Story of an Old Man

Markov Wellenby owned a miniature figurine shop in Everleason Mall, selling small wooden dolls and houses. But even a place like this mall wasn't safe. A testament to this was the fact that criminals somehow brought Darkrun guns into the middle of the mall to force people to give up their valuable earnings. On most occasions the store that got hit was a neighbouring one as a criminal would have to be either dumb, unobservant, dyslexic or illiterate to attack his business as he barely made enough money to cover the rent for his space in the mall.

But alas, it did happen four times during Markov's time at the mall that his business was chosen as a target. During those four times Markov fought back with a gun of his own, one approved by FORMAL, and registered under his name.

However, after that forth attempted robbery he moved his business to the north into a town where there weren't many people. But what made him move? Why such a drastic decision?

It was that forth attack on his business. He shot and killed the person who tried to rob him like he did the other three that proceeded that man, but this time it was different, when Markov killed that man legally as he was doing it to protect himself and his business, another customer entered the store when the gun was fired. The bullet passed through the robber and hit the man that had just entered. Thankfully the man survived. But just knowing that he had almost committed manslaughter was enough to drive him away.

Although William Phaser, the man who got hit by the bullet that pierced through the thief's body, forgave Markov, he still left. He went out to the edge of Schomër, a country village north of Bridgiton and one of the stops along the Scandinavilis-Everleason rail line.

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189 Daffodil Ave, Schomër, Cascoss, Ascossian, Rhombodian, January 14th, 2007, 12:00 PM

For nine weeks prior to the date mentioned in the scene introduction, Markov had been advertising his new business location in the Northern cities of the Everleason metropolitan area. These cities included places along the purple train line of the Everleason local transit system, Bridgiton, Chaston, Baysworld and Undergroundinton to name a few.

But he made a typo in the adverts, so when people came up to his business, they always went across the road to Fisherman's Rest Pub across the road.

Of those who showed interest, 60% of them actually came for a look, and the other 40%? They were thieves like the four that he had shot and killed in Everleason. Those thieves of course went across the road first due to the typo, so Markov had plenty of time to prepare for when the thieves realised their error and headed to his shop to threaten him with their guns. He of course shot them to protect himself and his property, making it legal to kill them.

This day was no different to the other times that thieves came to visit, at least that's what it seemed.

Just like the previous times, a masked and hooded thief went over to Robin Phisher's place and taunted the proprietor's assistant West Kiteton, West directed the thief to Markov's place.

Markov cleaned his weapon, he had loaded it the prior night, like he did every night. He was now ready for the confrontation that was about to occur.

As Markov expected, just like the last many times over the prior nine weeks, the would-be criminal came rushing over to his store, crossing the empty stretch of road with frustration. The thief opened the door with great force that Markov felt the store shake a little even though the store didn't shake. But the door nearly broke off its hinges.

"Where is it?" The thief exclaimed in a synthesized dark voice; he was mad, very mad. "Where is the gold idol?"

"It's locked away, the key is beneath the windmill!" Markov announced back in his mid-tone voice.

As Markov predicted, the thief turned around to pick up the windmill and retrieved the small metal by opening up the bottom of the wooden figurine, during this time, Markov took out his gun. The thief turned around and reached for his gun but before he could do anything, Markov shot at the thief and after Markov's gun discharged the thief fell, and the room became silent.

Markov put down his weapon and he got up and went through the door to his basement. Rubbing his hands together as he did. He went to the table in front of him and picked up one of the cards on top of it when suddenly he heard a gun cock in the corner.

Markov started to sweat. "Who is there?" He asked.

"No need for you to know that." Stated a man with a different synthesized voice than the thief that Markov just shot dead. "You won't be alive any longer, you coward and horrendous monster."

"I'm no monster. I am just protecting my things, which the Rhombodian government have agreed that I'm allowed to do. My life and legacy were in danger, I killed all those thieves because they were going to kill me for my gold idol. Is that why you here?"

"No. I'm here for justice."

Markov's movements changed and so did his expression. "No doubt you know too much." He relayed, his friendly old and fear filled voice had changed to something a bit more sinister. He reached for a shot gun, it had been there for a while, but had been touched more recently, but Markov was too focused on the new villain to even noticed that the gun had been moved without his knowledge.

He fired the shotgun, but nothing happened. "What the hell?" Markov asked.

"It's over, soon

the world too will know the truth of the horror you really are." The criminal uttered as he raised his gun.

Markov dropped the shotgun and took out from his tool belt his chisel and was able to kick the gun from the criminal's hand. Just as Markov was just about to strike the criminal down with a fatal blow a gunshot rang out.

But who shot him? Where did the shot come from? It was another mystery person.

"Well B? Looks like you needed my help after all." The stranger stated using a female synthetic voice instead of a male one like the other two did.

"I could have handled him myself, C. How is A?" B replied. Obviously, these weren't their real names, and they didn't care to come up with anything cleverer than A, B and C.

"A is fine, still playing dead up there, I'm glad that monster finally got his justice." C relayed.

B picked up his weapon and placed in back in the holster he had, and they and C went upstairs and helped A back to their feet. The three removed their hoods and masks and walked northward along the road to a camper van that was secured behind a few thick bushes.

But one must wonder, why did they believe the 65-year-old man to be a monster? What could he have possibly done to deserve the retribution he received? All will soon be revealed.