Mike stood in the hotel bathroom staring at the mirror, grinding up half a pill in his mortar and pestle and carefully pouring it into a metal pill container, placing it next to his tooth brush. There was a knock on the door.

“Occupied. Use the one in the U-haul…or a bucket.” He yawned.

“I’m not using stupid tiny shower, hurry up. You can use your own mobile home to do whatever you’re doing.” Nadja insisted.

“Yes, Queen. Off with my head.” He sarcastically said, feeling the strange urge to have a pistol in hand. She shoved past him as the door closed, checking herself in the mirror as he left. She scrolled on her phone, noticing the little metal vial and getting curious. She unscrewed the lid and tipped it to see what fell out, not expecting loose powder. She jumped and carefully tried to pour it back in, realizing she lost half of it on the wet counter and half on her hands. She stared down angrily.

“Fuck.” She sighed. Sniffing what was already on her hands and wiping the counter clean, digging in her purse and getting her own stash. She carefully estimated the nail full of coke and adding it back in so he wouldn’t notice. She cleaned the remainder off her nail with a sniff and got undressed. As the shirt pulled up, the scars on her back and hash marks tattooed on became visible. A nearly symmetrical canvas of mirrored ink and symbolism, as well as rose bushes connecting everything. She rubbed one shoulder, a faded tattoo of something blue with the stippling of a close range pistol entrance wound that healed long ago.

There was a knock. Nadja sighed and hesitated.

“It’s open.” She replied, prompting Mike to enter and stop shy of the naked body in front of him.

“Not what I came in here for.” He said, diverting his gaze as she seemed almost disappointed. He grabbed his pill container and stepped back out.

“Mike…you’re welcome.” she grinned.

“For what?” he asked.

“The little bonus treat.” She smirked. He sighed and made his leave, assuming she meant the eye candy rather than the nose candy. “Like you notice anything, apparently.” She sighed, feeling unappreciated, grabbing a robe and following him.

“Mike, everyone has a little fun, it’s not a big deal.” She said, snorting and wiping her nose. A little sin nobody knows about hurts nobody, Da?"

“Fuck your fun, your fun needs to stay separated from mine.”

“For a preacher, you’re not very forgiving.” she snipped.

“That’s God’s job, not mine. I never wanted you in my life. I have everything under exact control and every temptation right where it needs to be, but now Tanner is not safe around you or Carl, and she was my supply of happiness. You can’t just replace everything that’s missing and expect me to not notice the difference. I’m just stuck with you, for the moment.”

“No you’re not. You could kill me and then kill Carl without me. You don’t trust that I am an ally any more than a threat and yet while you plant bombs in his guns and plan to cheat, you don’t even kill me when you have the chance. If something tempts you, get rid of it, don’t hide it in small doses.” She said, shoving the pistol against his chest, flat, open palmed as he took it. “Shoot me.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why toy with temptation?”

“Because it’s fun to play with temptation, and I don’t think you can do it. You hate me, but Mister Black finds me alluring, as you say.”

“Oh he definitely finds you tempting but to kill, not to fuck. Preacher Mike doesn’t kill what he doesn’t have to, or what he’s not told to. God wants you alive and that’s why you are. If I let Mister Black decide what to do, you wouldn’t like the result, because it would make things so much simpler to just take you out.”

“Maybe after my shower, I’ll slip into something and go to the bar downstairs. If you wanna take me out, I’ll be ready.” She smiled.

He stormed off, debating his options. The thermals never lied before, no voice told him to kill, no voice told him to refrain. It was as if God was just remaining silent for him to figure it out on his own, like a test. He watched her through the scope as she made her way down the sidewalk, ice cold and dressed to kill.

She sat bored in the bar, getting up and returning. She followed the emptiness through the hotel room and to the parking lot, where the sound of a machine humming lead to the U-haul. She knocked on the back door.

“Busy.” Mike hollered.

“Michael, open the door.” She said firmly, the sound of concern in her voice giving him some strange impulse to open it. Almost as if he was used to automatically opening it to the sound of a female voice demanding entry during his brooding time. She stepped in, noticing the mess. Metal dust and the MPX laying on a towel, as he aggressively filed on something in the vise. “What are you working on?” she asked.

“Why do you care?” he replied.

“It doesn’t matter why, I just do. You have not slept, or relaxed, have you even eaten in the last day?” Nadja asked.

“Don’t need to relax, I’m not going to starve. I have protein shakes and beef jerky. Eating and sleeping poorly won't kill me in a week, Carl might kill me in 3 hours.”

“You’re scared? I would not have expected that from you.” she scoffed.

“I’m not afraid to die. I’m afraid to leave Tanner with him when I do. Right now, she’s not safe. I told her to lay low because I thought YOU were the bigger threat, but I see now you’re just a broken doll with a selfish fixation. You don’t even see her as a threat. Carl on the other hand says he has her in a safe house, and after he kills me he’ll take care of her, whatever that means. Lie to her, twist her faith around, or maybe he’ll just kill her. That’s why I don’t kill you, despite you probably deserving it.”

“You’re more concerned about him hurting her than me killing you. I’m as likely an ally as an enemy, and he is got your Tanner. Flattering. So what are you making to distract yourself?”

“Perfecting the MPX. I had planned to build a totally new system at some point, but never had the time.”

“It’s already sniper rifle, machine gun, hide-under coat gun, with more ammo than anything else. What is missing? Rocket launcher?”

“Considered it, actually. Grenade rounds of some kind. Unfortunately, what it lacks is shotgun capability. I’ve been experimenting with some small 45 caliber shotshells that fire small hockey pucks in a stack, Calling it Puckshot. Full power payload, no wasted airspace from round buckshot, and they fit, but this gun was never designed for 2 and half inch long shell, it’s made to handle pistol rounds half that length. The long action can take it, and I've widened the ejector length, but the magazine won’t hold it, so luckily with a combustible case there’s nothing to eject, and I can force-feed them in like a single shot. Just like the sniper rifle alternative rounds you saw the other day, but hand loading each one, fumbling shells around and then releasing the bolt and getting back on target is getting to be a pain in the ass when I start shaking.” He said holding up the foot long tube with a little bolt knob and a piece of aluminum crudely welded to the side, with 2 holes in it.

“You’re just…building a repeating shotgun that fits on the MPX?”

“Don’t have the time or materials to build a whole new gun, can't adapt this to fit a magazine for rounds I just recently invented. But, I can load a pump shotgun faster than a single shot. I welded a piece of pipe to one of the removable pitacinny rails. Essentially, instead of a laser or flashlight on the side, I have a tube with 4 shotgun shells or 4 sniper rounds. Spring holds them to the back and when you push this knob forward…” he said, demonstrating and kicking a shell out. “Basically force-feeds into the open chamber, and it hits the bolt release and closes the action. It’s not quite a bolt action shotgun, not quite a pump action shotgun, but it’s a 4 shot quick reloadable shotgun I can use. It’s comparable to a 12 gauge.”

“How is THIS…” she said holding it up implying its skinny 45 caliber “As good as 12 gauge?”

“I didn’t say it was a replacement, more of an alternative option. Roughly the same power, 850 grain payload in the form of 8 domed lead pucks. Round balls don’t fit well in a tube, there’s a lot of air, this is a stack of the same weight and number of projectiles with no wasted air. So it should hit with the same power as a 12 gauge but with in a 45 caliber barrel...more or less."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Does it spread out the same?” she asked.

“Not a fucking clue. They’re bound to tumble and make a nastier wound, but they may spread out so quickly that after 50 yards you’re not going to hit anything intentionally. Unfortunately, the first time I test these will be in combat. But 4 rounds of kinda buckshot beats zero rounds of great buckshot. And this fits on my existing gun and is barely any larger. So why NOT have 4 shotgun shells on stand by?”

“How do you think up these things?” Nadja asked, baffled and intrigued.

“Insanity, brilliance, undiagnosed autism, voice of God, take a pick, I’m guessing too. You’ve got some strange setup on your guns as well. Yes, I’ve been snooping around in your stuff. Lightened the triggers, elongated them for that two finger finger-drumming technique of yours. Pretty impressive work for hardware store hotel gunsmithing. Where did you learn that?” he asked.

“Brilliant insanity, voice of the devil?” she smirked. “I was not allowed real guns when I was ten, but my father wanted me to learn. American paintball gun. Harmless, but good practice. I watched videos and learned to shoot quickly. When I was 15 he got me my first pistol. American Five Seven. He said it was the future of sidearms, and he insisted I practice daily. I could not shoot as fast with single trigger, so I cut the guard down. He was furious, of course, and beat me senseless, as he tended to do. So I proved to him this was an improvement. I put two rounds in his back as he had morning coffee. Apparently I did not ruin the gun after all, he didn't even draw his gun. I could never decide if I preferred the SS198 hollowpoint or the 190 armor piercing black tip. One always seemed superior depending on if your target was wearing a vest or not, so as you say, spoiled brat who gets anything she wanted, I just chose both. It’s better to use armor piercing on someone with no vest than to use hollowpoint on some with one, so I started loading every other round, black tip always on top, and fire 2 rounds like they were a single shot. The next time I fire, always black tip first, and no matter what they are wearing, one of the rounds will do what it is designed to do best. And 5.7 holds a lot of ammo. You can have everything you want, Michael. Choosing is for people who settle. Choosing is for people who follow rules and listen to orders, even though they do better with what they wanted. You never settled for a gun, you made your own ones, made them do what you wanted, much like me. Even now, you cannot settle for a shotgun or your favorite MPX, so you just fuck the rules and add shotgun. So why do you let a voice tell you who to kill and not who you decide? Why do you settle for a schoolgirl you need to babysit when you can have someone experienced like yourself? Someone with a darker side who knows what they want, not some…little cheerleader with pocket knives and problems listening? You say you believe in her, but you fear she cannot handle some stupid cult brainwashing? She is ready to kill but cannot handle Carl, who we both know is far more distracted than you are with a little skin and eye shadow. Is that not how she hunts? Tanner is safer than you are, and if you die, I bet she would avenge you rather than believe Carl’s lies and throw away her faith you have taught her. She is fine, you are, on the other hand, a bit of a mess, a little fun might save your sanity.” She sighed. "A little sin for the soul. Lesser of two evils"

“Not with you, and especially not until this is over. The feed tube doesn’t fit right, it hits the damn barrel end cap because I measured wrong and if I shorten it any, I start over and lose one of my only 4 shells.” He said, frantically filing the rough gouge out of the pipe end to clear the other piece. She put her hand on his hand to stop and calm him.

“You are going to give yourself a heart attack like that. Carl is not waiting outside, you have his location on GPS, there is time to rest and time to have fun before you kill yourself from stress or ruin your focus and get killed tomorrow.” She said, taking the file and taking a turn carefully grooving out the end cap for him, sliding a bottle of vodka onto the table.

“I just…I can’t trust you, but I need to know some things.” he sighed, sleep-deprived and annoyed.

“Why can you not trust me? Because I want you, because I am helping you, because I have not killed you and done your plan to cheat and kill Carl, or because I have been too honest, and you don’t like the truth as much as you thought. We may not agree with our beliefs, but I haven’t lied to you about them. I scare you because you know I may be right. I know what I shouldn’t know about you.” she whispered devilishly.

“Why don’t you glow in the thermal scope like the others?” he asked bluntly.

“Excuse me?” she chuckled.

“The people I kill always glow in the thermal scope, brighter than anyone else should. It’s something I use to guide my kills, so I know who to shoot and who to let go. It’s never failed me. Evil burns hotter. Why are you ice-cold in the scope?”

“Have you listened to this out loud? Have you told tanner this?” she asked with a strange, intrigued grin.

“She knows, but she…sometimes doesn’t seem like she believes it.”

“Because it’s in your head. Like your God’s voice.”

“Being called crazy by a faithless psychopath.” He smiled back with sarcasm and defiance.

“I never said it wasn't real. You hear a voice, but it’s not God, it’s You. It’s that thing buried down in you, whispering from the cage you keep it in. Instinct, animal reflex. You know who needs to die, but you don’t like choosing, so your mind gave it a voice you could trust to make the calls. These men that glow, it is all in your mind. Your mind knowing what needs to be done and what to refrain from, giving you the clarity you need because you believe in some higher power more than you believe in yourself. You’re your own god, hiding your greatest power in a little box inside you, and listening to it when you can’t make a hard choice or trust your instincts, because that would make you responsible for their deaths, and that would make you an apex predator. Another psychopath. Like me, like Tanner. You have a type, a need to seek others like you before they are too broken to fix again, and that is why you picked Tanner and protect her. You are trying to train her to control her evil side before she becomes…me. Yet she is a prisoner, and I am free to be what I am. What we are. Stronger. You don’t kill who god tells you, you kill who you know deep down deserve to die. Tanner is not your perfect woman, she is your pet project to save and fix because she is just…you, long ago. Young, damaged but unlike you, she has someone helping her, so there is hope. Romantic but sad. Let me guess. You have problems in the bedroom?”

“That’s none of your business.” he snipped.

“You may be getting older, but you’re not exactly…settling down. You have a lot of life left, so why doesn’t she excite you? Why does she bore you? You love her, but you have tamed her to save her and made her, like a kitten. You still see her as a young girl in need of protection and love, but you don’t want to corrupt her. She’s still innocent to you. The thing inside you doesn’t want innocent, it wants another monster like itself. So you make excuses, don’t you? Too old, too tired, too busy. Not when it comes to work and protecting her, but when it comes to preying on her, she’s not another predator that will play rough back and understand you. She’s a little girl deep down inside, in that repressed little box you keep your worst demon, she keeps a safe little childhood Tanner. Something Mister black knows he’s too dangerous for. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you two are just crazy fucking like rabbits all day and leaving claw marks, or tell me you’re really just so old and defeated that you can’t perform under pressure. You can’t get it up without a gun in your hand? Please." she scoffed, "You just don’t have it in you to be your true self, that monster, around an innocent girl who is afraid of them.”

“But you’re not afraid of me. You WANT that monster, not me.” he sighed.

“I want that monster because it IS you. You are less holy man than you are devil, and once you embrace that, nothing can stop you. You’re whole. Free. Like me. But if you are my equal in your restrained and struggling state, fighting yourself. What potential do you have when you stop limiting yourself? Do you really believe there is no chance I’m right? Can Tanner love a monster AND a liar? Can you keep yourself broken up so you can hide part of you from her? You said she is supposed to replace you, to do your job and keep your dream alive…what if you don’t have to die to pass that along? You just, pass it along, and stop being the Holyman. Have you not done enough for God that you can do something for Michael…or for Mister Black?" Nadja asked, leaning eerily close to his ear. "Because I accept them both, I just want to see them whole.” She whispered.

“You may be wrong about most things, but you may be right about some things. I do need to relax and live a little, I do need to accept that I’m damaged and incomplete. I’ve been incomplete since my wife and daughter died. Nothing will fix that. That changes you. But the similarity you see in us, may not be the darkness in me, but something good left in you that you’ve locked away. Just consider that. If I can have something evil in me that I can choose to free or suppress, then you may have something good in you that you can choose to free or suppress. We’re both just hanging on to the part that gives us what we want. So if you want me to consider tapping into that darkness, look into yourself and see if you’re locking away something beautiful that you deny. There may be some form of hope for you, some salvation. Maybe THAT is why you don’t glow and why I can’t kill you. Because God, or Mike, or Mister Black, whoever knows things they shouldn’t, can see that. What a waste of potential it would be if you never let out that little bit of light." he taunted back, "Is there anyone in there, Should I give it a name for you? Maybe if you sobered up and stopped drowning it, you’d see that we all have different sides and choices. Maybe you need to lead by example, and practice what you preach.” He said, looking down to his project and tightening the screws, her hand still on his hands, and the new shotgun tube finally lining up right, smooth and flat, ready to do what it was made to do.

"Tempting the devil back...what a bold thing you are." she smiled.

Mike sat at the bar, ordering another Coke on the rocks and smiling at the nice bartender, seeing his reflection between the bottles. The distorted mirrors behind them cast a strange warped face looking back at him, cast in a blue light as he watched his phone. The dot moved closer. He checked the time again, still surprised that Nadja wasn’t there to tease him and order shots to seductively swallow down while looking in his eyes.

Nadja looked in the U-haul bathroom mirror, bump of coke lined up and staring back at her, she bit her lip, pondering her choices and startled by the text buzz from Mike. It simply read, “Bar, now. Be armed and ready." The instinct to snort down the fuel and turn her emotions off and become a better killer seemed obvious and logical. Maybe even life-saving, since she knew it was how she did her best work. She also has the strange temptation to just leave it and try fighting without it. Even knowing it might get her killed, the risk and curiosity wouldn’t stop buzzing in her mind. She scooped it up with a snort, put on her fluffy skirt and managed to stuff the entire rose-gold accented AR57 down one leg, probably hard to see in the dim bar lighting, the left side of her body strapped with Velcro and extra mags, her handgun and an emergency dose of fury dust. She put on her very mismatched black windbreaker to further hide the arsenal, and she was ready for her prom, all over again.

"Damsel in distress is what you want, Mike... Damsel you can have." she grinned, waiting patiently.

Carl hunkered into the bed of his truck, Dragunov sniper rifle sticking out, and chewing on some black licorice as he held his phone up.

“Team into position?” he asked. “Good. Remember. Draw the preacher outside, don’t kill him. He's mine. Mow the bitch down with everything you got, zero mercy, don’t underestimate her." He said, putting it down and adjusting for the windage between the hotel bar and the truck. “Let’s see if you’re still bulletproof at 850 yards, Mike. May God have mercy on one of us.”