Chapter Two : Three Bullet Pin-Up	Archive
Alison wasn't ready, so Peter snapped her neck and left her to rot on the streets of the dead city with the rest of the waste. He was disappointed now. The alcohol was wearing off and her death had been horribly anti-climatic, for some reason he'd been expecting something more. It wasn't as if he was an experienced killer, she was his first but...his train of thought derailed as he caught sight of what looked like an off-license through the trees ahead. He made his way towards it, absently treading on the corpse of a small boy who couldn't have been more than eleven, his arms and neck pierced by still growing saplings of some sort. An unlit neon sign proclaimed Peter's target to be "Ryan's 24 Hour Off- License", he was surprised to find the building undamaged and apparently empty. It was a corner shop, the adjoining dry cleaners was in the process of burning down, the flames moving steadily through it towards the alcohol laden shop. Peter couldn't figure out what purpose the other building had served, like most of the city it had been gutted by the spontaneous forest growth. Taking a brief moment to survey the scene inside the off-license, Peter opted to liberate four bottles of cheap scotch and 200 cigarettes, stuffing his new found supplies into a plastic bag before returning to the forested streets. There would be others, he was sure of this and he knew that he had to judge them, if the weak survived to face the trial ahead then mankind would cease to exist. For a second he lost it, collapsing to his knees and sobbing like a reprimanded child as the horror of his recent actions slammed home. He struggled to regain his composure, rationalising Alison's murder, he had no choice in the matter - it was either her or the entirety of whatever remained of the human race. The voices did not try to console him - instead they taunted him with harsh words, calling him weak and failure - unworthy of the role he'd been chosen for. He denied them, he alone had the strength to save his people and he was the only one capable of paying the terrible price that required. Three bullets. He could hear them trying the stairs again, failing miserably to catch him unawares. They were half way up now, he decided to wait till they reached the summit of their climb before confronting them, hoping feverishly that they were no more than three in number. He was crouched at the top of the stairway, just off to the side behind the small wall that overlooked the staircase below. A familiar voice echoed from somewhere below, he squeezed his eyes tight, as if that would help him in drowning it out. He knew it was a trap, that Eileen had been killed when she fell from their penthouse apartment only hours before. They'd been talking about the wedding and the dreaded seating arrangements for the dinner afterwards when their world was torn apart - the building shook violently and the balcony they'd been standing on collapsed under them - he somehow made it back inside the relative safety of the apartment. Eileen didn't. He had been nothing before he met her - a sad little nobody in a dead end job with no friends and no future to speak of - she dragged him into her world and taught him what it meant to be somebody. Now she was dead and he was alone again. No, not alone, they were coming for him - betraying her memory by mimicking her voice to lull him into a false sense of security. Bastards. The voice said that only their balcony had given way, that she'd only fallen a couple of feet to the balcony of the apartment below, just a few small bruises - nothing to worry about. The voice said something about trees as well but he ignored it, counting the footfalls as they neared the top of the stairs - five. He was going to die, he didn't have enough bullets. He had no time to ponder his faith, they were two steps from his position now so he calmly leaned around the corner and fired into the crowded stairway. The first man's head disappeared as a bullet tore through it at point blank range, the woman beside him ignored her stricken comrade and managed to draw her pistol before a bullet blew a large hole in her stomach. The other three surged forward and without thinking he unleashed three more shots - each one finding it's mark between the eyes of one of his assailants. He glanced at his now dead attackers - two of the men where dressed in the bright orange of the emergency rescue services, the other three wore dark blue police uniforms. Disguises he thought, did they think he was stupid ? Five shots with three bullets, how had he managed that ? And why couldn't he drop his gun ? She couldn't stop the bleeding. The shirt he'd asked her to remove only minutes before was now wrapped around the gaping wound in his side, soaked through with his blood. Katrina Dowling hated him, worse she hated herself because deep down she wanted him to die. They'd been working together for the best part of two months and he'd treated her like a piece of meat from the day they first met. She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. It had all been Jean's idea - she'd been "topless modeling" for three months and had offered to hook Katrina up with James, the man who now lay dying at her feet. The money was good and the people, despite their occupation, decent - or so Jean had promised. Katrina knew she was attractive, she'd been greeted with enough lewd comments from every variety of man to know that the opposite sex found her pleasing to the eye. It galled her that no one would, or could, look beyond the surface to the person who lived underneath. Countless clumsy propositions, an infinite number of fools proclaiming their love for her - despite not even knowing her name. She wanted to be someone - someone worthwhile - something that would make her more than just another pretty face smiling its way through life. But she'd failed, miserably. School had been an unmitigated disaster, a litany of failed exams and a series of constant disappointments. The most popular student in the school amongst her male counterparts, never without a date and by extension reviled by most of the other girls. Never alone but always lonely, a horrible paradox that led her to a disastrous suicide attempt which culminated in the accidental death of her best friend. After that she opted to disappear, leaving her life behind and travelling to the city in a bid to become something. She became something alright - another teenaged junkie saved from a premature death by a family who cared enough to track her down and bring her back home. They'd only prolonged the inevitable though, she finished school and ended up back here, in the city. Waitress work paid poorly and she wanted to go to university, she had decided to study law but she needed to lay her hands on some serious money. So Jean suggested a little "modeling" - quick work with a nice little return. Katrina realised that she'd slipped into a state of shock, losing herself in the past in a bid to escape the horrors of her current situation, she forced herself to snap out of it, to refocus her attention on the task at hand - saving James’ life. Peter was absently watching the flames gradually creep towards the off-license when he heard the gunshots ring out somewhere in the distance. Smiling he unscrewed the cap off a bottle of scotch, taking a long swig from it before returning it to the bag with his other essential supplies. He needed drugs, he knew this, the drink and cigarettes would only take him so far - not nearly far enough. But the narcotics would have too wait, the firefight raging nearby would prove instrumental in saving the world - a task which took precedence over his search for illegal substances. At least for the time being at any rate. He pondered the various images which where swimming through his mind as he made his way through the forest in the general direction of the gunfire. They had shown seven others, people who would be like him, if he judged them to be worthy. Seven was too many and Peter knew that more murder lay in his future. Not murder, pruning, he was a hero and this was his trial - the survivors would praise him for his bravery and crown him king of the world. He would turn their offers of reward down, he was a simple man with simple needs and power did not interest him. At least, not the kind of power that brought with it the terrible responsibility of leadership. It was this inability to deal with responsibility that had caused the accident at the plant, seventy-nine people wiped out by one careless mistake, his mistake. He knew that this was his chance for redemption, his chance to make up for that pointless loss of life - that was why they choose him, they knew that he would not fail them. His wife and children were gone now, they left him after he started taking the drugs and his friends quickly followed suit. He had nothing now, nothing but the responsibility of saving the world from itself. He would not fail. Alison had been a test, he understood that now, they wanted to know just how far he would go for this once wonderful planet and he had met their expectations - taking the life of another without so much as a second thought. She had looked exactly like Eileen, she was even wearing the same light blue robe he'd seen her in last. She'd taken it from some small hotel in London, delighting in her petty theft, she was always so spontaneous - that was why he loved her. Everything he aspired towards came easily to her and for reasons he never understood, she returned his affections a thousand fold. They must have used plastic surgery, which meant that they'd been planning this for sometime - were they the ones responsible for the balcony's collapse in the first place ? Yes, that was it, they'd murdered her and tried to trick him with some second rate actress but he was too smart for them. She had pleaded with him when he confronted her, continuing her pretence to the end, even as she fell to her knees and he pushed his gun against her temple. She knew things that only Eileen could've told her, had they tortured her too ? Had those animals inflicted pain on the only person her ever cared for ? He didn't know why they wanted to hurt him, he couldn't understand the reasons behind their destruction of his life and he didn't want to. He was rage now, they had sent these animals for him and he had slaughtered them - he was the hunter and they would die screaming for forgiveness. Redemption that he would not give them. He squeezed the trigger twice, a sickening noise drowning out the gunshots as her skull shattered under the impact of his bullets. Tears ran down his face as he fought for some kind of understanding, he still couldn't drop his gun, the clip was empty but it still seemed capable of fulfilling it's deadly function. A slow handclap issuing from somewhere behind him refocused his attention. Turning he found himself locking eyes on a tall, long haired man dressed in an ill-fitting black suit, a plastic bag rested on the ground beside his right leg. Peter took the scene before him in with a quick glance. The woman was clearly dead - her head was gone - most of it appeared to be splattered over the T-shirt of the man standing over her corpse. Clutching a smoking gun of some sort in his left hand, the man was short but very well built, he wore his blond hair tight. Peter listened to the voices and placed his bag on the ground before starting a slow, rhythmic handclap. The man turned to face him, tears were seeping down his cheeks and Peter flashed him a reassuring smile - "Impressive work sir, you did well to see through their ploy. They took your old life, destroyed it for their own amusement - you are Gun now, will you help me avenge your loss and save the world ?".
Written By : John McMahon	Archive