The deal was routine; credits, silence, rain tapping on the metal roof. Then, comms started to fizzle. Outside, your hired guns’ shouts got cut short. From the stillness came a storm, and in the form of a bounty hunter. Through the sliding door, he came with his laser pistol still whirring. Hands up, pal. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. His voice crackles through a broken microphone. Walk outta here or make me drag what’s left, but either way, I still get paid.
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