The room was long and poorly lit, scattered candlelight, leaving corners in deep shadow. Group of individuals sat in orderly rows, their faces partially obscured and red ribbons tied around their necks. Conversations are hushed, but the murmurs loud, ripple through the air like an undercurrent. People sit stiffly in their chairs, their expressions guarded, some with uneasy look of their surrounding. The air smells faintly of perfume, leather, and aged wood. Front of the attendees, on a raised platform better lit, stood three men amid a pile of enormous crates. One of them, a man with fair skin and a chevron mustache, appeared to be leading the event. The air was thick with greed, charged with an almost predatory energy. There was an ongoing piano tune from a side of the platform in a corner, the piano man barely noticeable. The notes flow wild, with a beautiful uncontained frenzy.

Zak’s eyes narrowed.

What on earth is this? An auction? No... it feels more sinister. A black market.

Zak fastened his ribbon around his neck and looked for a seat as the pale-skinned man stepped forward, a calculated grin spreading across his face. His commanding presence quieted the room, and when he spoke, his voice was powerful and authoritative, as the piano’s notes transitioned into a slower, more melancholic tune.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the blades section has concluded.”

Polite applause rippled through the room as he paused to relish the moment. His grin then broadened, taking on a conspiratorial tone.

He seems like the host...Are you suggesting he’s our target? Don’t you think? Gado said he’s been untouchable for four years now–this doesn’t seem to me like someone who would present his own weapons. Even if we’re not certain it’s him, this one could lead us to the head. I hope so...his right hand–it’s a prosthetic!

“But tonight,” the man continued,

“I’ll reveal one of my latest most revolutionary creations,”

Oh no, it’s him! Well-dressed for a pirate, isn’t he? You mean wealthy?

The host voice was filled with anticipation, while the piano quickened briefly and then stopped as the host began to speak again.

“I offer you something truly extraordinary. A weapon unlike any before it. One that will redefine the very nature of power, dominance, and the art of destruction itself.”

The audience responded with scattered murmurs of excitement, their eyes fixed on him with anticipation.

“You won’t be disappointed,” the man said with a light chuckle, motioning to the two men nearby on the stage.

“Bring it over.”

The stagehands efficiently approached one of the crates. They removed the lid to reveal a cylindrical metal item that shone ominously in the dim light. With care, they placed it on a table in the center of the stage.

What is that? A weapon? Clearly, it’s a weapon... But what kind? Be patient, my friend, we will soon see.

The man theatrically lifted his arms.

“Ladies and gentlemen,”l his voice becoming louder and more intense,

“Behold the future!” he announced.

The audience leaned forward with noticeable curiosity. The piano played a more lively and joyful paced tune, adding excitement. Whispers spread through the crowd, the atmosphere built of anticipation.

“This marvel,” the host continued,

“is the pinnacle of firearms engineering. Capable of firing thousands of bullets– not rounds, in mere moments, it is a force unmatched in the history of weaponry.”

The room filled with gasps and sporadic applause.

“Behold a creation that will tip the scales of violence in your favor—power, precision, and destruction, all in your hands.”

He raised a hand to quiet the room again, pausing to relish the anticipation in the audience’s eyes, then motioned to the table next to him.

“These are the bullets,” he explained. On the table lay a gleaming chain of oversized, cone-shaped rounds, larger than anything the audience had seen before. Linked together like a lethal necklace, the metallic glint caught the dim light.

With a flourish, he picked up a bullet, holding it up for everyone to see. It shone in his hand, disproportionately large compared to the small, familiar rounds used in pistols and rifles.

“Behold,” he declared,

“a round unlike any other. Bigger, stronger, and created for a single purpose: annihilation.”

He slowly turned the bullet, allowing the audience to examine every feature.

“These bullets feed continuously the weapon, producing an unbroken stream of fire.”

“This weapon isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for those who crave the chaos, who thrive on the heat of the fight, and who long for the sound of their enemies falling before them.”

“This weapon is not just a tool—it’s a force that will change the way you rule, plunder, and conquer. And now...” he paused as the piano resumed with heavy, foreboding notes,

“...you will see it in action.”

He placed the bullet back on the table and nodded at the stagehands. One stagehand carefully grasped the bullet chain and linked it to the weapon held by another, their precision hinting at a well-practiced routine. The weapon now stood ominously on stage as the host moved aside, and another stagehand draws back a heavy curtain. Behind it stood rows of dummies—some wooden, others reinforced with steel.

He turned to the piano man, locking eyes with him a demonic smile illuminating his face. The pianist, as if possessed, launched into a frenzied, escalating melody, each note piercing the air. The music intensified, building a feeling of impending doom.

He then calmly fitted something into his right ear and plugged of his finger his left ear. His grin widened. He signaled to the man holding the weapon with a nod.

The piano reached a violent peak, and then,

the weapon sprung to life, his body twisted on itself.

Initially, it growled, producing a low, metallic rumble like a beast awakening, sending vibrations through the floor. Then it roared, a high-pitched, grinding noise as sparks shot from its target side. The room trembled at its intensity, and a blazing stream of bullets, glowing like molten metal, shot through the air.

The noise was overwhelming, a chaotic mix of grinding metal and ripping air. Bullets flew across the room in quick succession, their fiery paths lighting up the turmoil. The dummies instantly broke apart, becoming splinters and debris. Even the steel targets bent and distorted under the relentless attack, the spot of impact molten. Smoke and debris filled every corner of the room.

Chaos erupted.

People sought shelter beneath their chairs, clutching their ears, while others bolted towards the exits, panic visible on their faces. A few were paralyzed, their eyes caught between astonishment and sinister smiles. Zak was immobilized, his heart pounding so intensely it felt like it might burst. The vibrations from the weapon rattled his chair, teeth, and skull. His legs shook, and his shallow breaths struggled for air. Even with his hands tightly over his ears, the sound was unbearable, drilling into his mind like a constant jackhammer.

The stagehand operating the weapon was trembling to his core, his grip on the trigger shaky as he attempted to steady the machine while it spewed fires. The chain of bullets fed continuously into the weapon, clattering with each shot. Away, the piano played as if in a different dimension, its music uninterrupted and more energetic, the chords slam into the air, unyielding and ferocious, collide and splinter into a perfect chaos of sound.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Meanwhile, the host relished the scene, his laughter fueled by the attendees’ fear.

Then, as quickly as it started, the weapon’s rotation ceased and silence fell.

Zak blinked through the swirling smoke, his ears ringing with a constant high-pitched tone, overwhelming all other sounds, his head heavy. Around him, the audience slowly resumed their positions, many in disarray—some still hiding, others rubbing their ears or holding their heads, and some amazed, pleased by what they witnessed.

The stagehand who fired the weapon remained motionless, his body shaking. His breaths were short and uneven as he stared at the destruction he had caused. Another stagehand swiftly took the weapon from his trembling hands.

And then there was the host.

He stood tall and composed, his smile broad and sinister, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. He surveyed the room, his gaze lingering on the frightened faces of his guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began,

“I present to you... the machine gun!” he announced triumphantly.

The room broke into applause, the air thick with a taste for violence. Some guests clapped enthusiastically, their eyes shining with excitement. Others in the audience gaped at the devastation, their excitement mixed with fear.

Zak! Zak! Zaaaak! Say something!

Zak remained motionless, his body still resonating with the vibrations from the weapon. His entire form tingled with energy, the hair on his skin standing straight as if reacting to an invisible charge.

We need to act quickly...You don’t really mean that, do you? All these men are armed, his customers and collaborators...So what do we do now?

“We wait for the right moment.” Zak’s voice accidentally echoed out of his mind, barely audible in his ringing ears, as if carried from afar, and nobody nearby seemed to hear him.

As his eyes walking on the guests, he noticed someone he forgot till now–the mysterious man. He was some rows of Zak’s chair, motionless his gaze in the stage direction. Now Zak have a clear look at him, he was topless, his coffee tone skin featured dotted scars, his head shaved.

He’s moving–out!

Zak quickly forced himself to his feet, his heart racing as he moved toward the exit, his eyes locked on the mysterious man who hadn’t noticed him. The man slipped through the doorway with deliberate movements and paused in the dim, narrow space beyond. Then, without hesitation, he shifted to the left and vanished. As Zak crossed the threshold, his eyes scanned the small, shadowy space, searching for any trace of the man. Instead, his attention was drawn to a dark corridor branching off to his left.

“Was this here before?” he wondered, his pulse quickening.

I can’t remember–just tell me you’re not going in there.

Faint voices emerged from within its depths.

He slipped into the corridor, moving quietly as he followed the voices. As he continued blindly, the walls seemed to warp, the voices grew clearer, and he saw two men. They were tending to a seemingly locked door at the end of the corridor.

Zak acted without hesitation. He took down a first man with a swift, precise strike. The second man had little time to react before Zak silenced him too. He swiftly approached the door.

Fuck me! A metal door! Whatever lies beyond this door needed to remain unnoticed and secure.

The corridor’s air was dense, sweat clung to Zak’s skin as he moved away. However, the abrupt sound of metal clanging from afar behind, stopped him. Carefully, he retraced his steps to the bolted door, only to find it open. The broken lock lay on the floor.

Hey, are you actually going in there?

Zak drew a gun,

Step back, Zak. I don’t think this is a wise move! We need to leave before it gets too late! Do me a favor: just be quiet and let me focus!

Zak frowned, tightening his grip on his weapon as he crossed the threshold, stepping into a dimly lit room. The air was thick with a strange metallic odor, a mix of foul and acidic scents. The room’s edges remained hidden, as his vision struggled to adjust to the dim light inside.

A narrow table came into view, displaying several large sheets of paper, covered with detailed drawings lines, some ink pots and pens. Zak moved closer, his breath catching as he realized he was looking at the plans for the weapon he had just witnessed in action.

“Damn. All the plans for that weapon are here,” Zak murmured.

Can we leave now, Zak?

“Not yet. I need to take this as evidence. Or destroy it all,” Zak replied.

He began collecting the papers, tucking them into his duster, his eyes scanning the room nervously. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed the walls were covered with sheets of paper too. Various drawings, each different from the others.

Zak turned on himself as he saw blueprint papers plastered all over the walls.

They’re everywhere!

Each paper featured different drawings with complex details that Zak can’t comprehend. Schematics of various weapons!

This isn’t just about one weapon. This is... something much bigger... the bounty price now makes a lot of sense! What did I get myself into? Glad to know you’re scared. I’m not scared, and your words aren’t helping... it might be better if I destroy everything. Do you think we have ti—look out!

Zak turned, his weapon drawn swiftly, firing a warning shot into the ground at the step of a motion. The sudden flash highlighted a figure who instantly freezed–a woman dressed completely in black. A muffler hid her face, revealing only her intense eyes. She held two small swords, their polished blades gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“If you make a move, the next shot will be in your flesh!” Zak warned, his aim steady on her.

The woman tilted her head slightly, her stance unnaturally still.

“I was just leaving, sir. I suggest you let me pass and there won’t be any problems.”

“No, no, no, i’m the only one talking here,” Zak replied, his gaze intense, his weapons unwavering.

“What are you creating here? And who’s behind all this?” Zak demanded.

The woman stayed silent, her posture calm yet watchful. Her eyes flickered with something—defiance, or perhaps mockery but calculated. Then, she moved with incredible speed.

Wrong answer!

Zak fired, but astonishingly, each bullet was deflected as the woman’s swords spun in blur. In a flash, she disappeared into the shadows.

“What just happened?” Zak muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

With urgency, his eyes darted back to the table, and something else caught his attention. Chains snaked across the floor, leading to a crumpled figure on the bare floor. Zak approached cautiously, his heart sinking as he realized it was a young boy. The child was breathing, but visibly weak, trembling, his frail body curled into itself as if trying to disappear.

“What on earth is happening here?”

Zak, we can’t leave a dying imprisoned child...!

“Damn!” Zak crouched,

“Hang in there, kid. I’m getting you out,” Zak said with hurry.

He reached for the chain, but it was locked. Searching the room, he found a metal rod. After some effort, he broke the lock and lifted the boy onto his shoulder. The child’s body lay limply on his shoulder, exhausted and trembling.

Zak dashed out of the room into the corridor, where the two guards remained unconscious.

Footsteps, Zak! Are you sure?

Zak adjusted the boy, aimed his gun, and moved cautiously, scanning the dark corridor. He heard voices as footsteps approached rapidly. A man suddenly emerged from the darkness before him, and Zak quickly spun around and tried to knock him out with his gun handle’s hit on the head. The man didn’t pass out, instead, he only groaned in pain, spotted Zak and aimed his gun at him.

A red dot appeared between his eyes and Zak’s gun smoked.

Zak heart raced as he headed out of the corridor, in the narrow dim space, he reached the stairs while confused guests emerged from the black market room.

We need another way, remember those guards in the party room.

Zak hurried up the stairs and quickly turned right. He stumbled through a door, pushing it open, his face light up with relief. It was the kitchen. The staff flinched, rushing out of the way some with fearful gaze and other confused . As he took a few quick steps, the door reopened behind him, and two armed men entered, but held their fire. Seeing them from the corner of his eye, Zak fired a few shots to slow them down as he continued out of the kitchen room to the alley that led towards the gala hall’s door.

They’re holding back! Maybe because of the child.

The guards at the gala hall door entered the alley, alerted by the shots. Before they could grasp the situation, trying to reach their guns, Zak shot them and rushed through the door into the hall.

The guests were already in chaos, panic sparked by the gunfire.

As Zak pushed through the frantic crowd, he noticed a familiar figure standing still amid the chaos on his way out. It was the bartender—seen earlier at the hall bar. He stood still as the guests rushed around, unmoved, with his eyes fixed on Zak, cold and intense. His expression seemed to challenge Zak, though there was also a mix of surprise and apprehension in his gaze.

Zak’s finger itched on the trigger, but he hesitated, the panicked crowd obstructing his line of sight. When he glanced back, he saw four armed men weaving through the guests, trying to reach him. He needed to keep moving towards the exit, besides the boy’s weight straining his shoulder. As he looked back ahead, the bartender was nowhere to be found. The spot where the bartender had stood was now covered by the crowd of rushing guests, and he seemed to have vanished.

Zak scanned the hall with his eyes.

“Where is he?”

Zak, we have to move now!

Zak acted quickly, uneasy about the bartender’s sudden disappearance. Holding the boy tightly, he pushed forward and glanced back one more time at the armed men, whose numbers had doubled and were moving more aggressively through the throng. He shook it off quickly, focusing on his next move: get out of the building,

...Stay ahead of those men, and find...Find what? I don’t know, maybe it’s time for you to give me one of your improvisation plan!

Once outside the hotel, Zak rapidly took in the scene as people hurried past him towards a row of parked cars, their lanterns scattered in the street like thousands fireflies. His attention was immediately caught by a carriage across the road. Though a short distance away, its open door revealed the bartender inside, signaling subtly for Zak to approach.

Without hesitating, Zak maneuvered through the chaotic street, brushing pass a horse that looked confused. He held the boy of his two hands as he felt his shoulder exhaustion until he reached the carriage. He climbed in, his mind racing and his pulse quickening as he gently settled the boy, with the bartender already outside, ready to close the door.

Zak interrupted the him quickly, looking up at him with urgency and a hint of pleading in his voice.

“I need a safe place for tonight,” Zak said, his eyes scanning the hotel exit anxiously.

“I’m unfamiliar with this town.” he quickly added.

The bartender’s expression turned reluctant as he noticed several armed men now outside the hotel, scanning the area. Time was slipping away. Wordlessly, the bartender quickly stepped back into the carriage, leaving the cold breeze outside for the relative warmth inside, his large shoulders brushing against the doorframe. He tapped of his palm twice on the side of the carriage, the strength of his hand making the whole car shook. Immediately, horses neighs were heard and the carriage wheels began to turn. It moved smoothly yet swiftly, the sound of hooves echoing on the cobblestone street.