCoy Gang, Julio."

Julio was jerked from his train of thought by a certain turtle in a wheelchair whacking him over the head with the same fly swatter he had hit Sly with earlier.

"Hello, Earth to Julio, paging, one, two, three. Geez, I try to talk to you and you just sit there with this blank look on your face and keep twirling your gun. And I thought Sly had a short attention span."

Julio quickly stepped in before Bentley could insult him further.

"What do you want?"

Bentley sighed,as annoyed as the wolverine,and said "We called Marty about five minutes ago, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So where is he? The GPS said he was only a block away. Even at a walk he could…could…"

A sudden thought had entered both of their minds. They stayed stock still for a moment, then Julio stood up and started loading his gun while Bentley checked his bomb and sleep dart stock, both of them moving for the front door.

Warehouse District

11:17 am

Marty slipped his revolver out of his back pocket as he spotted the shadow for the third time. He wasn't sure who it was, but his gunman's instinct told him that whoever it was obviously was trying to find out were he was hiding out and what he was up to. If it had been one of his teammates, they would've shouted at him, and a police officer with an arrest warrant would have too. If it was an assassin, he could've taken many an opportunity that Marty willingly presented to shoot the horse in the back. No, this person was trying to nail him for something.

Thinking fast, he dove through a window into one of the rundown warehouses, rolling to keep momentum, then springing up and hiding behind a stack of crates.

Silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps going past the window, then stopping, then doubling back.

Marty frowned. This person was not easily shaken.

There came the sounds of boots crunching on broken glass, then the light padding of someone sneaking along, and then...

The sound of softer footsteps.

From outside obviously.

Did the stalker have an assistant?

Then he heard it. The sound of the pump on a shotgun being slowly worked. Marty's eyes widened. This was an assassin, trying to take out his stalker.

Immediately, his options starting running through his head, but only two seemed possible;

1. Stay hidden and let the assassin deal with his target, then leave after him and keep a heavy conscience, and 2. Save his stalker and risk being killed. Not a whole lot of options. Finally, Marty decided to throw caution to the wind; maybe he could knock whoever it was out after he shot the assassin, then leave.

It's amazing how time simply slows down with not only the pulsing of adrenaline, but also the thought of seeing imminent death in the form of a lump of lead flying straight at you. All this thinking happened in about a fraction of a second.

Taking a deep breath, Marty cocked his revolver, then leapt around the corner, barreling after the stalker and firing a shot at each of the six windows, then risking another on the broken one, and finally, connecting with the person and feeling his last shot go wild. He heard a blast from the shotgun, but it seemed to be aimed upwards since he heard the lead pellets pummel the ceiling before he and the stalker hit the floor. He quickly stood up, cocking his revolver again, aware that it was empty, and found that his stalker was none other than…

(A/N; I'm gonna be gone for summer camp soon, so if you don't get an update in at least two weeks, don't panic.)