Zienna Zoren

The casino's dim lighting cast long shadows across the faces of those gathered, the air thick with cigarette smoke and unspoken threats. The leather of jacket sleeves creaked as arms were crossed, the subtle metallic clicks of hidden weapons providing a quiet counterpoint to the tension.

"This cheeky fellow insulted our gang, there's no way I'm backing down," Silas declared, his voice carrying across the room as murmurs of agreement rippled through his fellow gang members. Their faces were set with determination, muscles tense with anticipation of the coming conflict. Some of them shifted their weight from foot to foot, hands hovering near concealed weapons.

Zienna's lips curved into a knowing smile, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the polished wood of the nearby table. "That's so!" Her voice carried a dangerous edge. "Then let's decide the score by guns." The words hung in the air like smoke, heavy with implication. The steady drumming of her fingers stopped, and the sudden silence felt oppressive.

Silas's confidence wavered visibly, his shoulders dropping slightly as the weight of her reputation pressed down on him. "You know that we can't beat you... it's unfair." The admission seemed to pain him physically, his pride warring with his pragmatism. His gang members exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier bravado diminishing in the face of their leader's hesitation.

"The world is unfair," Zienna responded, her tone matter-of-fact as she straightened her jacket with deliberate care. "What we do to the lives of people are unfair also, so why the long face?" She leaned forward, her eyes glinting in the low light. "Don't tell me you're afraid you'll lose to me?" Each word was carefully chosen, aimed with the same precision she was known for with a gun.

The challenge struck home. Silas's face flushed with shame, color creeping up his neck as he felt the eyes of both gangs upon him. After a long moment, he released a heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his pride with it. "Alright, the war is over." The words seemed to deflate him entirely, and surprisingly, the other members appeared to accept this surrender without protest, perhaps recognizing the wisdom in avoiding a confrontation with Psycho Mania's legendary shooter.

The tension in the room had just begun to dissipate when Larry stepped forward, his boots scuffing against the worn carpet. "Silas can't give up like that! I've decided I'll beat him to raise our reputation." His declaration echoed through the suddenly silent room, causing several of his fellow gang members to wince at his brashness.

Zienna turned to face him, her expression a mixture of amusement and respect as she evaluated this bold challenger. "I can tell you're serious, but attacking the ones that have given up is not quite manly and good for your gang's new reputation." Her words carried a note of warning, though her posture remained relaxed.

"But—" Larry started to protest, only to be cut off by Raxa, who placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. The grip was firm, speaking volumes about the foolishness of pursuing this fight. Even Larry could see the futility of pursuing this fight, yet something in him wasn't ready to back down completely. His reputation, his pride, and perhaps something deeper drove him forward. "I'll agree to stop, but on one condition," he declared, squaring his shoulders. "Zienna, you have to beat me in a gun aim fight."

The response was unexpected and immediate. The entire room erupted into laughter, the members of the Psycho Mania gang nearly doubling over with mirth. The sound bounced off the walls, making Larry's face burn with embarrassment and confusion. "Why are you guys laughing?"

"You'll figure it out," Zienna replied cryptically, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Let's go to an open area to have this little gun aim fight of yours." She turned and walked away with confident strides, leaving Larry no choice but to follow, their footsteps echoing through the now-silent room.

The group made their way to an empty space behind the casino, where the air was cooler and clearer. Distant traffic sounds provided a urban soundtrack to their confrontation. Zienna instructed her fellow members to set up practice dummies as targets, the rubber figures casting strange shadows in the artificial lighting. Equal weapons were distributed to both competitors – standard-issue semi-automatics that gleamed dully in the light.

Larry took his time examining his gun, professional instincts kicking in as he checked for any malfunction or tampering. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency over the weapon, checking the slide, the magazine release, the trigger mechanism. Finding nothing amiss, he loaded three rounds of ammunition, matching Zienna's preparations. The familiar weight of the loaded weapon provided some comfort.

Larry felt confident as he prepared himself, falling into the familiar stance that had served him well countless times before. His aim was more than eighty percent accurate – it had been his ticket into Team Rocket, now known as Pandion, and remained his proudest skill. That accuracy had saved his life more than once and earned him respect in the underground world they inhabited.

He watched as Zienna took the first shot, her movements fluid and practiced. There was something almost artistic in the way she handled the weapon, a grace that spoke of countless hours of practice and an intimate familiarity with firearms. The sound of the shot cracked through the air, and Larry's eyes widened as he saw the result.

The shot was perfect – one hundred percent accurate, dead center of the target. Larry's confidence wavered slightly, but he pushed aside his doubts, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Was she really this good, or was it just luck? The laughter from earlier niggled at the back of his mind, but he concentrated on his breathing, on the weight of the gun in his hands.

His first shot was good, but not good enough – ten percent less accurate than Zienna's perfect strike. The difference was small but significant, like the gap between professional and world-class. Still, he hadn't lost yet. The second round would be different; it had to be. He needed absolute perfection to stay in the game, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

Zienna's second shot was another masterpiece of marksmanship – dead center, perfect accuracy once again. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in her movements. She handled the gun as if it were an extension of her own body. Larry managed to improve, achieving ninety-five percent accuracy, but it wasn't enough. The Psycho Mania members watched with knowing pride, as if the outcome had been predetermined from the start. Their earlier laughter now made perfect sense.

As Larry's mood darkened with acceptance of his defeat, Blond spoke up unexpectedly, his voice cutting through the tension. "Are you Zienna Zoren, the secret hundred percent accurate shooter of Psycho Mania gang?" The question seemed to carry weight beyond mere curiosity.

"Yes," Zienna confirmed simply, leaving Larry stunned by the revelation of her consistent perfect accuracy regardless of target or condition. The simple admission explained so much – the confident handling of the weapon, the perfect shots, the knowing laughter of her gang members.

Raxa approached, extending his hand in invitation, seeing an opportunity in the aftermath of the demonstration. "You're welcome to join us if you want!" The offer was genuine, recognition of talent transcending gang rivalries.

Zienna's rejection was immediate and firm, requiring no consideration. There was something in her eyes that suggested loyalty ran deeper than mere opportunity. The exchange piqued Larry's curiosity, and he pulled Blond aside, their shoes scuffing on the pavement as they moved away from the others.

"Who exactly is she?" Larry's voice was low, genuine interest replacing his earlier bravado.

"She was a newbie in the gang," Blond explained, his voice equally hushed, "but her ruthless measures made her the second in command. They say she's a snake that squeezes everything in one go." There was respect in his tone, perhaps even a hint of fear.

"Really? Awesome!" Larry's eyes widened with renewed interest. "Then what's her back story?" He couldn't help but be intrigued by the woman who had so thoroughly outshot him.

Blond's expression grew somber, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "It's quite a sad one. Her father loved her mother very much, but her mother was not the type to listen and felt unloved, so she filed for divorce. It devastated his father, and he soon became a madman in anger. He would cry and cry, but Zienna would always strive to make him happy, hoping to cure him."

He continued, glancing occasionally at Zienna's retreating figure, "She joined the Psycho Mania team because her father loved guns above all, and only Duty Civilians were able to carry them legally. She tried but was never selected for protection duty. That's when she turned to the gangsters, wanting to be able to show various guns to her father – it was the only thing that would bring a smile to his face. She traded her services, bloody as they might be, for this chance."

"She learned how most guns function, becoming the main arms dealer for Psycho Mania. Her perfect accuracy earned her the nickname 'Deadshot.' Every weapon, every mechanism – she knows them all like the back of her hand." The respect in Blond's voice was unmistakable.

"I see," Larry responded quietly, the defeat and Zienna's story leaving an indelible mark on his memory. The truth behind her skills gave them a weight he hadn't expected, a purpose that went beyond mere gang rivalry.

As the Psycho Mania gang prepared to leave, their footsteps echoing in the empty space, Larry called out, his voice carrying across the distance. "Zienna! It was a nice fight with guns. Hope you'll join us one day – we would soon need people like you!"

She merely waved without turning back, offering a noncommittal "Maybe!" The gesture somehow managed to convey both dismissal and respect.

Raxa expressed his disappointment at failing to recruit such promising talent as they watched the Psycho Mania gang depart, their figures disappearing into the shadows of the city. Larry shared the sentiment, but there was nothing more to be done.

They left the casino, the confrontation ending in an unexpected draw, but the memory of Zienna's perfect shots and the weight of her story would linger long after the echo of gunfire had faded.

As Larry walked away from the scene, he found himself wondering about the paths that led people like Zienna to become who they were, about the fine line between skill and necessity, and about the stories that lay hidden behind every face in their dangerous world.

The night air carried away the last traces of gunpowder, but the lessons of the encounter would remain.