The night air was heavy, thick with the weight of Freiheit’s grief and fury. His car rumbled along the cracked highway outside Neo Austin, the city lights fading into a dim glow behind him. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles pale, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused. He barely registered the road ahead, his mind consumed by a singular thought: revenge.

Ellie’s lifeless body haunted him, her blood-soaked shirt an image that refused to leave his mind. His father’s broken form, the fire swallowing their home—it all played on repeat, fueling the rage bubbling in his chest. His gaze flicked to the revolvers lying on the passenger seat, their black metal gleaming faintly in the dashboard light.

“What are you?” he muttered bitterly. He reached over, picking one up. It felt unnervingly natural in his hand, like it had always been meant to be there.

Suddenly, headlights flared in his rearview mirror. A low growl of an engine grew louder behind him. Freiheit glanced back, squinting against the glare. A vehicle was approaching fast—too fast.

Before he could react, the car slammed into his rear bumper. Freiheit swore, jerking the wheel as his junker skidded and screeched across the road. The other car rammed him again, harder this time, sending him swerving into a ditch.

Freiheit’s head smacked against the steering wheel, his vision spinning as his car ground to a halt. He groaned, shaking the stars out of his eyes. The roar of the pursuing vehicle grew louder, and he stumbled out of his wrecked car, the revolvers now clutched tightly in both hands.

The pursuing car screeched to a halt, its lights cutting through the night. The doors opened, and two police officers stepped out, their uniforms marking them as a branch of local law enforcement—not Black Unit, but still dangerous enough.

“Freiheit Gensero,” one of them barked, raising a pistol. “Drop the weapons and surrender. You’re wanted for possession of illegal tech and obstruction of justice.”

“Obstruction of justice?” Freiheit spat, his voice shaking with rage. “You burned my home down! You killed my family!”

“You were warned,” the other officer said coldly, leveling his own weapon. “Surrender or die.”

Freiheit’s chest heaved, his vision blurred with tears and fury. “You’ll pay for what you did,” he growled, lifting the revolvers.

The first shot caught him in the shoulder before he could fire. Pain exploded through him, and he stumbled back, one knee hitting the dirt. Blood seeped into his jacket, but he refused to let go of the guns.

Instinctively, he raised both revolvers and pulled the triggers simultaneously.

The world froze.

Freiheit blinked, his breath catching in his throat. The police officers stood motionless, their guns mid-aim, the sparks of their muzzle flashes suspended in midair. The wind had stopped. The flames from his wrecked car had stopped flickering. Everything around him was utterly still, frozen in time.

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His heart pounded as he staggered to his feet, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. He looked down at the revolvers in his hands, their barrels faintly glowing.

“What… the hell?” he murmured.

He moved forward cautiously, standing face-to-face with the officer who had shot him. He reached out and tapped the man’s gun with his finger. It didn’t budge, locked in place like a statue.

The realization hit him like a freight train. These guns stop time.

A grim smile spread across his face. He didn’t know how or why, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

He walked behind the officers, lining up his shots carefully. Then, with a deep breath, he let go of the triggers.

Time resumed.

Both officers crumpled to the ground, twin bullet wounds in their backs. Freiheit stood there, trembling as the revolvers cooled in his hands. The pain in his shoulder surged back, and the world swam around him.

He collapsed.

When Freiheit woke, his vision was blurry, and his body ached all over. He was lying on a tattered couch in what looked like an old garage. Tools and scrap littered the floor, and the smell of oil and metal hung heavy in the air.

“Finally awake, huh?”

Freiheit turned his head to see a large man leaning against a workbench, arms crossed. He was broad-shouldered and rugged, with a scar running down his cheek. Beside him stood a woman with purple hair, flipping a knife between her fingers.

“Where… where am I?” Freiheit croaked.

“You’re in Nate Dairy’s workshop,” the man said, gesturing to himself. “I’m Nate. Leader of the Junkers. And you’re lucky we found you when we did. You were bleeding out in the middle of nowhere.”

Freiheit tried to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. “The cops… they were chasing me…”

“They’re not chasing you anymore,” the purple-haired woman said, smirking. “We took care of it. You’re safe for now.”

Freiheit’s eyes darted around the room. “My guns. Where are my guns?”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “You mean these?” He reached behind him and placed the revolvers on the table. Freiheit’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of them.

“Give them back,” Freiheit said, his voice sharp.

Nate didn’t move. “Relax, kid. I’m not keeping them. But you need to understand something. Those aren’t just guns. They’re Gun Centuries—ancient weapons from before the collapse, created by the old government. Each one has a unique ability, and those revolvers… well, they’ve chosen you.”

“Chosen me?” Freiheit scoffed. “What does that even mean?”

Nate shrugged. “It means you’re stuck with them, whether you like it or not. These weapons don’t just work for anyone. They’ve bonded to you. That’s why the cops—and probably worse—are after you. Those things are worth more than your life.”

Freiheit glared at him. “I didn’t ask for any of this. My family’s dead because of these damn things.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the club,” Nate said, his voice hardening. “You’re not the first person to lose everything because of the government. That’s why we exist. The Junkers—me, Jenny, Harry, Sharry—we’re all outcasts, just like you.”

Freiheit stood, swaying slightly. “Thanks for the help, but I’m leaving.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Nate said firmly, stepping in front of him. “Not until you repay your debt.”

“What debt?”

“You’d be dead if we hadn’t saved you. That shoulder wound alone would’ve killed you if Jenny hadn’t patched you up. You owe us.”

Freiheit clenched his fists. “Fine. What do you want?”

Nate smirked. “For now, you’re one of us. You’ll work with the Junkers, help us on jobs, and earn your keep. You don’t like it? Tough. You don’t have a choice.”

Freiheit’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He didn’t want to stay, but he knew Nate was right. He couldn’t survive on his own—not yet.

“Good,” Nate said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Junkers, kid.”

Jenny gave him a sly grin, tossing her knife into the air and catching it. “You’ll fit right in.”

Freiheit picked up the revolvers, the weight of them familiar and comforting. He didn’t trust Nate, or Jenny, or any of them. But for now, he would play along. He had bigger plans—plans that didn’t involve anyone but himself and those responsible for destroying his life.

To be continued.