I missed, yet again. I still have 10 more rounds in my magazine, but the vehicle is far too fast for me to keep up, and I lose one of them, the driver, that was 3 dead in a single minute which sadly weren't four with the driver that'll spill the beans to the rest of his crew. I turn to the customer, who's an emotional mess, sobbing while there's an illiterate at her feet, it wasn't supposed to go this way, I was to handle the money, and nothing else. But they brought them upon themselves. I need to close the store and chase after them to the ends of the earth, lest they write a letter to Francois and have to fight not only some petty teenagers, but also the New Fleur operating in Marlon.

  - "You need to leave" - I told the customer - "Away from here, back to Bluehorse even, they've seen your face, you're not safe here"

  - "No, I won't" - she responded, stifling another sob - "I'll do whatever it takes, even if it takes my life, it was my dream to come to this place"

  - "Your dream will get you killed" - I said, I'm too familiar with these parts, the assassins that Duport hires to keep the town quiet about their abuse - "It is best for you to get out"

  - "It costed me all of my life savings to be here" -she said again - "I already set my foot in I can't just, leave! I'll help you fight these men, whatever it takes, I just can't go back to Bluehorse"

  I sighed, It would be impossible, and I didn't have time to chat with her about petty technicalities, if she wants to die, she'll die, but at least she knew what she was getting in.

  - "Grab that gun, it's 100% off day, if you want to be useful." -I said, walking in to grab a box of bullets, 230-grain .45 Auto jacketed hollow point, God's caliber. Handing them to the young lass - "The gun store is safe, we need to track the car tires back into their hiding spot, kill all of them, and hopefully burn their hideout to the ground"

  - "I have a bike, it'll make it easier for us to travel around" - she said, I turned to face her, only then noticing that humble café racer on the opposite side of the road. - "So... Lead the way, I guess?"

  I walk down to the back, I didn't want to be conspicuous, so I grab a mini fridge I've been stuffing the clothes at

  - "Guide me to your home, put on some red clothes, the quicker, the better" - I told her, my rifle slung around my back, holding the mini fridge with one hand and the keys to the store I'll most likely permanently close after the Sheriff sends me to jail, or hopefully we could escape from her too, I'd like that.

  She turned on the bike and drove all the way to her house, parking the bike and going upstairs. I found a nice secluded place in the bathroom next to the kitchen, where I changed my OD jacket and pants into the clothes I stole from the gangster, I know that the Palomino Street Gang and the Armée de Dieu are rival gangs, fighting over religion and postal codes. I also decorate myself as I always do, at least 3 handguns on me, a rifle, two HE grenades, 2 more magazines for my rifle, and a bottle of Rest Katzenpiss. And with me all set up, the outfit making me look like I'm ready to get myself killed in a drive-by, I walk out to meet the rookie, who's already also dressed in the same outfit she wore to my store, except red instead of yellow.

  We both hopped on the bike, this time me leading as I still recognize the fresh burns of the rubber on the asphalt, leading me to the north-west. We drove to a small, rotten plantation, probably left behind by its owners when this county was founded. I signalled the rookie to stand by as I stick to the door, first thing I sense are two men, one on the right and one on the left, I signal the rookie before opening the door.

  My first strike hits the deadbeat right through the 2nd rib, and the recoil helps me fire a 2nd shot this time to his collarbone, and if he hasn't yet fallen dead, a third shot through the head will do the trick. Call that Mossalbique Drill. When I turn to the second, I see that the rookie had taken care of it with extreme precision, carving half of his head off with a shot well-placed between the eyes, while having a posture that would make a drill sergeant yell at you for a tour and a half. I quickly advance through the front, seeing some gun barrels peek through the opening in front of me, the wood is old and termite-eaten, which makes it easy to shoot through and hit them through the ineffective cover anyways. And once I see that what peeks through the door is blood, I advance through after drinking a sip or two out of my bottle of Rest.

  I was caught off guard and nearly stabbed to death by a 5th one that peeked through the corner, I tried to wrestle the switch-blade out of his hand, or somehow reach to get my pistol, but as I was trying to steady him, the rookie shot again, this time right through his side, which made it easier for me to draw my pistol and finish him off. I advance on through the stairs to the 2nd floor, which looked more like narrow gangways than a proper floor. With the lack of cover I had, I did my best to shoot quickly and accurately, sensing exactly 5 gangsters on this floor, I take out one behind me by turning to the wall and canting my rifle to the side so I can get a clear shot, and two gangsters rushed down the stairs to the second floor, which were dead by the time I could see their torsos, leaving me with three that were fleeing, throwing themselves outside the window and running away, but I could have no stragglers, so I take aim outside the window and finish them off before they could run into the tall grass.

  I saw the first tracer bullet come out of my rifle, which meant I was pretty close to running out, which made me switch the magazine, racking the bolt back to extract that one tracer in the chamber and placing it inside my previous magazine. As I approach the third floor, I'm overwhelmed with fully automatic shot that splinters the wood, and sends shards of red-hot lead and rotten wood my way, I duck my head and look back at the rookie, who looks like she has just seen a mother get shot in front of her child, but at least is still alive. And I realize that there's only one single option upstairs, and pulling the pin with all of my force, I toss a grenade out, which explodes, sending shrapnel everywhere. Since I think I'm safe, I climb upstairs where I'm again surprised, this time I ducked in one of the "rooms" of the plantation to avoid gunfire from a fully automatic, the same one that decorated the stairs with lead, it's an open bolt, blocky, and with the magazine in the grip. I decide to bait more bullets out of him, peeking out my rifle from the door and shooting at the wood, but the corner is way too thick for my rifle to pierce it, I feel my gun running out of bullets from the suppressive fire, in a situation where the rookie cannot help me dispatch of the enemy, until I hear it

  Click. And I know what it meant, it wasn't my gun, but it was his, even though we had the same amount of bullets in the magazine, his reckless full auto fire opened a weak spot I'll obviously use. I rushed out, my carbine swinging from the sling as I draw my pocket pistol, dumping the entire magazine of it on the shooter, until I hear the Click, but this time from my own gun.

  I know who I killed, that was Arcade Ganon, one of the very few literates and the only bilingual among the Palomino Street Gang, the one who did the bills, the writing, and the letter that he was going to send to Duport. I quickly retrieve it from his fat puffer jacket, it was written in Frankish, which I knew how to read. The note was a desperate plea for help from Francois, but Mr. Duport's eyes were far away from this letter, a town and a river apart to be precise. As I turn to leave, I get to catch another glimpse of the rookie, she looked at the blood like if it were uranium about to melt the skin off her bone, I have been there too, so I quickly place myself in-between Ganon's running blood and her, letting her see the letter even if it was written in Frankish.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "We are safe now, the letter hasn't reached Francois' mail yet" - I told her, guiding her out of the building - "Now, we just need to burn this all down to the ground."

  I prepared myself, the bottle of Rest Katzenpiss was only 20%, which wasn't good enough to be turned into fuel, but that's when I remember: The can of gas secured to the side of the rookie's bike. I use the gas to pour over the first floor, before setting off a grenade near the staircase and running away alongside the rookie, watching how the grenade lights up the gasoline, which lights up the rotten wood, the smell of cooked termites and charcoal fills my nostril as I ride out of there, looking up just to confirm that there is no rainfall approaching, and I must be in luck, as today is sunny with no signs of rainfall. As we drive out to her house, I try to remain alongside a path far away from prying eyes, going in immediately and changing the clothes I'll burn tomorrow morning too. Unwrapping all that cloth, and finally wearing the OD green jacket and pants I grew to miss. The rookie took her time, she sat on the couch in the living room, clearly still troubled about her two kills, and the many more she witnessed in the span of 5 minutes.

  - "What did you work as, rookie?" - I asked her, sitting down on the same couch she did, hoping to ease her mind about what just had gone on, and find another topic of conversation - "Before coming in to this shithole?"

  - "I was a farmer" - She said, her voice raspy after the crying, and the ringing of the ears that must surely accompany the loud gunshots - "A dairy farmer, in Bluehorse"

  - "Think of them as Coyotes" - I said, repeating a speech ad verbum that stuck out the most to me from the captain of the company - "Farmers hunt coyotes not because they like it, even though some do, but mostly to protect their chickens, their cats, their dogs, you may not want to kill them because your morality prevents you to, but they have no morality that prevents them, and what results is you and your teammates get killed"

  - "It's not that easy" - She protested, nearly breaking down into tears again for what she's done - "Coyotes aren't human shaped, they don't bleed so much, they don't moan in pain"

  - "You'll eventually get used to it, what more can I say? I also didn't like it at first." - I reassured her, taking her Single Action M73, or well, the Vitalian copy of it. - "You got a terrible posture, but your aim is pretty good for a rookie"

  

  (pictured above, Leslie's revolver, which was originally going to be purchased from Andreas)

  - "Listen, whenever you want, I can teach you how to properly aim, fire, and reload this revolver" - I told her, pretty familiar with the gun and how it works, the lever on the bottom, the hammer, ejector, gate, it was a gun everyone should know how to use at least once in their lifetime. - "Don't worry about finding a firing range, gunshots are common enough in this neighborhood, and it keeps the real state prices low."

  - "I guess, we could probably begin tomorrow" - She said, her final veredict as she places the gun on the table again, eyeing it - "I've got a lot in my mind right now, say, are you hungry? I got some meat and potatoes"

  - "I'd be very grateful for some food." - I answered, checking my wristwatch to see that it's exactly 14 hours past midnight, at such hours I must use my eye drops - "Listen, I'll be back soon"

  I went back to the minifridge, I looked around, there were the clothes alright, in all their dry blood that hardly changed the red, and just made them glossier. But I couldn't for the life of me find out the eyedrops nor even the dropper. I smack myself on the face, I was so focused I lost them at the gun store, and there's no way I could go back with Sharon at the door of the gun store, I'm sure she already knows it's me, and has taken plenty of pictures of the plantation job. My eye's itching, and twitching too.

  - "You don't happen to have some eye drops or a warm compress, do you, rookie?" - I called after her, hoping to get some hydration to my eyes -

  - "Of course, I got some drops in my travel bag, check the bedroom" - She said, punctuated by the sizzling of steak, my mouth waters, but it'd be nicer if my eye did - "It's in the top floor, on top of the bed "

  I climb the stairs to find some help, and I searched the bag, there was about everything, a small shovel, a folding chair, a tourniquet, medicine for farm animals, chicken feed, and a lot of cassettes for Spaghetti Westerns, and tucked in a little corner, I see some eye drops which I pour into my eye after removing the mask that covered it, I watched as it rolled down my eyeball , easing the pain at last. I put everything back in place before waking downstairs, where I'm greeted with steaming potatoes and a seriously delicious steak, I haven't had such food since I was a kid, and I'm practically dying to eat. But as I went downstairs I was greeted with the startled stare of the Rookie

  - "Jesus, what happened?" - she said, pointing at my face - "did it melt your skin off or something?"

  As I sit on the chair, I know what she means, the gnarly scar, the pink flower of my face that bloomed in '83, taking away my eyelids and the color of my face, and having to be completely stitched up, it brought back nasty reminders, fear, anger, hate, despair. I could keep listing them, but I'd die of starvation first

  - "War scars, rookie" - I told her, taking a bite of the tender and juicy meat, cooked medium rare just like I like it - "tis' undeniable proof that death is closer than you nay think"

  - "I'm really sorry " - she said, almost shrinking on the chair as if expecting me to hate her for asking about my scar - "I didn't think"

  - "it's fine, many people ask about it" - I tell her, bringing an amazingly soft potato to my lips, maybe if the chefs at the chow halls cooked this kind of food instead of raw, burnt, and stale beans, we would've won the war by now - "This food is delicious, you're an amazing cook, you know that, rookie?"

  - "Thanks" - she said, already busy with her share of the beef and potatoes - "my mom taught me, it's all you eat at the farm"

  After eating the food, I take care of cleaning the plates, placing them neatly on the rack. I return to the rookie, who's sitting down and reading some sort of magazine to keep herself entertained

  "So, when do you think it's safe for you to return to the Gun store?" - she asked, but right as she does, I hear the characteristic sound of a police car alarm, we both peek out of the window, and as the car drives by, I see the license plate of the Sheriff, who's probably looking for me - "Wonder who they're chasing after?"

  - "Me, she's looking after me" - I answer her questions, shutting the curtains so that if Sharon comes back, she won't see me - "that's the reason why, the woman inside there is the Sheriff, she wants me, and not only to put me in jail. She probably knows that I was the one who shot up the plantation. I know it's probably a lot to ask, but please have me for the time being, I'll do chores. And maybe if I can get the Sheriff to forget about the Plantation job and get back to my store, I'll give you a discount on anything you want"

  - "Oh, of course I will" - she said, looking at the horizon, or the TV on a stand in front of her - "As long as you can teach me how to shoot, how to lose all of my remorse, and how to hopefully climb the ranks, become a Sheriff, and cleanse this town of all evil"

  - "Hard task, but not an impossible one" - I tell her, warning her about how long it will take, but also encouraging her, a good shooter by my side is always beneficial, and her potential is unlimited - "I think we can do it, so, starting tomorrow?"

  - "Yes!" - she said, with stars in her amber eyes as she extended her hand towards me, which I have no problem giving a firm handshake - "Can't wait for tomorrow"

  - "Make the most of it" - I tell her, sitting down on the table with her - "Tomorrow's always another day"