Fierce and Swift

Waking up in the body of a fictional race, in a fictional world that is on the verge of destruction seems like a really bad joke. The worst part of it is, it might just be one.

Right, so this is something I don't normally do, but the idea is utterly hilarious and I can't resist. At the moment, this is a NON CANON omake, although you have no idea how tempted I am to make it canon

OMAKE: Burnin' Desire

While Yanfei was messing around in Brockton Bay, across the country on a dry country road, broken up only by the odd small town or truckstop, at a simple bar that catered to the local biker population, something odd was happening. It was a simple place, built from wood and scrap metal, with a dusty parking lot inhabited by bikes, a big rig truck with a red boar on the side and a battered old RV, the sort of place that you could drive by and never notice, but somehow had the best booze in the state.

Despite its out of the way location, it was actually quite busy, mostly from big burly biker types, as well as a few other travelers like the family who owned the RV enjoying a meal in one corner. As a result of the clientele, there was a low buzz of chat, broken by the occasional loud laugh or thrown punch. However, that natural ebb was suddenly broken as the saloon style doors slammed open and in walked someone who absolutely stood out.

At first glance, he looked like someone taking the cowboy look a bit too far, but a second quickly revealed that he was anything but a normal cowboy, despite the revolver on his hip. To start with, his body was made of metal, clearly visible under his cropped jacket, his teeth were jagged like a sharks and his eyes were white and red targeting reticles as pupils.

Said eyes swept the room as the leather jacketed clientele collectively tensed, more than one hand moving to a weapon. After a moment, one of the local leaders, a busty blonde, stood, a big knife in one hand.

"Can we help you?" she asked tersely.

The Cape grinned and held up his hands.

"Hey now, no need to be so defensive," he said, "I'm just here for a drink and some directions."

There was a moments silence, before the woman nodded and put her knife away.

"Alright, just don't start any trouble," she said.

The Cape grinned and tipped his hat to her.

"Wouldn't dream of it ma'am," he said.

With that, the room relaxed. No one was going to argue with the local leader after all, although plenty of eyes watched the Cape as he crossed the room and lent on the bar where he was met by the bubbly bartender.

"Hi there, I'm Burnice," she said, "What can I get for you? A drink? Some snacks?"

"Lemmie try the local whisky," said the Cape.

"Come'n right up!"

She spun around and grabbed a bottle and glass of the bar behind her, depositing it in front of the cowboy and pouring in one movement.

"Heh, nice," he said, taking the glass and downing it.

A moment later, his eyes bulged and he bent over the bar, hacking and coughing.

"Mudder fudger, thats some good stuff!" he gasped once he'd got himself back under control.

"Thanks, its my own recipe," said Burnice with a grin as she refilled his glass.

"That a fact?" he asked, "Might have to pick up a bottle before I go then. Names Boothill, Galaxy Ranger."

"Pleasure," said Burnice, "So, you said you were looking for someone?"

Boothill nodded as he took a, much more careful, sip of his drink.

"Yep, heard some real nasty sons of nice ladies were in the area and thought I could sweep em up," he said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a sheaf of papers.

Burnice took them and her eyebrows shot up.

"Are you aware of how dangerous these are?" she asked, "Most people avoid them."

"I've fought worse," said Boothill with a shrug.

"Well, its your funeral," she said, tilting her head to the side, "Still, I would have thought targeting the Slaughterhouse Nine would be a bit much to get started with."

Boothill shifted on his stool, turning slightly and grinned.

"Like I said, I've fought worse," he said, "Sides, wheres the fun in easy prey?"

Burnice glanced over at the blonde who had confronted Boothill as she slipped onto the stool next to the cowboy.

"Well, when you put it like that, how could we say no?" she asked, "You set?"

Boothill tilted his hat down.

"Whenever you are," he said.

The woman nodded, then flicked her wrist, the knife in her hand flashing in the dim light. At the same time, Boothills gun came out and there was a mighty roar from outside.

And done. I could do more, but I think this is a more fun way to end it. You can probably imagine how badly that went for Jack and his friends.

Also, you have no idea how tempted I was to keep quoting brainrot, but I resisted. Even if I was listening to it while writing this. And yes, me using them was entirely because of the Boothill cover of Burning Desires.

As a reminder, this is currently non-canon, buuuut that might change later.

Anyway, I'm going to wrap this up. Don't forget to leave a review on the way out!