Re: LAST. THING. STANDING. [S!1][OPEN FOR SUBMISSION]
11-24-2011, 03:18 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Drakenforge.
Name: Sara Hargrave
Gender: Female
Race: Human (Deceased)
Text Colour: sienna #8E6B23
Description: Sara is a 23 year old woman from the old west, though the west was readily becoming the new west at the time. She has short dirty blond hair, with a slight orange tint to it. She wears a leather vest, open down the middle, a large blue bandanna around her neck that reaches down to the bottom of her ribcage. Underneath her vest is a white shirt, and she has a buckled belt keeping up her practical leather trousers. She has spurs on her boots and a holster around her hip. A strap covered in bullets wraps around her waist, connected to the holster. She dons a sharp cowboy hat that sticks down to eye level, and has a feather sticking out the side of it, neatly tucked in by a blue silk band.
Sara is constantly reflecting on her troubled past, so would take care before tackling risky situations. She likes to think positive, but is always expecting the worst to happen just in case. She has drank way her troubles for the last several years, and so has quite the taste for alcohol, but never gets so drunk to do anything she’d regret.
She can look out for herself, and has been paid on more than one occasion to protect other people or their cargo, and so takes to being a peacekeeper or, failing that, a law bringer.
Weapons: Sara has her own 2nd Generation Colt Single Action Army revolver, a 45. six shooter, otherwise known as the Peacemaker. It’s a long barrel revolver that has to be cocked back before each shot can be fired. She keeps the holster for it by her left hip. The gun has been intricately engraved, and modified with an extended barrel.
She also has a Winchester Model 1894, loaded with .30-30 Winchester bullets. An expensive but reliable repeater rifle.
Abilities: Being dead has changed a few things about Sara. First of all, she has no internal organs. Her “body” is actually just a phantasm type shell that is corporeal; her real body was abandoned after she died. Acting as a shell, the inside is filled with the essence of whatever she has bound herself to. Binding is what she does to exist, for instance, the first object near her fresh corpse was a burnt log. It automatically bound herself to it, breaking the object itself down into simple matter, and creating a shell with it.
She then had to bind herself to something else, to have reserve matter inside the shell in case she was damaged. If Sara is hurt, the shell will crack or break, leaving her to stop and allow the matter to reform and fix herself. If she were to run out of spare matter, she would need to find something else to break down, a lengthy process and definitely something she cannot do under fire, not for long anyway.
The plus side of this is that she doesn’t really feel pain, but getting injured does leave her feeling very uncomfortable and stiffens her shell around that area, to stop cracks spreading further. She also cannot lose any items she died with, which are her clothes and guns. All the ammo she spends winds up being remade, same with her weapons. The downside to this is that anything she doesn’t die with cannot be brought between multiverses. She will be reset at the start of a battle, and once again at every new round.
Biography: Sara was born the third child of a ranching family. She had two elder brothers, Rick, the eldest, and Martin, the second eldest. Her father owned a small ranch of up to 30 cattle at a time, and was the beef producer of the nearby town. They weren’t rich, but they got by. However, ranching was a dangerous job. They were constantly under risk of being targeted by cattle rustlers. Her father and brothers had to carry guns, but she herself was not. Her father didn’t want her to become a violent woman and that she should take on the safer jobs at the ranch. She complied, not too unappreciatively. She wasn’t even a teenager at that point, and had yet to develop the urge to rebel against her father.
Besides, she didn’t need a weapon, the thought of taking a mans life scared her. Her brothers always said that without the ranch they’d probably have ended up as law enforcers. They understood what they could and couldn’t do law wise, and her father was very proud of them. But tragedy struck when the family was in the neighbouring town. They were just picketing the horses when three black clad men, guns drawn, burst from the bank. They were carrying sacks of money and yelling, and spotting the Hargrave’s proceeded to point their weapons at them. They wanted the horses. Sara’s father whispered to let them do it, to not do anything stupid. They slowly handed over the reins of each horse, but Rick was taking too long. As their leader pointed a gun at his face, he reached for his weapon. Rick was a fast draw, and managed to fire a single shot from his hip. The bullet tore through the leader, and he shot Rick between the eyes. The other two men smacked both Martin and Sara’s father over the head with their weapons, and threw their leader over a horse. As they tried to make their escape, a Marshal arrived, Winchester in his hands. With his men in tow, they gunned down the mounted men, and dragged the leader off of the horse, throwing him to the ground. Sara and her mother were left crying over the body of Rick. Several days later, the murderer was hung for his crimes. But Sara had lost her eldest brother. She hated that she didn’t have the power to help him, not even to fight back as he had done. Against her fathers concerns, stating that she had to pick up his slack now, Sara learned how to use a gun. She took on the more masculine jobs Rick had done, constantly trying to prove herself.
The first time she ever had to use a gun was when cattle rustlers arrived, guns blazing over a hill, while she was getting the cattle to graze. Her father was injured in the fight as they wrangled several cattle, but Sara wasn’t letting them. She drew her pistol from horseback and shot, hitting one of them in the chest. They returned fire, injuring the horse she was riding and causing it to collapse, throwing her to the ground. She hurt her leg in the fall and couldn’t stand as the remaining men stole almost half of the cattle. She managed to get her father into town on his horse, and his life was luckily spared. But as they returned home, they were devastated to find their home and ranch in flames. The rustlers had stolen all they could and torched their home. Her mother and brother were killed in the blaze, and several weeks later, her father succumbed to infection and exhaustion.
She was just seventeen. Left without anything but the clothes on her back, her fathers horse and her sidearm, Sara attended her family’s joined funeral. She would have inherited the land her father owned, but there was nothing left there. The money they owned in a bank account was used to pay for the funeral. Feeling distraught Sara had no way to live her life. However, the Marshal that had brought her brothers killer to justice offered her a job as a deputy. Sara had no alternative, and after proving herself capable, spent two years in law enforcement, to the jeers of the townsfolk. The Marshal wasn’t a sexist man and appreciated her hard work, but other people weren’t so understanding. Sara got into more than her fair share of fights because of her gender. She worked hard bringing justice to the county, but after a while she just had to leave. The town became too quiet, the only people being brought in were drunks and domestic disputes. Sara wasn’t able to earn much under the circumstances and left her badge behind. She managed to find a caravan to sign up with as a bodyguard. The pay wasn’t great, but it let her leave behind her troubled past and travel to new places. For a few years she was a vagabond, hiring herself and her gun out to other people. She also became quite the alcoholic to deal with the haunted nightmares she would receive. Of course, there were plenty of men around to hit on a drunken woman, but her fist usually sorted them out. She wasn’t at all interested in men or sex, her childish dreams of getting married had burned to ashes just as her home had done. She made friends with the law enforcement in plenty of towns, sometimes taking on bounty hunter work. She preferred not to kill the criminals, although she didn’t mind shooting them to incapacitate them. She didn’t care if they died from their injuries, so long as she took them into justice alive she was happy. She earned herself a reputation as a gunslinger, eventually earning the nickname “Viper”.
This was both to reference how fast she could draw, and the poison like attitude she had towards men. However, the Viper met her match on a Caravan job. It was supposed to be simple, a trade route that was usually safe, normal cargo that wouldn’t fetch much or feed many, and only one bodyguard, herself. Nothing was out of the ordinary, yet they were attacked all the same. There were at least ten bandits, each heavily armed. Even Sara couldn’t match them, even with both her Peacemaker and rifle, her luck ran out. She took seven bullets before she finally let her rifle drop, and collapsed by the fire they had set up to rest by. As they looted the wagon, she managed to shoot the neared man in the back with her sidearm. For that, she was shot in the head, and she died.
But that was not, as she had been expecting, the end. Several hours later, with the wagon long emptied, her employer murdered and the fire long burnt out, Sara Hargrave returned to existence. She just suddenly was, again, as a spirit looking down on her own corpse. She wondered if this was what death is like, when she was slowly dragged onto the fire. A log moved, seemingly of its own accord; into the centre of her spiritual chest. It then began to turn into this multicoloured dust, flowing around the area her ghost inhabited, and began creating a shell that was an exact copy of her living form. After each log had gone through this process, she had a corporeal shell as a body. She was confused, afraid, and lying on a hot campfire. Her clothes began to burn, and yet when she removed herself from the rocks, her clothes began repairing themselves. She was dead, she could still see her bloodied corpse, and yet here she was, standing over it. Nothing made sense to her; everything she knew was being turned upside down. Death didn’t work like this she told herself, no religion or book told of this kind of thing. Perhaps this was just some sort of last nightmare she was having in death. Perhaps this was Damnation. With nothing to do, she closed the eyelids of her corpse, and buried it without a grave marker. With no horse, she had to walk back to town. In that time, she found that she could still hunger and get thirsty, but it wasn’t required for her to survive. Even after roughly six hours of walking, her skin hadn’t dried out, her feet didn’t hurt and she hadn’t needed to take a break. She did however feel the need to consume something, but it wasn’t a stomach telling her to. Sara managed to figure out that she could break down matter, and tried so on a cactus. It was a lot different that the burnt out log. Living matter gave out a lot better matter than dead matter.
When she reached town, she proceeded to buy a whole bottle of scotch at the bar and drink it. She could still taste, yet the liquor was simply broken down inside her. Her money also just got recreated back. So everything she was when she died got replaced, she thought. After staying the night, having a restless sleep, and walking out of the bar in the morning, she found a wanted poster. If in death she could still do justice, then that was what she chose to do. However, the man in the poster was familiar to her. What she remembered shocked her.
The man in the poster was her brother’s murderer, long since hung publicly. She had seen him die with her own two eyes. She grabbed the poster and asked the local Sheriff about it. He told her that he had been robbing banks in the area, as well as random wagons. He was a vicious murderer who deserved to die, he said, so feel free to bring him in dead if she wanted to. Deciding to see for herself just who this man was, she pulled a favour from the Sheriff and borrowed a shotgun. Her reputation was still good for something at least. She then bought a horse from a passerby on the street, handing him all the money she had on her. She rode off to where the poster had said the criminal’s hideout was, an old ranch by the bottom of some tall cliffs. The trail there had long since been lost to the land, but she rode over the plains and managed to locate it.
Letting her horse go, she snuck up to the ranch. It was old, broken, and several lamps were burning inside. Steeling herself, she kicked open the front door and jammed the barrel of her shotgun into the face of the nearest person. He was drunk, ugly, and smelled terrible. She smacked him over the head before he could yell out, but his body let out a loud thump when it crashed to the ground. She was then in the middle of a fire fight inside the old decrepit. Feeling nothing towards them, she let loose a blade from her shotgun, killing the first of them. It wasn’t the leader, so she began going through the rest. A bullet tore through her right shoulder, leaving out through her back, leaving a hole the size of a cup’s rim through it. The drunken bandits were confused, so Sara killed them while they stared dumbfounded. She hid around a wall as her arm repaired itself.
Samson, the leader, fired several shots from one of his companion’s fallen weapon. Sara waited for the weapon to click empty, then rounded the corner, shotgun ready to blast. She hesitated, his own weapon was pointing right at her. A Mexican stand-off. He taunted her, saying she can shoot all she wanted, he’d have fun killing her afterwards. But Sara didn’t question him about his confidence. She said she knew about his power, pulling a bluff. He gawked in awe and spat out an important question.
“You know about the fragment?”
That was all she needed to know. The facts finally connected in her mind. Although she was missing the beginning, she could now figure out the end. There must have been a small piece of something within the mass inside of her, something that if broken would sever her existence. She aimed for the centre of his chest and fired a slug. The shot blew off most of his chest, his arms were knocked away, and with his entire chest seizing up he couldn’t get a chance to shoot her. She strode up to him, butted him in the chin with her gun, and peered into his shell when he hit the floor. A small object, it looked like a couple of coins, was floating around in the rainbow-like dust. She pulled back on her gun, forcing a new slug into the chamber, and slowly brought the shotgun into contact with the coins. Samson began to beg for mercy just as Sara wondered about not being able to bring back a body to get her reward. She pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil shudder through her arm, as the coins were ripped into shrapnel from the buckshot. Samson’s body burst apart, seeming to dissolve into nothingness, leaving a quiet, bloody scene. Sara’s mind remained blank, and there was no weakness in the knees, no tiredness and no sense of running out of adrenaline. Everything that used to summarise a gunfight, all the horrible things that made you glad to still be alive were missing. There wasn’t even any pity for the criminals she just brought to justice. She dropped the shotgun on the floor, no longer intending to give it back, as she strode out of the bullet-ridden building. Justice didn’t make her feel better anymore, the only solace she could take was in that crime would be lessened with their parting. She wouldn’t be able to stop crime in the country, and if her existence was made public then there was no telling the kind of problems she would have. She leaned against a wall, wishing that she had taken up smoking when she had the chance, when her world suddenly wasn’t what her eyes were seeing.
Name: Sara Hargrave
Gender: Female
Race: Human (Deceased)
Text Colour: sienna #8E6B23
Description: Sara is a 23 year old woman from the old west, though the west was readily becoming the new west at the time. She has short dirty blond hair, with a slight orange tint to it. She wears a leather vest, open down the middle, a large blue bandanna around her neck that reaches down to the bottom of her ribcage. Underneath her vest is a white shirt, and she has a buckled belt keeping up her practical leather trousers. She has spurs on her boots and a holster around her hip. A strap covered in bullets wraps around her waist, connected to the holster. She dons a sharp cowboy hat that sticks down to eye level, and has a feather sticking out the side of it, neatly tucked in by a blue silk band.
Sara is constantly reflecting on her troubled past, so would take care before tackling risky situations. She likes to think positive, but is always expecting the worst to happen just in case. She has drank way her troubles for the last several years, and so has quite the taste for alcohol, but never gets so drunk to do anything she’d regret.
She can look out for herself, and has been paid on more than one occasion to protect other people or their cargo, and so takes to being a peacekeeper or, failing that, a law bringer.
Weapons: Sara has her own 2nd Generation Colt Single Action Army revolver, a 45. six shooter, otherwise known as the Peacemaker. It’s a long barrel revolver that has to be cocked back before each shot can be fired. She keeps the holster for it by her left hip. The gun has been intricately engraved, and modified with an extended barrel.
She also has a Winchester Model 1894, loaded with .30-30 Winchester bullets. An expensive but reliable repeater rifle.
Abilities: Being dead has changed a few things about Sara. First of all, she has no internal organs. Her “body” is actually just a phantasm type shell that is corporeal; her real body was abandoned after she died. Acting as a shell, the inside is filled with the essence of whatever she has bound herself to. Binding is what she does to exist, for instance, the first object near her fresh corpse was a burnt log. It automatically bound herself to it, breaking the object itself down into simple matter, and creating a shell with it.
She then had to bind herself to something else, to have reserve matter inside the shell in case she was damaged. If Sara is hurt, the shell will crack or break, leaving her to stop and allow the matter to reform and fix herself. If she were to run out of spare matter, she would need to find something else to break down, a lengthy process and definitely something she cannot do under fire, not for long anyway.
The plus side of this is that she doesn’t really feel pain, but getting injured does leave her feeling very uncomfortable and stiffens her shell around that area, to stop cracks spreading further. She also cannot lose any items she died with, which are her clothes and guns. All the ammo she spends winds up being remade, same with her weapons. The downside to this is that anything she doesn’t die with cannot be brought between multiverses. She will be reset at the start of a battle, and once again at every new round.
Biography: Sara was born the third child of a ranching family. She had two elder brothers, Rick, the eldest, and Martin, the second eldest. Her father owned a small ranch of up to 30 cattle at a time, and was the beef producer of the nearby town. They weren’t rich, but they got by. However, ranching was a dangerous job. They were constantly under risk of being targeted by cattle rustlers. Her father and brothers had to carry guns, but she herself was not. Her father didn’t want her to become a violent woman and that she should take on the safer jobs at the ranch. She complied, not too unappreciatively. She wasn’t even a teenager at that point, and had yet to develop the urge to rebel against her father.
Besides, she didn’t need a weapon, the thought of taking a mans life scared her. Her brothers always said that without the ranch they’d probably have ended up as law enforcers. They understood what they could and couldn’t do law wise, and her father was very proud of them. But tragedy struck when the family was in the neighbouring town. They were just picketing the horses when three black clad men, guns drawn, burst from the bank. They were carrying sacks of money and yelling, and spotting the Hargrave’s proceeded to point their weapons at them. They wanted the horses. Sara’s father whispered to let them do it, to not do anything stupid. They slowly handed over the reins of each horse, but Rick was taking too long. As their leader pointed a gun at his face, he reached for his weapon. Rick was a fast draw, and managed to fire a single shot from his hip. The bullet tore through the leader, and he shot Rick between the eyes. The other two men smacked both Martin and Sara’s father over the head with their weapons, and threw their leader over a horse. As they tried to make their escape, a Marshal arrived, Winchester in his hands. With his men in tow, they gunned down the mounted men, and dragged the leader off of the horse, throwing him to the ground. Sara and her mother were left crying over the body of Rick. Several days later, the murderer was hung for his crimes. But Sara had lost her eldest brother. She hated that she didn’t have the power to help him, not even to fight back as he had done. Against her fathers concerns, stating that she had to pick up his slack now, Sara learned how to use a gun. She took on the more masculine jobs Rick had done, constantly trying to prove herself.
The first time she ever had to use a gun was when cattle rustlers arrived, guns blazing over a hill, while she was getting the cattle to graze. Her father was injured in the fight as they wrangled several cattle, but Sara wasn’t letting them. She drew her pistol from horseback and shot, hitting one of them in the chest. They returned fire, injuring the horse she was riding and causing it to collapse, throwing her to the ground. She hurt her leg in the fall and couldn’t stand as the remaining men stole almost half of the cattle. She managed to get her father into town on his horse, and his life was luckily spared. But as they returned home, they were devastated to find their home and ranch in flames. The rustlers had stolen all they could and torched their home. Her mother and brother were killed in the blaze, and several weeks later, her father succumbed to infection and exhaustion.
She was just seventeen. Left without anything but the clothes on her back, her fathers horse and her sidearm, Sara attended her family’s joined funeral. She would have inherited the land her father owned, but there was nothing left there. The money they owned in a bank account was used to pay for the funeral. Feeling distraught Sara had no way to live her life. However, the Marshal that had brought her brothers killer to justice offered her a job as a deputy. Sara had no alternative, and after proving herself capable, spent two years in law enforcement, to the jeers of the townsfolk. The Marshal wasn’t a sexist man and appreciated her hard work, but other people weren’t so understanding. Sara got into more than her fair share of fights because of her gender. She worked hard bringing justice to the county, but after a while she just had to leave. The town became too quiet, the only people being brought in were drunks and domestic disputes. Sara wasn’t able to earn much under the circumstances and left her badge behind. She managed to find a caravan to sign up with as a bodyguard. The pay wasn’t great, but it let her leave behind her troubled past and travel to new places. For a few years she was a vagabond, hiring herself and her gun out to other people. She also became quite the alcoholic to deal with the haunted nightmares she would receive. Of course, there were plenty of men around to hit on a drunken woman, but her fist usually sorted them out. She wasn’t at all interested in men or sex, her childish dreams of getting married had burned to ashes just as her home had done. She made friends with the law enforcement in plenty of towns, sometimes taking on bounty hunter work. She preferred not to kill the criminals, although she didn’t mind shooting them to incapacitate them. She didn’t care if they died from their injuries, so long as she took them into justice alive she was happy. She earned herself a reputation as a gunslinger, eventually earning the nickname “Viper”.
This was both to reference how fast she could draw, and the poison like attitude she had towards men. However, the Viper met her match on a Caravan job. It was supposed to be simple, a trade route that was usually safe, normal cargo that wouldn’t fetch much or feed many, and only one bodyguard, herself. Nothing was out of the ordinary, yet they were attacked all the same. There were at least ten bandits, each heavily armed. Even Sara couldn’t match them, even with both her Peacemaker and rifle, her luck ran out. She took seven bullets before she finally let her rifle drop, and collapsed by the fire they had set up to rest by. As they looted the wagon, she managed to shoot the neared man in the back with her sidearm. For that, she was shot in the head, and she died.
But that was not, as she had been expecting, the end. Several hours later, with the wagon long emptied, her employer murdered and the fire long burnt out, Sara Hargrave returned to existence. She just suddenly was, again, as a spirit looking down on her own corpse. She wondered if this was what death is like, when she was slowly dragged onto the fire. A log moved, seemingly of its own accord; into the centre of her spiritual chest. It then began to turn into this multicoloured dust, flowing around the area her ghost inhabited, and began creating a shell that was an exact copy of her living form. After each log had gone through this process, she had a corporeal shell as a body. She was confused, afraid, and lying on a hot campfire. Her clothes began to burn, and yet when she removed herself from the rocks, her clothes began repairing themselves. She was dead, she could still see her bloodied corpse, and yet here she was, standing over it. Nothing made sense to her; everything she knew was being turned upside down. Death didn’t work like this she told herself, no religion or book told of this kind of thing. Perhaps this was just some sort of last nightmare she was having in death. Perhaps this was Damnation. With nothing to do, she closed the eyelids of her corpse, and buried it without a grave marker. With no horse, she had to walk back to town. In that time, she found that she could still hunger and get thirsty, but it wasn’t required for her to survive. Even after roughly six hours of walking, her skin hadn’t dried out, her feet didn’t hurt and she hadn’t needed to take a break. She did however feel the need to consume something, but it wasn’t a stomach telling her to. Sara managed to figure out that she could break down matter, and tried so on a cactus. It was a lot different that the burnt out log. Living matter gave out a lot better matter than dead matter.
When she reached town, she proceeded to buy a whole bottle of scotch at the bar and drink it. She could still taste, yet the liquor was simply broken down inside her. Her money also just got recreated back. So everything she was when she died got replaced, she thought. After staying the night, having a restless sleep, and walking out of the bar in the morning, she found a wanted poster. If in death she could still do justice, then that was what she chose to do. However, the man in the poster was familiar to her. What she remembered shocked her.
The man in the poster was her brother’s murderer, long since hung publicly. She had seen him die with her own two eyes. She grabbed the poster and asked the local Sheriff about it. He told her that he had been robbing banks in the area, as well as random wagons. He was a vicious murderer who deserved to die, he said, so feel free to bring him in dead if she wanted to. Deciding to see for herself just who this man was, she pulled a favour from the Sheriff and borrowed a shotgun. Her reputation was still good for something at least. She then bought a horse from a passerby on the street, handing him all the money she had on her. She rode off to where the poster had said the criminal’s hideout was, an old ranch by the bottom of some tall cliffs. The trail there had long since been lost to the land, but she rode over the plains and managed to locate it.
Letting her horse go, she snuck up to the ranch. It was old, broken, and several lamps were burning inside. Steeling herself, she kicked open the front door and jammed the barrel of her shotgun into the face of the nearest person. He was drunk, ugly, and smelled terrible. She smacked him over the head before he could yell out, but his body let out a loud thump when it crashed to the ground. She was then in the middle of a fire fight inside the old decrepit. Feeling nothing towards them, she let loose a blade from her shotgun, killing the first of them. It wasn’t the leader, so she began going through the rest. A bullet tore through her right shoulder, leaving out through her back, leaving a hole the size of a cup’s rim through it. The drunken bandits were confused, so Sara killed them while they stared dumbfounded. She hid around a wall as her arm repaired itself.
Samson, the leader, fired several shots from one of his companion’s fallen weapon. Sara waited for the weapon to click empty, then rounded the corner, shotgun ready to blast. She hesitated, his own weapon was pointing right at her. A Mexican stand-off. He taunted her, saying she can shoot all she wanted, he’d have fun killing her afterwards. But Sara didn’t question him about his confidence. She said she knew about his power, pulling a bluff. He gawked in awe and spat out an important question.
“You know about the fragment?”
That was all she needed to know. The facts finally connected in her mind. Although she was missing the beginning, she could now figure out the end. There must have been a small piece of something within the mass inside of her, something that if broken would sever her existence. She aimed for the centre of his chest and fired a slug. The shot blew off most of his chest, his arms were knocked away, and with his entire chest seizing up he couldn’t get a chance to shoot her. She strode up to him, butted him in the chin with her gun, and peered into his shell when he hit the floor. A small object, it looked like a couple of coins, was floating around in the rainbow-like dust. She pulled back on her gun, forcing a new slug into the chamber, and slowly brought the shotgun into contact with the coins. Samson began to beg for mercy just as Sara wondered about not being able to bring back a body to get her reward. She pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil shudder through her arm, as the coins were ripped into shrapnel from the buckshot. Samson’s body burst apart, seeming to dissolve into nothingness, leaving a quiet, bloody scene. Sara’s mind remained blank, and there was no weakness in the knees, no tiredness and no sense of running out of adrenaline. Everything that used to summarise a gunfight, all the horrible things that made you glad to still be alive were missing. There wasn’t even any pity for the criminals she just brought to justice. She dropped the shotgun on the floor, no longer intending to give it back, as she strode out of the bullet-ridden building. Justice didn’t make her feel better anymore, the only solace she could take was in that crime would be lessened with their parting. She wouldn’t be able to stop crime in the country, and if her existence was made public then there was no telling the kind of problems she would have. She leaned against a wall, wishing that she had taken up smoking when she had the chance, when her world suddenly wasn’t what her eyes were seeing.