Level Playing Field

Chance stood in motion as the contract for the Hellfire Arm was complete. His own Hellfire Arm; Showdown.

He felt wind going through his body in a spiral, leading up to his ear. He heard various amounts of whispers, and he swore howling was just not far from the door itself. He lifted up Showdown, and looked at the silver pristine revolver with the long barrel extension and the engraving of a snake on its handle.

"Dear scott!" said the curator, his voice was the loudest and filled up the entire small museum.

Is this what it feels like? He felt an unusual surge of energy run through him. Almost burning through his veins, but they weren't painful.

He thought about the users before him, including those in the war. He remembered how fellow soldier Jack Lark got a grip of the Hellfire Arm known as Ripper.

He continued holding it looking at Showdown, and wondered where it got its name.

Or rather, what made it named this way. He thought of the previous Hellfire Arms he encountered and saw up until now.

Blade; it took out, well...a blade. Managed to cut its way through freaking buildings.

The Rat King; had rats as both servants and weapons of the leader of the same name

Piercer; Chance deduced that Hellfire Arm had bullets that could pierce through surfaces alike, regardless of it was wood or steel. Heck, maybe that thing could pierce through every armor imaginable in the army.

"What you're holding there was a Hellfire Arm of the Old West." Valefar said. "From what I heard, the original owner was an outlaw. Seeing you hold it makes it somewhat ironic, don't you think?"

Chance took a moment to process everything. He had just sold his soul to the Representative of the Gunsmith, and here he was now, with a Hellfire Arm himself. The first thing that came to his mind was his parents. It's been a while since he last saw them.

ast he saw them was actually in a small house down south in Haywood, just south of Sunshine Heights. Said house was bought by him, with his own money received via the payments during his 2 years with the Haverton Detective Agency.

Chance looked at Valefar, as something came to mind.

"Trent." Chance said to the Representative as he took a moment to look at Stacy. "He's still at the Full Moon Hotel. He didn't chase me."

"Wait, you mentioned earlier there was an attacker at the hotel. Trent was his name?" she asked.

"No time to explain. All I know is that there's a lot of cops there. And I doubt they could handle Trent."

"You're not wrong, but you haven't even learnt how to use that thing." Valefar pointed at Showdown, glowing with dark gray fumes. "I mean, I know you've use that replica of the All-American before, but-"

"We're going back to the Hotel." Chance exclaimed. "If we can't kill Trent and recover his Hellfire Arm, then at least we should help the MPD." He turned toward the door and walked through. "Stacy, bring Fang. Valefar, you drive."

Stacy laughed as she saw Valefar's stammered face. "Hey! Since when you'd give me orders?"

"Since you've made it clear you can't get the Hellfire Arms yourself." Stacy corrected. "And that you're relying on us humans to collect it for you and your boss." She followed Chance suite.

alefar furrowed his eyebrows as he followed the Haverton duo. "Son of a gun."

***

A crowd was formed meters away from the Full Moon Hotel. The outside wasn't as beat up as the inside, nor was it the worst case scenario.

Officers on the ground were busy handling the panicked citizens, many were previously minding their own business, or to a certain extent, being wary of their surroundings.

A woman screamed at the top of her lungs at the sight of Ford being thrown onto the hood of a police wagon. He was not the first person to have been thrown by Trent.

But Ford was someone who survived the fall thanks to the All-American's vitality surge. He was filled with the intent of gaining peace for the American people, regardless of their appearance or their cultural upbringing.

Right now, his eyes were fuming and burning with anger at the sight of Trent. He saw the hostile Hellfire Arm user tackling McSweeney, who proceeded to blast a couple of rounds of Sucker Punch into Trent's chest.

Some blood spewed out of it and Trent kept walking at his increasingly slow pace.

This guy can really take on the pain, McSweeney thought before he yelled out to the officers far from him. "Get the people to safety! We fall back after this!"

"McSweeney! Just get someone at the MPD to take up another Hellfire Arm-"

"No! We can't risk it." McSweeney screamed as he reloaded Sucker Punch. From his pocket, he inserted a red and yellow bullet, on fire. He readied up Sucker Punch, before he ran towards Trent, using the butt of the Hellfire Arm to hit the hostile man in the jaw.

McSweeney pulled the trigger. First came the usual damaging bullet, next came the flaming round.

Trent was blown a few inches away, but his feet remained on the ground. He was pushed only slightly albeit the burning shotgun injury in his face.

The bullet ricochet out of his face, as his upper face began to reshape.

"Why won't you die!?" McSweeney said. He was bothered by the sound of an oncoming car. The engine roared, and he saw a dark vehicle approaching.

A man came out of the car, accompanying him was a lady, and a third figure. McSweeney's eyes largened at the sight of the third figure. "The hell you're doing here!?"

"Lending a helping hand!" Stacy Hazleton. McSweeney recognized her following her presence at the station this morning, but the man next to her.

"Chance?" he said at Chance Gordon's new appearance, as well as Showdown in his hand. "Well I'll be damned."

Trent looked back and saw Chance. The Haverton detective raised his voice.

"McSweeney!" Chance yelled. "Ford! Get as many people as you can to safety! We can't let the public be in the crosshairs! Stacy and I will buy you time."

"I sure hope you two know what you're doing!" McSweeney said. "Come on Ford!" The larger HAST member spoke first before his colleague with the American cape followed suit.

Trent tightened his arms, and his knuckles. He flipped American Violence, dumping in the older bullets, and placing a new set of 6 rounds. He saw Valefar taking a few steps back.

"Can't be bothered to fight huh?" Trent mocked.

"The man there's bound by a contract of his own; he can't bother us Hellfire Arm users." Stacy spoke.

Trent raised his eyebrow at the sight of Stacy. Here was some tough talking woman whose appearance was odd thanks to her Hellfire Arm, an oddly shaped gun with dog ears. Can't be sure why, but seeing her reminds me of that bitch, he thought of the woman he once killed a decade ago.

The woman whose murder led him to a long ass time at Ryder's Island.

Trent aimed his gun at Stacy's posture.

"Fang! Go!" Stacy threw her Hellfire Arm and out came Fang in its dog form. The two heads of the dog made Trent mortified. The dog ran at its pace as Trent began to fire his own bullets.

Fang made a giant leap, and one of its heads had its teeth clenched onto Trent's arm.

"Chance" Valefar spoke as Trent screamed and frantically hit Fang with the rear end of American Violence. "That man's Hellfire Arm contains a lot of bastards from Hell, those who did violence."

"What kind of violence?" Stacy cut into the conversation.

"Everything." Valefar spoke. "It'll take a while to kill him, but once in a while, those souls will torture him, bonus points cause he had a history of violence himself."

"How'd ya figure that out?" Chance asked.

"MPD kept a file on him, I was reading the damn things whilst you were out killing Luke Brady, oh, and I suggest you use Showdown, now." When Valefar said that, Chance saw Trent blasting Fang from a distance, away from Stacy.

Stacy ran over to her Hellfire Arm, as Trent aimed American Violence at her.

Chance spun his Hellfire Arm to the right, before he gave a quick left turn and fired Showdown. The bullet shifted to the left, almost in a half circular motion, heading towards Trent.

The bullet was lightning fast as it pierced through Trent's Arm, knocking out American Violence. Trent himself winced in pain, as tiny specks of blood came out. He huffed and puffed at the pain he received.

Valefar whistled at Chance's shot. "Not bad, but we're gonna have to practice that later."

"Best practice is the one that actually happens." Chance spoke as he looked at Trent, who lended out his hand, and American Violence came back to him.

"No more running." Chance said slightly as he blew off the smoke from Showdown's shot.. "This is a Level Playing Field right now."