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Rated: 13+ · Fiction · Western · #1936557
The infamous bounty hunter Draco is hunting a surprising prey.
A tall man with dark hair walked into the saloon. His black Stetson matched his black beard. He had a scar that ran down his right cheek. He was one of the most notorious characters of the late 19th century. He pursued bounties relentlessly. He seldom brought those bounties in alive. His name was Draco, and the patrons fell silent when he entered the saloon. Every eye was on
him as he slowly looked around. He approached the bartender and said “I’m looking for a man who has a bounty on his head. Foreigner, small and pudgy. He also has a small, sorry-excuse for mustache above his lip. When he first… appeared, he was wearing some kind of army uniform… any of this sound familiar?” The bartender, staring at the bounty hunter, glanced nervously around before shaking his head no. “Sure about that,” Draco asked, leaning forward and putting his hand on the bartender’s shoulder, gripping the shoulder so hard, the bartender yelped in pain.

A man matching the description of the bounty hunter glanced over at this discussion. He didn’t speak very much English, but he was pretty sure what was going on when he heard the tall, scary-looking man say his name. Sweat dripped down into his eyes, and as he moved his hands to wipe the sweat away, he noticed that they would not stop shaking. He looked over and saw that the woman at the next table was staring at him.

Draco, still pressing down on the pressure point in the bartender’s shoulder, pressed down harder as he said, “This man you’re protecting, he murdered a man. Now that doesn’t bother me too much, as sometimes there’s a man in your way, and you’re left with no other option but to kill him. I bet it bothers you though. You’re just not that kind of man, are you? Even if you were, the way that foreigner killed the sheriff… well, it wasn’t in no way normal. Those that saw it said the sheriff had just been walking away from the saloon, minding his own business. Next thing they knew, though, the sheriff’s blood and guts were flying everywhere, and this sorry excuse for a comb-over was sitting in some kind of fancy vehicle right in the spot the sheriff was. He took off in that vehicle, shouting some such thing or another in German. Now, I see that cross you’ve got hanging up on your wall. Does the kind of man that can do all that sit right with you?”

The bartender, slowly turned his eyes toward the foreign man’s table. Draco smiled.

Seeing no other choice, the wanted man made a run for it to his room, where he hoped to get his capsule working in time to escape. Draco saw him and ran after him, taking wild shots, one grazing the arm of the woman that had been staring at the man earlier. The foreigner made it into his room and slammed the door shut beside him and jumped into the vehicle that brought him here. Draco came in as soon as he saw the man close the vehicle’s hatch, and then he saw a new player enter into the game. A woman suddenly appeared, holding some kind of pad in her hand. “Mr. Draco, I am Detective Smith of the T.P.F. (that is, Temporal Police Force),” she said in what seemed to be a British accent.

Draco just pointed his gun at her and pulled the trigger, but then his gun backfired. “In addition to allowing me to travel through time and space, this pad I’m holding also operates as a jammer of all sorts of things. And right now I'm using it to take Mr. Hitler off your hands. Notorious outlaw from your future, my past. I was assigned to investigate his death. Most of the world
believed him to be killed, but there were some doubts. Turns out he had his scientists come up with a getaway car. Complicated story, but now,” she paused and smiled as the capsule de-materialized. “Now,” she resumed, “he’s been sent back to the Big Bang and will no longer be anyone’s problem.”

“Lady, not a word of what you just said makes any lick of sense.”

“It’s probably best that way,” she said just before hitting a button on her pad and de-materializing again.

Draco grunted and muttered, “I need a drink.” He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. After a few seconds had passed, a nervous Hitler cautiously opened up the trap-door that was beneath his capsule, and slowly rose out of his hiding place. Then the door suddenly flew open, and three gunshots went off. Draco stood there holding his spare gun, still pointing it
where Hitler had been standing before falling limply to the ground. “Well, at least I’ll get paid now.” Draco then holstered his gun and went to buy his drink before going to collect his reward.

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