The second pawn shop in Fort Tazewell was named ‘Murphy’s Pawn’; and the nurse had warned him to be careful about the place; they kept getting investigated by the cops for dealing with stolen goods, but on the other hand, it had never been proven; so they were still in operation… so far.

  He wasn’t planning on staying in Tazewell for that long, so it wasn’t as if he cared… Marcus simply walked in and started looking around; there were two other customers, one checking out a shotgun, and the other looking over the TVs; as he kept glancing them over.

  He wanted a rifle. Anything specific? He could always go with an AR-15; those were ridiculously common nowadays, he could easily get one and tons of ammo for it. Would’ve been much better if he could….

  He stopped, standing at the counter. There was a three-foot walkway between the glass display counter, where shelves of jewelry, small electronics, and a handful of handguns lay on display… and the back shelf where various objects, repair tools, a speaker system… lay.

  Among them… a pair of extremely familiar revolvers.

  They… had stolen his guns. Left him for dead. And then… just sold them at a goddamned pawn shop?

  The owner was still occupied with the customer he was already helping with the shotgun, and didn’t notice when Marcus simply stepped around the counter, picked up his guns… and then stepped back, staring down at them. He stuffed the Legendary one in his belt, and ‘Examined’ the Epic one for the first time.

  He stared at the display. He’d never known Nathan’s last name. He should feel a bit of sorrow. Instead… he simply grew even more angry.

  The owner; Murphy, undoubtedly; turned to look at him… and shouted, starting to stalk forward angrily away from the man still holding the shotgun. Marcus got his first good look at him; overweight, shoulder-length grey mullet, camo jacket and pants; he’d seen this sort before… “Hey! Hands off the merchandise! Those aren’t for sale!”

  The anger grew more intense. “Of course they aren’t. They belong to me, and I’m not selling them. Where did you get them?”

  He glowered at Marcus, hands gripping his belt. “You’d best put those down, before I put you down. I’d hate to tell the cops I had to shoot an armed intruder, trying to steal guns from my shop. Right, Floyd?”

  The other man… a bit younger, and slimmer, but also dressed in camo; chuckled. “Didn’t that happen once before, Murph?”

  “That it did, Floyd. Is it gonna happen again?”

  Marcus glowered at the man. Both guns were empty. If the man didn’t believe Marcus, or hadn’t read the description, he might think that meant they weren’t dangerous right now. Of course, it didn’t matter for either of them. “These are my guns. Passed down to me from my great-grandfather. They’ve been used to kill Traitors, Nazis, and Commies. And if you try to keep me from leaving your store with them, they will add the first ever Pawn shop owner to the list; probably not the first Texan, though. I will not give them back, nor pay you a dime for them. You feel free to call the Sheriff, I don’t mind waiting; I can prove I own them. Or you can pull that piece and die like a dog.”

  He glanced behind the counter. “I will, however, buy some bullets from you, if you’ve got the right caliber, and perhaps a Holster.”

  ‘Murph’ focused on him for a moment, then looked at his friend, Floyd… and then suddenly reached down, yanking a gun from the holster… and made a surprised sound when the empty revolver fired… the bullet going right through his torso, revealing the man had been wearing armor, as well, from the jagged edges visible through the hole; as he slid nervelessly to the ground, blood pooling below him.

  For his part, Floyd dropped the shotgun, and ran; sprinting for the door… while the other customer rapidly followed in the not-lamented Murphy's footsteps, drawing a weapon and ending up a corpse on the floor. Marcus watched Floyd go; ideally, he’d fetch the Sheriff. They could talk things out… and he could prove the guns were his; after all, the deputy had seen him use one on the dog.

  He walked up to ‘Murph’, and frowned. It was odd that the man had drawn on him, instead of calling the Sheriff. Even more odd the other man had. Was there a reason? He didn’t care. “How much for the bullets?”

  “T…twenty… a box…” The man stared down at his chest. “...Fuck. They really were… yours… huh….” He died against his own counter, eyes still open, staring at nothing.

  “Yup.” He pulled out his wallet… making sure he had cash, before turning towards the stacks of ammo boxes behind the counter. So many different kinds. These kinds of revolvers had used paper cartridges, once. But thankfully, they had… hmm.

  He didn’t find anything. Perhaps the caliber was rare. Fortunately, he still had a box of his own… though he’d need to get more later. He’d check the other pawn shop when he was done.

  He considered stealing the holsters he’d need; that would be actually breaking the law, though. Did he care about that? Not really. Only what the Sheriff would do if they caught him. It’d make it harder to explain the situation.

  He leaned against the counter, waiting. Any second now, one of the deputies would come in, and… huh.

  There were three sheriff’s department vehicles outside… he could just barely make them out from where he stood behind the counter. One of them was talking to Floyd, who was animatedly pointing at the building… and all three of them were loading weapons. Great. He was lying to them about the whole situation, to instigate a shoot-out.

  He looked at the door for a moment, considering. He didn’t really care if they lived or died. Only if he got to kill that Nightfire lady. If they came charging in shooting, he’d kill them without a second thought.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He studied the counter… and stepped behind it, picking a good spot that might actually survive a few stray bullets; the jewelry case appeared to actually be made of metal.. And watched the door… guns ready… but not pointed at anyone. If they came in talking, he’d talk.

  The door was kicked open, and a bullet hit the ceiling, before he finished the thought. He ducked down; and returned fire, a single spiritual bullet slamming into the deputy… and through, leaving an almost perfect hole.

  As he fell to the ground face-first, three more charged in behind him… and Marcus simply ducked behind the jewelry counter, continued to fire… the first three died trying to get inside… while Marcus missed two shots at the fourth, who managed to duck behind a rack of electronics.

  He fired at the rack a few times… but the metal shelving seemed to deflect the bullets enough so as not to hit the deputy.

  Clearly, the bullets were just too low-caliber for much penetration if they weren’t augmenting a real thing… or directly striking something they were Bane against. Those deputies should’ve been wearing armor much tougher than any shelf.

  As the fourth deputy sidled along the counter, and Marcus could hear him moving to try and slip behind it, a display popped up.

  As it faded away, he considered… he never had looked at what he’d gotten for the second. Now he’d never know.

  He didn’t have much time before the deputy slid his way into a good position… he reached into the extradimensional storage space, into the box of bullets… and grabbed a handful.

  He started loading them, one by one, as he listened to the man move… and sirens sound, of more vehicles approaching. “Look, deputy. If you people hadn’t come in trying to kill me, I wouldn’t have killed them. Murphy tried to rob me, and when he pulled a gun, I shot him. I won’t lose any sleep if I have to kill you, but it’d be less risky for all of us if you stopped right there.”

  The deputy seemed to pause, considering. The second revolver was loaded. The extra bullets dumped into his pocket, where his car keys would be… if he had any.

  “Throw your weapon down and surrender, right the fuck now, and you’ll live to see a trial!”

  The deputy was… right there. Legally, he should surrender. It was the right thing to do. But even if he might have gotten away with shooting Murph for pulling a gun on him… which wasn’t a certainty… he definitely wouldn’t get away with shooting the three deputies.

  If there were any witnesses.

  “Fine. I’ll throw you the gun.” He didn’t really care about these people, or their lives. He didn’t have to kill him… but they could stop Marcus from killing her. He slid one of the two revolvers forward…

  The deputy took a relieved breath, and rose to his feet. “Hands in the…” And dropped, as the Right Hand of Death fired, the bullet augmented by the handgun’s power, passing through the deputies head… and the wall, leaving itself buried in one of the cars outside.

  He looked outside, and saw Floyd talking to another deputy, taking cover behind the car… and nodded. He raised both revolvers; if that power was enough to go through the wall…

  He pulled both triggers. Floyd… was gone. Part of his head, at least. The other deputy, he’d missed.

  He grumbled, and ducked low, stepping up to the door; and glancing around. There were other people. Other witnesses, inside the bar across the street. Some of whom had already drawn weapons.

  Fine. If thats how it had to be, that was how it had to be.

  He leveled the two revolvers on the police car, and fired until both were empty; the rounds penetrating through the car in at least six places; and he could see a splatter of blood from one of those shots. A hit; but no way to be sure if it was fatal.

  He turned to the bar across the street, visible through the glass windows of both structures… and started shooting, sweeping across. He didn’t know who he hit… but if he didn’t want to be pursued across the desert, he couldn’t leave anyone hunting for him.

  It felt strange… firing round after round, dozens of them, from a pair of revolvers, with no stopping, no reloading…

  When he didn’t see any movement, he stopped firing… and dropped down behind the counter, looking around the store. They sold all sorts of things here… including some accessories for guns. He grabbed a pair of classic, cowboy-style holsters; if he was going to use revolvers, he might as well…grabbing a leather jacket hanging from the rack, before quietly sliding into the back of the store, looking around.

  There were lockboxes. A counter covered with binders, each with a label like ‘Firearms’ ‘Watches’... apparently guides to help determine prices. Probably irrelevant now that everything had rarities. An office…

  He could see an old-fashioned security system… complete with cameras recording everything inside. He stepped into the office… ignored the cash… and disconnected the power, before pulling the tape; an actual old-fashioned VHS. Strange. Perhaps there was a newer, more up-to-date, system hidden away?

  It didn’t matter.

  By the time he reached the backdoor, he realized… those cop cars probably had recording devices in them. Had they seen his face, from the street?

  He settled the holsters in place on his hips… put the revolvers away… and put the jacket on. Just different enough that a casual glance wouldn’t peg him as the shooter.

  He opened the door, stepping out into an alleyway; seeing the back entrances of several other stores, with cars parked… probably the owners… he nodded… and started walking. He needed to get back to that motel. Get the keys. The car.

  It would be a long walk. Perhaps he’d need to kill more people. Maybe not.

  As he walked around the corner, seeing three more sheriff’s department cars driving up, none of them seemed to be paying attention to him as he started walking away, slowly, heading east, towards the motel.

  He thought for a moment. Might as well see what two levels got him.

  Huh. So he’d gotten better with guns that quickly? And each stat had increased by two with each level. Useful information… if he knew exactly what each stat did. Hopefully he’d get more information when he hit level five, or… he hadn’t been on the internet since he’d left home.

  There was almost definitely going to be someone compiling data on this online. Hopefully he could nab a laptop, or tablet, and use the motel’s wifi… assuming the internet was still a thing.

  He didn't give another thought to the pile of bodies he'd left behind; and had no idea how horrified the old Marcus would have been at what he'd just done.