Kaiser Khorosho
(?)Community Member
Offline
- Posted: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 07:13:25 +0000
In the far corner on the top floor of a smokey s**t hole of a tavern sat what appeared to be a small boy. Not many noticed him enter THE STARDUST SALOON, and those who did lost their sobriety and any recollection of him within the hour of his arrival. He sat alone in a round booth with a dimly lit electrical lantern above it, sipping the water provided by his well tipped barmaid. She knew that the sizable tip the boy gave her was to ensure her silence and to make sure he wasn't to be disturbed. With it she could go a month without whoring, the side job of most women this damned town. Although she would forget his face when asked, she did observe his serious demeanor, as well as the weapon he was cleaning over the course of the meals she delivered to him.
While most men armed themselves with mass produced laser bolt pistols or energy rifles, or even the ones that fired antimatter rounds, this young boy appeared to have an old-tech revolver. The former weapons generally had a power source that expelled energy as an offensive measure, whereas the latter had solid, tangible ammunition that had fallen out of favor since the renaissance of Synthofusion. Interstellar travel not only became possible, but cheap, and so did human life. Synthofusion essentially could create new matter from other matter. It was a sort of alchemic science that was mass produced and distributed to everyone, and that led to the great anarchy that reduced the planet this barmaid called home into dystopia. Lawlessness prevailed and the Commune abandoned it and took most of the knowledge of Synthofusion with it. That was one hundred or so years ago. Her grandmother had told her the story she had heard as a girl. It was one of the few things she remembered of her.
The barmaid delivered the boy's third meal of her shift, another medium rare half pound hamburger. She learned from the first one he ordered three hours ago that he didn't enjoy vegetables. He had pointed to the burger on the sparse menu that he was offered him when she first arrived at his table and scrawled a note for the future nixing of greens on her subsequent visit. She took the plate back to the kitchen and recycled the vegetables for future use. Although food was plentiful thanks to the remaining Sythefusion technology, the owner of the tavern was a stickler when it came to wasting food. Also written on the note were instructions for her to deliver him another half pound burger every hour he was there, and she did this without question due to the credits clipped to the note. The boy never spoke and the barmaid never asked any questions, like where he put all that beef in that small frame of his, or why he had such outdated weaponry. She just kept refilling his water every so often and bringing him a hamburger as the hour hand progressed on the digital clock above the holosphere downstairs, and the boy kept nodding slightly and smiling at her efforts. Her only question came when the posse entered THE STARDUST SALOON, looking for a small boy that had an antique six gun and a pension for beef.
The posse's quarry sighed, almost in disgust. Sure, it was hard to keep a dozen or so men from entering a gem of an establishment such as this without making much noise, but even the blackout drunks sprang back to consciousness after the brazen entrance made by the posse. The 'boy,' colloquially known as 'The Voodoo Child' to most manner of bounty hunters and what counted as the law in this, had just finished cleaning and oiling Sphinx. Voodoo's revolver, massive for a normal sized man, could hold five rounds of 11.5mm cartridges in its cylinder. The large cartridges had strange etchings on them and seemed to shimmer, even in the dank booth he sat it. The bullet heads did just the opposite; light seemed to dance away from its surface whenever it was illuminated.
Curious to any who might have seen it, the pile of dust and soot that had accumulated near the edge of the table after Sphinx's cleaning seemed to exude ripples of light, much akin to a sweltering highway in the noon sun. Voodoo began to rub his dinner knife alongside of his water glass, spreading the condensation over the knife's surface. He then carefully dipped the knife into the dust pile, matting the propellants to the edge of the dull blade. When he was satisfied he placed the knife back on the grease stained napkin and went back to his hamburger. Three should be enough to deal with these pests, he thought. He continued eating even when a group of four showed up at the top of the stairs. Most had already drawn their guns but one, Voodoo considered to be the leader of the posse, seemed to be the diplomat of the group.
"Dying without drawing your gun would be embarrassing. Why don't you go ahead and level it at me? Leave this world thinking you had a chance, will you?" The four men exchanged quizzical looks, one shrugging, two cocking eyebrows, and the leader reaching for his energy pistol. Had this child really challenged them? They now had four weapons pointed at the boy, any one of which capable disintegrating an inch of solid steel in an instant. The oddest part was the boy wasn't even armed. His gun was on his left, flat on the table, and the boy had a half eaten hamburger in his left hand. One of the four began to laugh at the situation. Soon the rest joined in. They barely noticed the Voodoo Child lifting his dinner knife and make a horizontal slashing motion in their direction.
There were suddenly four sets of upper torsos on the ground alongside four pairs of legs within urine soaked pants. While the faces of the newly deceased were still covered in a smile from their laughter only moments before, the eyes were a mixture of confusion and horror. The screams began shortly after, what with the blood falling through the cracks of the upper floor through the ceiling of the lower floor.
The rest of the posse was somewhat oblivious as to what had just happened. Voodoo had just enough time to finish his last meal before appearing at the top of the staircase with his hand cannon leveled at the group. The looked up at him with something between awe and terror. Either way, they all bunched up right near the entrance. The collateral damage caused by Sphinx would be minimal. All light in the room vanished, seemingly sucked into the path of the bullet. Only an eerie red glow emanated from the large beam of energy that creeped out the barrel of Voodoo's gun. That night in THE STARDUST SALOON, some patrons claimed it a tornado of blood and souls tore up the place. Others said it was anti matter playing tricks on the eyes. Most came to the conclusion that some kind of hell flew across the room and engulfed the posse that came after the Voodoo Child.
Once the natural light began to return, the boy threw a wad of credit slips to the proprietor, apologizing about the mess. He stole a glance at his terrified hostess for the evening. Honestly, if he could have been any less flashy he would have been, but in a fight against energy and laser bolt weaponry, one couldn't be too careful, even the quasi immortal Voodoo Child. He walked over too her, knowingly damning her in the eyes of the other patrons, and whispered to her in a voice only she could here.
"My compliments to the chef."
He then gently took her hand and deposited another credit slip into it, hoping she would read the attached note like the last one. Voodoo could read people, and she had a spark of something in her, something faded . He naively thought that this incident might be able to polish said spark, but the realist in him dismissed this.
He walked toward his swath of destruction and lifted his pistol into the air. Sphinx glowed red as did the remains of the fresh corpses. Globules of energy and human carrion gravitated toward the revolver and appeared to be absorbed by it. The red light faded and the Voodoo Child was gone, leaving legend behind him, as well as a future fanatic in the form of a whoring barmaid.
While most men armed themselves with mass produced laser bolt pistols or energy rifles, or even the ones that fired antimatter rounds, this young boy appeared to have an old-tech revolver. The former weapons generally had a power source that expelled energy as an offensive measure, whereas the latter had solid, tangible ammunition that had fallen out of favor since the renaissance of Synthofusion. Interstellar travel not only became possible, but cheap, and so did human life. Synthofusion essentially could create new matter from other matter. It was a sort of alchemic science that was mass produced and distributed to everyone, and that led to the great anarchy that reduced the planet this barmaid called home into dystopia. Lawlessness prevailed and the Commune abandoned it and took most of the knowledge of Synthofusion with it. That was one hundred or so years ago. Her grandmother had told her the story she had heard as a girl. It was one of the few things she remembered of her.
The barmaid delivered the boy's third meal of her shift, another medium rare half pound hamburger. She learned from the first one he ordered three hours ago that he didn't enjoy vegetables. He had pointed to the burger on the sparse menu that he was offered him when she first arrived at his table and scrawled a note for the future nixing of greens on her subsequent visit. She took the plate back to the kitchen and recycled the vegetables for future use. Although food was plentiful thanks to the remaining Sythefusion technology, the owner of the tavern was a stickler when it came to wasting food. Also written on the note were instructions for her to deliver him another half pound burger every hour he was there, and she did this without question due to the credits clipped to the note. The boy never spoke and the barmaid never asked any questions, like where he put all that beef in that small frame of his, or why he had such outdated weaponry. She just kept refilling his water every so often and bringing him a hamburger as the hour hand progressed on the digital clock above the holosphere downstairs, and the boy kept nodding slightly and smiling at her efforts. Her only question came when the posse entered THE STARDUST SALOON, looking for a small boy that had an antique six gun and a pension for beef.
~ ~ ~
The posse's quarry sighed, almost in disgust. Sure, it was hard to keep a dozen or so men from entering a gem of an establishment such as this without making much noise, but even the blackout drunks sprang back to consciousness after the brazen entrance made by the posse. The 'boy,' colloquially known as 'The Voodoo Child' to most manner of bounty hunters and what counted as the law in this, had just finished cleaning and oiling Sphinx. Voodoo's revolver, massive for a normal sized man, could hold five rounds of 11.5mm cartridges in its cylinder. The large cartridges had strange etchings on them and seemed to shimmer, even in the dank booth he sat it. The bullet heads did just the opposite; light seemed to dance away from its surface whenever it was illuminated.
Curious to any who might have seen it, the pile of dust and soot that had accumulated near the edge of the table after Sphinx's cleaning seemed to exude ripples of light, much akin to a sweltering highway in the noon sun. Voodoo began to rub his dinner knife alongside of his water glass, spreading the condensation over the knife's surface. He then carefully dipped the knife into the dust pile, matting the propellants to the edge of the dull blade. When he was satisfied he placed the knife back on the grease stained napkin and went back to his hamburger. Three should be enough to deal with these pests, he thought. He continued eating even when a group of four showed up at the top of the stairs. Most had already drawn their guns but one, Voodoo considered to be the leader of the posse, seemed to be the diplomat of the group.
"Dying without drawing your gun would be embarrassing. Why don't you go ahead and level it at me? Leave this world thinking you had a chance, will you?" The four men exchanged quizzical looks, one shrugging, two cocking eyebrows, and the leader reaching for his energy pistol. Had this child really challenged them? They now had four weapons pointed at the boy, any one of which capable disintegrating an inch of solid steel in an instant. The oddest part was the boy wasn't even armed. His gun was on his left, flat on the table, and the boy had a half eaten hamburger in his left hand. One of the four began to laugh at the situation. Soon the rest joined in. They barely noticed the Voodoo Child lifting his dinner knife and make a horizontal slashing motion in their direction.
There were suddenly four sets of upper torsos on the ground alongside four pairs of legs within urine soaked pants. While the faces of the newly deceased were still covered in a smile from their laughter only moments before, the eyes were a mixture of confusion and horror. The screams began shortly after, what with the blood falling through the cracks of the upper floor through the ceiling of the lower floor.
The rest of the posse was somewhat oblivious as to what had just happened. Voodoo had just enough time to finish his last meal before appearing at the top of the staircase with his hand cannon leveled at the group. The looked up at him with something between awe and terror. Either way, they all bunched up right near the entrance. The collateral damage caused by Sphinx would be minimal. All light in the room vanished, seemingly sucked into the path of the bullet. Only an eerie red glow emanated from the large beam of energy that creeped out the barrel of Voodoo's gun. That night in THE STARDUST SALOON, some patrons claimed it a tornado of blood and souls tore up the place. Others said it was anti matter playing tricks on the eyes. Most came to the conclusion that some kind of hell flew across the room and engulfed the posse that came after the Voodoo Child.
Once the natural light began to return, the boy threw a wad of credit slips to the proprietor, apologizing about the mess. He stole a glance at his terrified hostess for the evening. Honestly, if he could have been any less flashy he would have been, but in a fight against energy and laser bolt weaponry, one couldn't be too careful, even the quasi immortal Voodoo Child. He walked over too her, knowingly damning her in the eyes of the other patrons, and whispered to her in a voice only she could here.
"My compliments to the chef."
He then gently took her hand and deposited another credit slip into it, hoping she would read the attached note like the last one. Voodoo could read people, and she had a spark of something in her, something faded . He naively thought that this incident might be able to polish said spark, but the realist in him dismissed this.
He walked toward his swath of destruction and lifted his pistol into the air. Sphinx glowed red as did the remains of the fresh corpses. Globules of energy and human carrion gravitated toward the revolver and appeared to be absorbed by it. The red light faded and the Voodoo Child was gone, leaving legend behind him, as well as a future fanatic in the form of a whoring barmaid.