One soul stands between it all, the green eyes and dark hair of the northlands exchanging stares with both the Law and the Lawless. An outer layer of clothing scavenged from disparate sources and body armor taken from craftsmen across the world, a wide brimmed hat upon his head shadowing the rest of his thin form. Utility belt strung alongside an empty bandolier, a currency of the world unfound within him. A soul completed by the only visible weapon: a revolver still within its holster at his waist.
Silence at the single word, a long pause between the Bandit and the Judge as the interloper is analyzed.
“Step away son.” The Judge orders.
The Gunslinger simply raises his hands defensively, far away from lethal weaponry. “Just wait. Nobody needs to get killed today.”
The Bandit chuckles as she remains focused on the old man. Casualness somehow in character to the current situation. “Who said anyone’s gonna get killed? I’m just tryna get away from gramps here. He doesn’t stand a chan…”
“Don’t move.” The Judge orders her, reaching down towards steel handcuffs upon his utility belt. “You’re under arrest, do not resist.”
An audience of one, the Bandit snickers towards the Gunslinger with a tinge of showmanship. “Look at this guy…”
Fast footsteps from the alleyways alongside the clattering of steel grow louder, two souls split between heavy and light masses felt through the sounds echoing through brick walls.
A weapon torn from the gods themselves, the massive anti-material caliber of the rifle shouldered and leveled upon a neutral space between all three parties. A barrel of divine black, four lines across it glowing white hot in the preparation for combat; the girl’s possession of raw power adding a lethal consequence to action.
Two children, barely at the age of fifteen.
“Cease this activity.” Standing beside her the woven pair of faces plays upon the boy, his voice cold as he interrupts them. Two Bounty Hunters, ready to turn in the Lawless. “Under legal code fourteen dash four of the Federation Constitution, we are taking possession of the wanted criminal Madeline McCormik for the bounty placed upon her.”
The Judge attempts to gauge the seriousness of the brazen act, a cold gaze scanning over the boy and the girl. From ancient minds he discovers the sibling connection, hereditary facial structures completing the dark eyes and hair of an Armin heritage. No violence, the Lawman simply catching the legal technicality within the statement. “You have not engaged the suspect prior, please leave the scene.”
“We have engaged her.” The boy coldly informs as he readies a stance. “She is our bounty, and we are within the rights dictated under legal code fourteen dash four of the Federation Constitution to receive a reward.”
The Gunslinger realizes the predicament, the Armin cultural boundaries strangely missing upon the form of the boy and girl yet an accent placing them deep within the cities of steel and sand. A losethi pair of children against this world of rage, a parentage either forgotten or missing upon the cold gazes of the two resultances.
Diplomacy interrupted by the Bandit, usage of humor attempting to glean information from the sibling pair. “Wow, so whataya you two kids wanna do with one million bucks huh?”
The boy answers her, emotionless gaze turning from the Judge to the young woman. “The answer is not relevant.”
“Oh it is.” The Bandit smiles as she takes her eyes off the Judge, the multi-barreled weapon still remaining upon the old form, a body prepared to spring forth into action. “I mean a million dollars is a lot of money. But again, you have to take me alive to get it!”
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The girl answers this time, a poisonous answer more passionate than her sibling. “That will be a non-issue for us.”
“Listen, we don’t have to fight.” The Gunslinger begs his own analysis of the situation, an unknown solution a more attractive option compared to a lethal shootout. “Nobody’s hurt anyone, we can all just go.”
The boy turns towards the interloper, a perfect mind processing the structural creation of the face. A northlandic heritage betrayed by pale green eyes suddenly cutting down on possible entries of humankind, a single soul remembered from hungrily read newspapers and city criers.
An augmented mind makes the connection, a mage slayer at their very midst the gravest threat beneath gods. He gives the order, a stance suddenly lowered as he prepares for combat. “Shift target: man at center. Designation: Alto Carrin.”
The barrel of the divine weapon moves, now pointed right at the Gunslinger. A white hot barrel ripping reality towards it in the excitement of reunification, a trigger about to be pulled in the death of humanity.
The Gunslinger’s hand quickly hovers over his own weapon, wise eyes garnering no insight from the boy and cold execution from the girl: an inevitable conflict to be reignited against death itself. “H-hold on…”
The Bandit makes the connection as the name is spoken, a sarcastic face suddenly turning to gentle surprise. “Alto Carrin?! Gods no way that’s you! Huuuuge fan!”
The Judge makes the recognition as well, the man from the bar and now the street concluding a single, major course of action. The Lawbringer shifting, now pointed at the young man, the old soul giving the allegation. “Alto Carrin, you are under arrest for the murder of Senior Judge Samson.”
The Bandit groans, rolling her eyes as she’s left without attention. “Seriously?! You’re gonna arrest him for THAT six years ago?! Gods above this is a joke.”
Two gunmen against him, the Gunslinger readying his stance as he exchanges glances between the two. A small prayer sounded to the world, one god in reverence against four remaining. “Alina, save them please…”
“Hands in the air.” The Judge orders him, a physical pain audible through his wavering voice. “NOW!”
Five barrels begin to spin, the Bandit interjecting as she steps to the side of the Gunslinger. “All due respect, I ain’t gonna let you arrest him on my account… old man.”
The Judge turns to her, subtle movement as he aims the weapon still at the northlander. “You’re next McCormik.”
“And you’re next too.” She implies with an evil smirck. “You think those two kids are gonna let you walk after you’re done with him? That million dollars on the line… people’ve done worse for less.”
The Judge remains silent, a response interrupted by the twins. The girl speaking the answer of full agreement, a threat towards the ancient man from the collective of two. “If you do not allow for us to collect the bounty on Madeline McCormik, we will terminate you.”
“Is that a threat?” The Judge asks viciously.
The boy coldly answers the question. “It will be if you do not stand down.”
Five souls, five fragments together.
Beneath sleeping gods above a fate is woven together by the movements of quantum waves and the breathing of a slaved sun a million miles away. Of dead divines watching the tapestry of rage play forth, the echoes of their own salvation found within the dirty streets of a broken city.
Alto Carrin prepares to draw, a choice to kill an old man and one child utterly impossible upon the grip of his revolver. An unbreakable faith suddenly in question, a soul unable to actualize the killing of the lethal innocent.
Samuel and Samantha come to agreements, an instinct born of the womb and of a war fought against the world itself allowing for an unconscious transfer of thought: she takes the mage killer, he takes the Judge.
Madeline McCormik faces the impossible, alone in the world of death and destruction. To make a choice of sacrifice or safety, a weapon lugged in her hands as she attempts to find her place among incoming death.
Judge John Murphy holds his stance, the pain snaking through his left shoulder ignored. A mental simulation of a shootout playing within his head, a violence inevitable and lethal consequences guaranteed.
The only solution comes to all five:
Fingers on triggers about to be pulled, a hand hovering atop a fragmented grip reaching towards divine craftsmanship, and a single augmented body holding a microsecond reaction of defensive magic.
Five souls, five fragments together.
It speaks to them.
“Stop.”