Heh, the whole past, present, future tense thing escapes me. Maybe i shouldnt sleep in english anymore. Thanks for the reviews all those people, i might get around 2 doin more, depends if i can b bothered.

We both reach for the gun. Only I'm faster. The familiar touch of cold steel against my fingers pull me back from the dream world. I turn and empty the entire clip into his face before he can react. Should I have stopped? Could I of stopped? No, it was his fate to die. His head explodes in a shower of crimson dappling my apathetic features. And my favourite long sleeve shirt, fuck.

Blood was spilled, life was taken, it happens every day and today was just another one of those days. Shell casings fall and slowly mingle with the halo of blood that fans out from his lifeless body. Do I feel guilt? Should I? No. No remorse, no repentance, that's just the way I am. I throw away the pistol; it clinks metallically against the cement and slides, coming to a halt a few meters away.

Then a strange thing happens. A stab of jealousy hits me, and I immediately realise why. He got of easy, he had been granted entrance into heaven. And I had been left here in this place, a place between heaven and hell, purgatory.

The thought of hiding the bodies so the cops don't find them hits me like a sledgehammer to the back of the head. But I am already miles from the place so I push it from my thoughts. I'm walking slowly down the deserted main street, there's not a soul in sight. Skeletons of housing units line the cracked asphalt, keeping me from stumbling off the road. I'm not even drunk, yet I can scarcely keep my balance.

Fighting always had a way of draining most of my energy, I need to get some boo's into me to replenish my strength. Or at least take away the splitting pain in my right arm. Yeh, I'm in pain, believe it, right now an unbearable amount of pain is shooting up from the tips of my fingers to my shoulder blade.

But the consequences were well worth the reward. I discovered it took about forty well-placed punches to the side of the head to break a mans skull. I guess it was true you learn something new everyday.

The blue moonlight bathes my clothes and skin, making the splotches of dried blood look like black scabs. But its soothing none-the less. Beams of the blue light flicker through the tears in a nearby houses roof, changing shape and width as the cool wind blows at the torn flaps. Sad beauty in my opinion.

My thoughts waver and focus desultorily. Gailen is going to be pissed when I tell him I took the job on my own. But we need the money, and he was taking far to long to get his shit together. I spot a light further up the road, 'maybe it's a bar or something,' is the first thing that comes to mind. As usual, I'm right, the remains of a small tavern come into view through the veil of blue.

I stagger into the tavern and onto the closest stool in front of the bar counter. The fairly rounded bartender casually waddles over whilst cleaning a glass with his towel rag asks in a thick Irish accent. "What'll it be then?" I mutter Southern Comfort on the Rocks as I lay my head on my forearm which is on the counter. He slides the drink to me and stares stoically.

What?, I manage to say between sips. He hesitates before answering. "I know you, the blonde hair, red and blue eyes, you're the assassin they speak of aren't you?. Your Cyrus" His voice is filled with a combination of excitement and fear, Im not quite sure why.

I pause for a moment and wonder if I should say anything. I decide it couldn't hurt, me at least. Yeh, I spose, I reply simply, still not making eye contact. "They killed your friend, did they not?" This guy takes no time to ease the questions on softly.

But non the less I process this information carefully, and slowly but surely it begins to come back to me. They had killed Gailen before my very eyes. He was dead. Or was that just a dream? Or maybe this was just a dream. Either way I guess he wouldn't be pissed about the job.

He wasn't my friend, ally, yeh, but not friend. "That's sad," he says, his eyes begin to well up, oh god, don't tell me he is going to start crying for me. I score a few minutes of silent contemplation before he starts up again.

"What are you going to do now?" I choose not to answer, cause in truth, I have no idea. Im too lazy to actually attend interviews for mercenary type jobs, that was Gailen's things. I would sleep on the couch or watch TV, that was my thing. He accepts my silence and moves on. "They will send more men after you, many more, you know that don't you? you can't run forever."

He must have noticed the unusual amount of blood on my shirt and face which makes me question whether I should of cleaned it of before walking into the tavern. Oh well, that's life. Who said anything about running, let them come, ill destroy them like I did the others. I could see by the look he gave me, he really didn't want to know the details, so I say no more. Moments pass in silence, he balls together his courage and asks me another question. "I've heard there's a bounty on your head" he whispers softly. He must not want anyone else to hear, there are a couple of suspect people in this place I wouldn't trust with a broken spoon.

I look up at him and our eyes meet. There's something about them, I cant place it, but it means trouble, that im sure of. And my arm still hurts like a bitch, so if shit goes down now, nothing good can come from it. Yeh? I didn't know that, is it much? That part wasn't a lie, I really do have no idea I am worth something to someone.

I can't imagine why they would want me, wait, scratch that, twenty of Valaju's best men could account for my much wanted beating. Pity Gailen isn't still with me, guess I'll have to do without. Whilst my mind is of formulating a plan to get my ass out of this city, my good friend the barkeep tilts his right shoulder and nervously reaches for the revolver under the counter. How do I know this? Im a pessimist, simple as that. If I was an optimist I would of thought he was reaching for another bottle of Southern Comfort.

"One million Gin," replies the bartender, accentuating the million like im either 'The Golden Child' or just friggin retarded. By now he's poured one to many drinks so my reflexes aren't what they used to be, but the pain in my arm has been replaced by a feeling of weightlessness and harmonic grace. So naturally im in the mood for a fight. He withdraws the revolver from its hiding spot, he's used it before judging by his deftness.

The gun draws to eye level, I'm looking down the barrel of a .45 revolver, so much for the idea of leaving a good looking corpse. If this baby goes off there ain't going to be much of my pretty face left. So using my incredibly swift reflexes and dexterity I get ready for action, and fall backwards off the stool, landing flat onto my back on the rotting hardwood floorboards with a solid thud. Well, that's what could be accurately named the story of my life, too boozed up to take out a fat man with an antique firearm.

The bartender peers over the edge of the counter and stares at me perplexed. Im sure he wasn't expecting a highly dangerous criminal like me to lose his balance and tumble off a stool. Through my eyes his face wavers and doubles, a blur of silver peeks over the side of the counter and he grins. "Guess this is going to be easier then I thought, by the way, it's not personal, but a million Gin is a hell of a lot of money."

I don't say anything, my mind is racing, I gotta get out of here. He cocks the revolver and points it at me. That's when I remember, I have legs don't I, though I cant feel them, I know they're there. I lift my right leg and take a swing at the gun, luckily the bartender is too slow to react. The gun leaves his hand and hits the floor, now's my chance. I push across the floor towards the gun, the bartender close behind. I reach the gun, grabbing it hard I spin round and face the bartender.

He stops dead in his tracks and raises his arms slowly. Fear is tattooed all over his face, Cyrus one, bartender zero. "Now now, don't do anything irrational," he half begs. I climb to my feet wearily, all I want is to sleep, too much death in one day tends to make me tired. So I turn back around and stagger out of the tavern, with five pairs of eyes on my back the whole way out.

It's darker then it was when I walked in, or maybe it's just the liquor screwing with my eyesight again. The further I walk, the darker it gets, the more tired I become. Now im sure it's the liquor. I turn towards what's left of a house and seek refuge for the night. I barely make it through the door before tripping over my own feet. The ground is cool against my face, its nice here, I wish I could stay like this forever. Things never work out the way you plan though. The darkness soon overcomes me and I fall into a deep dreamless sleep.