"How about that one?"
The merchant turned around, following the young boy's finger with his gaze.
"This one? .308, Lateran made. Like you, ah?"
His strong hands grasped the heavy rifle and took it off the gun rack, placing the beast in front of a fourteen year old Andy. A smile stretched on his middle aged face, giving the boy an encouraging look.
"See how it feels in your hands, champ. Good? You're looking kinda wobbly down there."
Andy managed to hold up the enormous gun for just a few moments, his frail little arms shaking and causing the muzzle to sway all around the lively bazaar. No one seemed to mind his display of ignorance towards the rules of gun safety, though.
"U-Um… It's a bit heavy."
"Heavy, yeah, maybe not fit for your lanky arms, ah? No worries, I got some Columbian imports, lighter caliber, lighter mass…"
He dropped the massive lead spitter back onto the counter and stretched his arms out, feeling them going stiff from the weight.
"Lighter, yes, p-please."
Loud wailing of solicitors assaulted his ears, hundreds of different smells seeped into his nostrils, all native to this massive complex of makeshift stalls and booths. It was somewhat reminiscent of the grand plazas of Laterano, where masses gathered to sell and purchase products from within and outside the city. Where poor liberi farmers set up their snug, cozy kiosks, where the biggest sweets manufacturers swooped the gazes of every child in the vicinity with flashy firework shows and bright neons, where cheap, second hand clothes were thrown around and where Lateran francs made rounds, finding new owners in exchange for anything anyone could ever want. This, however, was far from that place embedded in Andy's memory. The famed Scar Market, prized jewel of the desert based town of Taba - organizer of the infamous "100 Meter Merc Race." The name of this event may vary, depending on who you asked.
"CHEAP BLADES! CHEAP BLADES, MOSTLY UNUSED…"
"MEATBEAST IN SALT! FOWL IN OIL!"
"HORN SHARPENING!"
"TAIL STRAIGHTENING!"
"WOUND STITCHING! SEWING SEVERED LIMBS! THIRD ONE'S FREE!"
"REMEDIES! REMEDIES FOR EVERYONE! SNAKE OIL, MIRACLE TONICS…"
So very lively and loud was the market, enveloped in an endless cloak of absurdity and filled to the brim with colorful personalities. Andy felt so incredibly out of place in this oasis of ruckus among the orange sands, feeling the West Kazdelian sun hot on the back of his neck. Fortunately, the gun salesman seemed nice enough. As long as the boy was willing to buy anything, anyway.
"How about this one? Should be lighter, it's a twelve gauge, lead batter spewer!"
The merchant posed with the shotgun, sending a wink the boy's way. He was looking quite damn cool like this. However…
"Twelve gauge…?"
Andy took another look at his lanky arms, a wide, purple-ish bruise spreading across the spot between his collarbone and shoulder, covered by the strap of his raggedy tank top. A keepsake, growing deeper in color with each bullet he fired, causing pain and keeping him up at night (along with the seeping homesickness and memories of a past long gone.)
"... Don't you have something less powerful, sir? If it's okay to ask."
"Sure it is! Should've guessed by that gnarly thing on your shoulder… Hmmm… Light and low caliber…"
The merchant grasped his impressive mustache, twirling the tips around his meaty fingers. Andy's gaze swayed from the man and landed on the gun rack behind. So full of deadly toys, all lined up nicely. Fantasizing about owning a collection like that still laid fresh in his memory, those long nights spent with Lem in the peach orchard, laying under soothing branches, heavy with fruit. The two would oftentimes gaze at the night sky, babbling about guns and what sort of arsenal they'd like to own in the future. Now that most of the childish joy associated with these killing machines had been drawn out from them due to his new profession's nature, guns were nothing but mere tools for Andy - tools that needed to fit the task at hand, not look pretty or shoot impressively large calibers. In the harsh conditions of Kazdel they needed to be snug, compact and most importantly - reliable. His old bolt action was proving more and more unfit for the mercenary life, with its slow firing rate and low magazine capacity. Same went for his dad's revolver - six shots and then what? A mercenary posse usually contained thrice that amount of bloodthristy devils, who wouldn't stop when asked and politely give him a moment to reload.
Among the sea of dark receivers, shiny muzzle brakes and fancy ACOG's, a particular boomstick stood out, alluringly flicking a sunray off its telescopic sight and into the boy's eye.
"... Could I try that one?"
"That one? Which one, this one? That's a child of Ursus, champ. Good for stealth, I guess? Kinda light too, except for this huge ass stock…"
Andy took it from the merchant's hands, examining each and every little bolt on its surface, sliding his hand along the rubbery, integrally suppressed barrel. It felt like a dream, surprisingly light and compact, yet so sturdy, screaming "YOU CAN DEPEND ON ME, MY FRIEND! RIFLE FINE! ХОРОШО!"
He took aim and dry fired, feeling the gentleness of the trigger, the miniscule weight that came with each pull. He was utterly mesmerized. It was love at first sight.
"How… How much is it?"
A drop of drool ran down his chin. He quickly wiped it and cleared his throat, getting his head back in the game and ready to haggle.
"What's the starting price, I mean?"
"Starting price? Ha!"
The merchant gave a hearty laugh and crossed his arms.
"One hell of a bargain you're gonna drive, huh? Let's see… For you, six and a half grand."
His eyes went wide, the temperature in his cheeks rising.
"SIX THOUSAND? ARE YOU OUT OF-... I m-mean, don't you think that's a bit steep, sir?"
"Steep as it is, fair price for a rifle like that one."
"How about four thousand?"
The shopkeep let out an unamused snort.
"Don't make me laugh, kid."
"Okay, four and a half? Four and seven hundred…?"
The sarkaz man's eyes narrowed, lingering on the bolt action on Andy's back. He gave a soft sigh and crossed his arms.
"I could take a trade."
"A trade…?"
"Mmm. That rifle on your back and, say… Five g's. How's that sound?"
The rifle, the military issued bolt action, the one that failed to protect its previous owners, just to serve Andy. Would he really stoop so low as to let go of such an important, such a loyal piece of memorabilia?...
"Deal!"
He threw the gun off his back and onto the counter, along with a bundle of dusty, dry cash. Upon counting each bill, the shopkeep nodded in approval and handed him the gun along with a few spare mags and a bunch of 9x39 ammo boxes. Andy immediately loaded the lead spitter up and threw it on his back, letting it rest on the leather sling.
"That's that… Say, champ, don't you need a sidearm to go with that?"
His thoughts wandered back to the .38 revolver and just how unreliable it was, with its snub nosed barrel, small capacity…
"I do! Why, got anything cheap for sale, sir? I'm already way past my budget here, but…"
"Oh, don't worry about that. A little something to sweeten the deal, okay?"
He gave an apologetic smile, feeling bad about the amount of money he just ripped from the kid.
"Here, free of charge. No strings attached, no hooks."
A pistol. Just a simple, semi automatic pistol. Andy took it from the shopkeep, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden benevolent act. It laid nicely in his hand, not too heavy and not too light.
"Are you sure, sir?"
"Mmm. No one buys handguns, anyway. These pricks that drop by only care about the size of the gun like it's some sort of di-... uh… Part measuring competition. Not an ounce of interest in gunsmithing! You, though, champ… You've got potential."
Andy couldn't help but crack the widest of silly grins, happiness radiating off of him.
"Thank you, sir! I'll… I won't disappoint."
"You better! Run along, now, champ. Show 'em what a bullet can do!"
And as Andy was preparing to leave, the keep spoke up once more, yelling through all the background noise.
"Oh! Before you leave! Are you gonna name them?"
He turned towards the stall, confused.
"Name them?"
"Uh-huh! I thought you sankta folk named your guns, no?"
He's heard about that tradition but never really thought about partaking himself. Both the guns rattled softly as he pulled them from their resting spots.
A big one and a small one. Such a classic trope. Dumb muscles and smart brains.
"... Vinny. The big one's Vinny. The pistol, that's Nuffer."
"Vinny and Nuffer, huh? It kinda does fit. There a story behind it, or…?"
"No, no. Just, um… Just two friends."
Two friends he'd carry along, wherever his legs took him.
In the present, sprawled out comfortably on a hill overlooking a bleak canyon, a sixteen year old Andy prepared his gear - hung a tiny windsock by his side, racked Vinny's bolt and tapped the short-wave radio given to him by Hedley and the rest.
"How's it looking down there? You guys look like Ants From Up Here…"
The radio beeped and returned a quick, distorted message in W's voice.
"Fuck you, don't call me an ant. You got visual on our prey?"
Andy leaned closer towards Vinny's telescopic sight, focusing in on the three mercs far below. Standing among the mud and dirt, waiting for a posse of unsuspecting victims to arrive. W kept pacing around, excitedly clutching his assault rifle, a wide, sadistic grin plastered over his pale face.
"... I Can't wait. I Just can't wait, Hedley!"
"We're gonna get you neutered one of these days, W, I swear."
Ines spoke, annoyed by his constant movements, with her eyes nervously scanning the gorge's walls. Hoederer simply gave a tired sigh and ignored the madman's eagerness.
"... Feel anything?"
She shook her head, trying and failing to pick up any signals of life in the vicinity. W piped up almost immediately.
"Try again, then! And again! Or, better yet, don't turn that fancy magic of yours off at all, keep scanning!"
"Shut up."
"You shut up! And keep looking, that's what I'm paying you for…"
"W, shut it."
The red headed mass of muscle spoke calmly, holding the merc in the air by his scruff. He tried kicking his feet and wriggling out of the giant's grasp but eventually ceased his fruitless attempts.
"Alright, I get it! Put me down, I'll be a good boy."
He landed on the muddy ground with a soft plap.
"Could work on your loving touches, big man. I mean, seriously, I pity you, Ines, if that's what you gotta put up with-..."
The radio came alive once again, beeping and broadcasting Andy's muffled voice.
"Got a group coming in from the south. Twelve people, most of them carrying swords, those cavemen. One's got a crossbow."
W jumped up and started frantically wiping the mud off his rear.
"Alright! Alright, everyone shush! You, Lawie, keep your trap shut until I say otherwise."
"Affirmative, dickhead."
Over the horizon appeared a group of figures clad in black, with mighty blades at their sides (except for one), boasting the glimmering iron in the dim sun. They approached calmly, step by step in complete synchronization. A leader stepped out from the formation, sizing up the three mercs in front with an unamused glare.
"W, I take it?"
The devil pushed his chest forward, proudly taking a step forward.
"That's right! The leader of this here, little three man band."
The mysterious figure glanced towards both Ines and Hedley, giving a contemptuous look.
"And you're here to… Enlighten me, because I do not think I understood you correctly through the landline. You're here to offer US a place within YOUR ranks"?
"That's correct, yeah. Join or die type of situation."
A low murmuring came from the rest of the unknown figure's posse. It turned towards its comrades, arms outstretched.
"Are you hearing this, brothers? What do you say, shall we take the worm up on his offer?"
The group responded with a disdainful wave of whispers. Their leader turned back towards W, a hint of mockery in their ever so serious voice.
"I believe my brothers aren't nearly as amused by your sick joke as I am, W. For that, I'll offer you a fair counter offer."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmm. How about a riddle in return?"
"Ooo, riddle! I love riddles. Go on, let's hear it."
W's eyes gleamed with sadistic excitement as his dusty cloak fluttered in the wind.
"You take a sarkaz… Strip away their pride and manhood, what remains?"
"... A dickless fella? I dunno."
"You, W."
His eyes narrowed in genuine confusion, the smirk quickly disappearing from his face.
"That's a shit riddle. No tagline, no nothing."
"Doesn't matter. Point is, you're a disgrace to our kind. Running around like a headless chicken, chasing nothing but the coin."
"So what? Means you're not joining our party?"
"No, W."
"So y'all suicidal, then?"
"If that's how you see it. Would be a shame if your friends had to pay for your insolence, though."
"Oh, how generous of you! That's rare to see nowadays, you know?"
"Mmm. We'll tear you apart, limb by limb, making sure you're conscious throughout the entire process. But we'll spare your colleagues the pain and just have them hanged. How's that sound?"
Hoederer's grasp tightened around the pommel of his grand sword, Ines' hand dove into her robes, grasping a bundle of throwing knives. W simply smirked even further and tapped the walkie-talkie.
"Sounds foul. Divine power, strike this ignorant fool!"
…
…
…
A few soft murmurs came from the group as they tilted their heads in confusion.
"... Divine power? Divine power, I said STRIKE THIS IGNORANT FOOL!"
…
…
…
"FUCKING BLOW HIS BRAINS OUT, LAWIE!"
Andy woke up from his dazed stupor upon hearing the more direct version of the order. His finger wrapped around the trigger as he leaned closer into the telescopic sight. His gaze narrowed, focusing on the devils' leader in front, putting him right in the center of his foresight.
"Divine power?" You lost it completely, already?"
The leader let out a mocking chuckle and took a step forward, brandishing a short blade.
"Yeah, yeah, give this divine power a second to warm up and sh-... SHIT!"
A projectile swished through the air and sent a splash of mud erupting into the air right by W's side. He dropped to the ground, clutching his knee. The shortwave beeped again, broadcasting Andy's appalled voice.
"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, IT'S THE DAMN WIND! I'M SORRY, I WAS AIMING FOR HIS HEAD, I SWEAR…!"
Hedley and Ines sprung into action, pulling their weapons of choice from within their resting places and assuming fighting stances. The opposing mercenary group followed suit, brandishing their arsenal. W kept rolling around in the mud, clutching his knee and yelling towards the radio.
"SHUT IT! JUST SHOOT THEM, SHIT FOR BRAINS! SHOOT THEM!"
"They've got fire support, scatter!"
Amidst the chaos, throwing knives and crossbow bolts flew through the air, clinking and clanking against the rocks surrounding the battlefield. A faceless merc ran towards the injured W, sword raised high above his horns. With both his teammates occupied, the self proclaimed "leader" grasped his assault rifle, pointing the muzzle towards the attacker with great distress.
Click!
The bullet refused to fire, courtesy of W's unfocused mind and a storm of scattered, violent thoughts, most of them directed towards Andy, their new hire. With a hint of pure, genuine fear creeping into his eyes, W gazed upon the nameless merc standing over him, preparing himself to finally meet his demise. His hand wandered towards the grenade belt on his chest, ready to focus on the originium within and pull the pin, sending everyone around straight to hell.
Before the swordsman could bring their blade down upon the would-be suicide bomber, another projectile swished through the air, splitting their face in half and sending chunks of brain and skull flying.
The radio beeped, followed by a smug "Gotcha!"
At the sight of the imminent threat gone, W's mind immediately turned sharp, focusing on the task at hand. His gunning arm hugged the rifle tightly as a wild grin snuck onto his face once again. Another swish, the crossbow wielding mercenary fell to the ground, clutching their stomach.
"GET SOME! GET SOME, DOGS!"
Round after round, the rifle kept draining its magazine, spewing lead all over the ravine. It was incredibly loud, catching everyone present off guard. Ines grasped the chance and used it to counter her opponent's messy slash and send her whirly blade into their jaw, puncturing the base of their skull and eventually the brain. Once she felt the rival's emotions grow dim and cold, she pulled the sword out and sent a barrage of throwing knives barreling towards another swordsman, holding Hedley in a blade lock. The merc fell to the ground, blades protruding from his back like a porcupine's hide. W, however, kept yelling absolute gibberish and emptying magazine after magazine in the general direction of his enemies. None of his shots were as refined or thought out as Andy's, who kept delicately and thoughtfully picking his targets, forced behind cover by the madman's hail of lead. Pop went their heads, poking out from behind the rocks.
"STOP!"
A loud growl broke through the sounds of chaos, catching W mid reload.
"Fine, swine, you win! You win, you sick bastard…"
The crazed gunman let out a relieved sigh and sat up, tapping the radio once more.
"Alright, Lawie, cease fire and get your ass down here. Fuckers surrendered."
Then turned back to the men behind cover.
"THEN COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS HIGH UP! ONE FALSE MOVE AND I'LL LET MY GUN RATTLE. AT ONCE!"
When Andy reached the bottom of the canyon, the remaining enemy forces were already all disarmed and lined up nicely by the rocks, their dead teammates laid out on the mud.
"Lawie! C'mere, c'mere, you shitass."
W, being held up by Hedley, stood in front of the captives, triumphing smugly in front of their leader.
"First of all, nice aim, dipshit."
"It was the wind, I told you…!"
"... Second of all, I'm willing to forgive and forget, which'll save you from a rough scalping. But you gotta do something for me, hm?"
Both Ines and Hedley let out disappointed sighs and other sounds of disapproval.
"Seriously, W? You're going through with it?"
"Hell yeah, I am! Now, Lawie…"
He wiggled out of the giant's grasp and hobbled over to Andy, practically throwing himself on the boy and putting most of his weight against his shoulder. He barely managed to hold the merc up.
"... You take my gun and send all these here dogs to hell, ah? Fun, simple task."
Andy's eyes went wide as he turned to look at his "leader's" face, seeing that wild, sadistic grin up close for the first time.
"You want me to shoot captives?"
"Uh-huh!~"
"Why?"
"Why? What, you wanna carry all of them back to town? C'mon, there's six of them, four of us… Plus the bodies. Maybe Hedley could carry two, but you and I? And Ines? Hell, she'd barely handle just one. We want that sweet bounty, we gotta take a few pics of their corpses!"
W shoved the automatic rifle into the boy's hands.
"And before that, we gotta shoot 'em dead. Chop chop, cash hates waiting."
"But… I thought you wanted them to join your group?"
"And you seriously believed that? Ha!"
He let out a few snorts and feral cackles.
"Hell no! I wanted them dead! So, go ahead, show them the… What do you people say? The light? The… Just shoot them, Lawboy."
He grasped Andy's shoulders and shifted behind him, sticking his head barely above the boy's wings, eagerly awaiting the show. Andy took a good look at the rifle and felt himself hesitate. Ines and Hoederer kept staring at the two, seemingly slightly bored and disgusted.
Kill 'Em All? Was that the right thing to do? Was… Of course it was. Half their squad was dead, anyway. Besides, a good sarkaz was a dead sarkaz!
A small grin creeped onto his face as his hand gripped the rifle's bolt and racked it back with a metallic cling. Ines flinched and turned her gaze away.
…
Chuckling and giggling, W kept hobbling around the bloody aftermath, with a little hop to his step, stopping by each of the bodies to take a close up picture with his rusty camera.
"Smile, you bastard!"
Click!
The camera shuttered, forever claiming the soul of the dead leader. W merrily spat into the bullet hole in his forehead and moved on to the next one.
Click!
The rest kept a safe distance, tending to their wounds and gear. Ines was busy collecting all the throwing knives she had launched, leaving Andy and Hedley to have a moment to themselves, watching the madman's gleeful frolicking.
"That's that."
"Sure is."
"... You planning on sticking with us for a few more weeks? Could use someone with your aim. Given there's no wind."
"Yeah, yeah. Haven't got anything better to do, might as well stay."
An awkward silence enveloped the two.
"... I know what you're thinking, big man."
"I assure you, Andy, you don't."
"Shouldn't have done that, huh? Is that it?"
"Of course you should. But for all the wrong reasons. See, this is war. People die, that's a given. Captives die, civilians die, everyone does. Doesn't matter if you go out of your way and slit a few throats to make your job easier. What you've done, though, is feed that moron's imagination and give into his sick, twisted will. He'll snap, eventually and everyone who he considers to be beneath him will feel that."
"..."
"... Or I might be just rambling. I'm nothing but a mercenary, after all. Just like you, Andy."
"Laaaaaawboy~!"
W's high pitched chirping echoed through the entire canyon.
"Lawboy, c'mere, lemme take a nice pic of you and your prey together, ah? That oughta be something you can put in your CV, for sure!"
The redhead gave a small sigh and nudged Andy's ribs with his elbow.
"When the reaper calls, you best answer. Go on, don't keep him waiting."
He reluctantly left his safe spot and approached the madman.
"Just crouch right here, right by this scumbag… Yeah, that's the main guy, before you ask. Hm. Can you pose for me, Lawie? Higher! H-... DON'T POINT THAT THING AT ME! Aim higher! Just like that, aha!"
Click!
The camera shuttered once more, capturing Andy's triumphant pose amongst the dead bodies scattered all over the muddy ground. He took a long, good look at the picture, seeing his dirty clothes, messy gray curls, bright halo and wings…
And that wide, silly grin plastered over his face, seemingly proud of the massacre that just took place.
W kept cackling like a pelican choking on a fishbone. Andy kept staring at the camera's display, reminiscing of a promise he once gave. Of a certain redhead who so eagerly asked him to take pictures during his stay in this shithole. A funny thought crossed his mind, the image of the highly religious, not-so-innocent Lemuel staring at this very photo, seeing her dear friend all covered in blood and mud, towering proudly over a mountain of dead bodies and grinning like a moron.
He couldn't help but let out a chuckle of his own. W picked up on his laughter and leaned against the boy, wailing in hysterics and gripping his punctured knee. The two soon found themselves rolling in the mud, dying of laughter, both of them having their own reasons. It didn't matter, though. Differences were put aside, if only for just a moment. A moment of stupid, childish chortling.
Watching from afar, Ines gave a small sigh.
"Boys will be boys."
Hoederer simply nodded.
"Boys will be boys."