People were chattering amidst the frustration and confusion of what just occurred, the crimson eagle was circling the building.
Even with his hat covering part of his face in addition to his scarf, Bright could see Chance clearly. The Haverton detective was gritting his own teeth in pain, both from the shoulder spear that was piercing him in addition to the wounds the detective received on his back from the crimson eagle.
Chance's right hand grasped onto the spear piercing him. He felt fire crawling onto his skin and into his veins. His nervous system spiked high as he could feel the burning sensation slowly crawling into his arm.
"A lone wolf can be admirable." Bright let out his voice to his current victim. "But even the mightiest of them all can't do things alone."
"I'm not a self made man." Chance stammered. As his hand continued to grasp the crimson spear from his attacker's shoulder.
"No, you have the connections, you have the investigative skills, but you didn't use any of them this time."
"You think I founded that Hellfire Arm by coincidence?"
As Chance said that, a second spear emerged from Bright's left shoulder, piercing the Haverton's abdomen.
"I understand that you are a detective, that you're doing your job." Bright continued. "But one must ask: why Lloyd Howitzer? Even if you can capture or even kill me, what benefit would that bring to you? Would that truly bring solace to the people that have died at the hands of the Crimson '45?"
"You can't rid the world of the wicked forever." Bright spoke. "Humans are corrupt. They're especially dangerous when provoked. Some people we can't control, who they were born to, what condition they were in, who they interacted with as they grew up. They're out of our reach, including those who damned me." He said that last part with a strong tone.
A third spear from his shoulder spiked Chance. "Even before I was here, before these Hellfire Arms fell onto this city, there's always been bad apples. Question is, how do you deal with bad apples, detective? You throw them away of course."
Bright continued. "I bet the people of Morissey will be grateful that a certain group of people is cleaning the filth of this city, people like Lloyd Howitzer. I also bet you know how Morissey has been when it comes to being a paradise for both Americans and the immigrants who move here. Some people in power prefer to have bad apples be gone, right?"
"We don't condone killing here." Chance said. "I don't have to be here all my life to understand that."
"Do you realize how ignorant people can be on a daily basis?" Bright cynically laughed. "Everyone's up to their own business detective! Whether it be their families, their work, or maybe they just want to have fun in life considering the great war's over. People take your services for granted, the law included." he paused, before he lifted his hand.
Out came from Bright's palm was a scorpion, and Chance could see at the corner of its eye; the scorpion's stinger.
"Bright!" yelled out a voice. Chance saw Valefar behind Bright.
The Representative was floating in the air. In the air! At where Valefar was floating, the distance between him and the ground would cause any normal person becoming one with the pavement, and an instant death in addition.
The Haverton detective wondered how many people would see him from down below, and how their minds would attempt to process as to how he was in the air.
"Let the human go." Valefar spoke. As he was floating, in his left hand was a suitcase. "The deal's off if you kill him."
Bright was silent as soon as the Representative said those words. Chance felt blood dripping from his clothes, tainting his suit and they were dropping onto the ground.
"Valefar." Bright spoke without looking at the Representative behind him. "You know why we made that deal right? Between you and me?"
"My boss knows what you���re up to, and he'll take action if absolutely necessary if you don't do what you're supposed to do." Valefar exclaimed. "Go ahead. Try and kill me. We both know that's a death sentence for you and your merry band of Drippers. A good boss cares for his employees, and I'm no exception."
Bright mumbled as the scorpion from his palm jumped to Chances neck, and dug itself into his trachea.
"Chance!" Valefar shouted as he blitzed onto the roof as Bright turned to smoke. The Representative saw the crimson Dripper running away, the Dripper's crimson eagle following suite.
"Shit." the word came out of Valefar's mouth as fast as the crimson scorpion using its front end as a drill to get into Chance's trachea. Chance himself started to buzz and move rapidly, his body still lying on the ground.
The Representative saw that crimson liquid started to fill up Chance's eyes, as well as filling his veins from the bottom part of the neck. With a flick of his fingers the suitcase near Valefar opened up immediately. With what energy he had, Chance turned to see some syringes, all of them filled with red orange like liquid.
"Happy birthday from the Gunsmith himself. He sent me this pack just in case somebody was in need saving, and well, you're probably the prime example of this." Valefar explained. "He'll send more soon later. But bear in mind, this ain't free."
Chance gave a grin. "I'm surprised you want to save me."
"You cynical bastard, I told you I can't get these Hellfire Arms myself!" Valefar said as he held the syringe in one hand, while the other held Chance down. "I need the help I can get, and you're included in this, ever since I saw you again. You've taken morphine before right?"
Chance shook his head. Valefar could see the scorpion just crawling through the Haverton's neck.
"Well, there's a first time for everything." Valefar plunged the syringe deep into Chance's chest. The tip of the syringe pierced through Chance's heart, as the Haverton took a massive breath and he felt his entire body burning.
He screamed loud up to the skies. Flames came out of his eyes before they eventually became normal once more.
He lifted himself back up, clenching onto his heart and sitting upward. Chance felt the Representative patting him on the back.
"You're either extremely brave, or astonishingly fucking stupid." Valefar exclaimed as the Haverton continued to take in breaths.
"What the hell did Bright mention when he said you had a deal with him?"
Valefar looked down, before he sighed. "I'll come clean with it, as long as you agree that you'll do me and my boss a favor for saving your stupid ass."
"Deal." Chance extended his hand, as the Representative gave a small smile and proceeded to shake back. "You and I, we have a LOT of work to cover with these Arms."
Tell me something I don't know, Valefar thought and rolled his eyes.
***
Wesley Riskell hated being in jail.
He didn't hate it, he loathed being all cooped up like a chicken in the middle of wolves. It's another fancy way of saying that he hates being in the MPD building as well as being caught.
Right now, it was a ghost town, only normal officers here. There was barely any sign of HAST, other than Ford himself.
Port Pembroke, what the hell happened. He thought. His criminal empire, something he had built for the last 2 years, it was now destroyed.
To think he employed guys like Graham and Hunch Harvey.
Then there was Lloyd Howitzer. Poor bastard, he thought of Lloyd. He didn't really deserve it, unlike some other idiots. Said idiots were sent to Ryder's Island, and Riskell never heard of them again. They were the epitome of the screwed up kind.
He jumped at the sound of a vortex opening through his cell wall, before a crimson figure got out of it.
Bright.
"What the f-" Riskell shouted as he was pulled away into the vortex. Darkness accompanied his eyes, but his body sensed the lack of a surface. He was falling through the vortex. He opened his eyes and was met with crimson and black shading, all twisting and spinning around in a massive frenzy.
"Soon he saw a surface, which became closer until it smashed him in the face. Concrete. He winced in pain as he began to stand up, before he saw Bright standing a few inches away.
"You!" he said out loud before he fell into another hole. This particular hole landed him in a dirty old and faded cell. The cell bars were as equally faded as the paint on the walls. Bright was there again in front of his eyes.
Riskell felt Bright's hand choking him and pinning him against the wall.
"That Haverton won't help you anymore." Bright spoke. "His buddies will have a hard time keeping up with the Arms."
"You're bluffing." Riskell spoke. "You killed Chance Gordon? Like hell his buddies will turn a blind eye. The hell do you want with me?"
"Lloyd couldn't answer my question, so I figured I should ask his boss instead."
"The fuck, wait, you killed him!?" Riskell spoke. "You're the one pulling the shots, you're the reason me and the others are losing our businesses!"
"A certain bird told me that he was working with the guy that freed the Hellfire Arms. I'm off collecting them back, for a good reason of course." Bright explained. "Give me what I need, who was working with Lloyd?."
"No no no no hang on. I don't know jack shit about who Lloyd met." Riskell shouted. "Nobody told me that the Hellfire Arms were freed and fell onto this place. All I know is that I employed Graham and Hunch."
As the two were speaking, a series of screams occurred. Each of them was louder than the rest. Guards were heard trying to break up whatever fight was going on, but the guards' screams accompanied that of the prisoners.
"Mr. Bright." said a voice unfamiliar to Riskell. Behind Bright was a muscular man wearing an undershirt and dark blue long trousers. Riskell noticed the muscle man's hands; they looked like they could tear through raw meat. The man's hair was bright orange, and his pupils were red. In addition, the man's jawline was sturdy looking.
In one of the man's hands, was a weapon. The weapon was a medium sized revolver with a sturdy barrel, equipped with black grippings. A red lining was on the barrel itself, even though said barrel was also quite short. Black aura came out of the man's back.
"Well you're screwed, looks like a Hellfire Arm user's coming to do drip work against you!" Riskell shouted.
"No." Bright spoke as he turned around and headed through the cells. He turned to the muscular man. "Take your time using American Violence against this guy."
"Yes sir." the muscular man spoke.
"Wait. I heard about you." Riskell saw the man's posture again, before his own eyes widened. "You're Hobart Trent! You're the guy who killed that actor's wife a decade ago!." he stopped as Trent holstered his Hellfire Arm, and proceeded to bend the cell bars left and right. "Now hang on, let's talk about this."
"Riskell." Bright spoke. "Hunch sends his regards; he won't be missing you."
"Wait, what!? He works for you now!?" Riskell spoke as Bright turned into his mist form and went through the ceiling. "BRIGHT!"
Riskell's collar was grabbed by Trent who threw him out of the cell. Next, he picked up the gangster, and from the second floor, he threw him onto the ground floor below.
Riskell landed back first, he heard and felt a crack in his body. His view of the ceiling was filled with other men. Some of their faces were scarred, others not so much. Prisoners of Ryder's Island were always dressed in navy blue prisoner outfits. Riskell was mortified at seeing the faces of the men looking down on him.
"Hello boss." one man said and seemed to represent all of them. "Remember us? Some of your own men whom you left to rot to the cops!?"
Oh shit, Riskell thought of the past years he left his criminal empire alongside the other members of the Morissey Four. His enterprise was down, and it was just a matter of time till the others suffered the same fate.
Hobart Trent jumped from the second floor, before he landed on his two feet unscatched and unharmed. He didn't flinch or blink. He did, however, show his long set of piranha like teeth. "Need some help, boys?"
"Sure thing Trent." one of the former Riskell thugs spoke. "Especially since you got the Hellfire Arm."
Fuck, Riskell thought. Lloyd Howitzer was killed by a Hellfire Arm too.
"Time for some ultra violence." Trent spoke. After he said that, all that was filling in Ryder's Island was the dying screams of Wesley Riskell.