Chapter 2
A roar like thunder pierced the air like a draconic bellow out of a fairy tale, but the barkeeper didn’t mind. It had been six hours since the large ape sat across from him at the bar, and he had been asleep for the last four of it. Though the anthro’s snore was more than off putting, it wasn’t like he was scaring patrons away. Business had been bad since the war started and had only declined further with the blockading of the mining platform. The cavernous area that made up the front end of the tavern had once crawled with life, though now it sat dormant, waiting for the winter of war to pass. The bartender was glad to see that some creatures were willing to weather the proverbial winter. Despite the oddities of his current guest, he was glad someone was there. To be clear, however, the ape was even more peculiar than most that frequented the bar. Even as he slept he let an oversized cigar burn like an ember in his mighty jaw. His barrel chested torso was cloaked with a faded poncho that now rose and fell in rhythm with each resounding snore. The hat whose brim hung over his eyes when he waltzed into the desolate tavern now sat next to the hollow whisky bottles he emptied like an elephant at a watering hole. The barman thought the apes getup was almost comical, though he would never say that to the hulking creatures face.
Species, outfit, and drinking habits aside, there was one thing about his snoozing guest that he couldn’t shake; the hand that held those whisky bottles. In place of the ape’s left forearm was a crudely constructed metal prosthetic. If there was one thing people liked to share more than a drink in a joint like this, it was conversation. Unfortunately, there had been more than one discussion among patrons about claiming a bounty on an ape with a mechanical arm. “Could my luck really be this rotten?” the tender thought to himself. “There’s no way the only living thing to pass through my God forsaken doors today is the infamous...”
“MCGRAW!” Shouted a voice from the now open doorway. The bartender dropped the glass he had been cleaning out of surprise, shattering it on the ground. The sleeping gorilla now known as McGraw, however, didn’t stir at all. The shout came from a rather stout man who was flanked by two others of less notable stature. “I’m talking to you, McGraw!” barked the man again. “Do you know what you’re worth?”
“Thirty thousand.” whispered McGraw.
“I can’t hear you, boy. Speak up.”
The barkeep shifted his glance from the three men back to Gorilla McGraw just in time to see the beast grab his hat off of the counter.
“I went through all the effort of robbing that Union train and I’m still only marked at thirty thousand. What a waste of time that was.” The fat man waddled closer to McGraw who slowly pushed his stool away from the bar while rising to meet them. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Don’t be so coy, ape. We’re the world famous Crosby Brothers!”
“Must not be world famous on this planet, cause I’ve sure as shit never heard of you.” McGraw had, as a matter of fact, heard stories of the Crosby Brothers on multiple occasions. More often than not the tales concluded with the fat one eating his words while their target escaped. “Look, I came here for a drink, not to get harassed by some two bit bounty hunter and his lady friends.” McGraw reached over toward the only bottle left on the bar that had liquid remaining in it. His mechanical left arm let out a soft whir as it moved with the same lack of fluidity as his organic one on the right.
“Watch your tongue, boy. We’d rather not take you in dead, but losing the extra thousand might be worth teaching you some respect,” said the one of the skinnier Crosby Brothers as he gently caressed his plasma blaster that sat sloppily in his holster.
“Now if you don’t mind, Mr. barman, we’d like some alone time with McGraw, here,” the fat brother chimed in. Not wanting to die over someone else’s squabble, the bartender moved hastily through the storage room and out the back door. When the room had sat silently for what felt like hours but was more realistically seconds, all three Crosby Brothers raised their weapons slowly, leveling them on their prize.
“I told you boys I just came here to drink,” said McGraw before he took the final swig that his bottle had to offer before shattering it completely over fat Crosby’s head. The remaining two brothers fumbled nervously trying to unholster their weapons, but Gorilla McGraw drew his sidearm with ease and fanned two shots into each of their legs. Their kneecaps were instantly charred and gave way with a sickening snap as the force from the shots forced them to the ground. Not one for tricks, McGraw slid his pistol back into his holster with force as he let out a grunt of satisfaction. Stepping over the screaming Crosby Brothers on his way out of the bar, McGraw was sure to leave them with some simple advice. “Next time you aim to kill a sleeping man, don’t wake him first.” The bright neon signs and old faded posters that lined the walls of the pub gave way to a blanket of endless stars as McGraw passed through the portal of the doorway.
The brisk air of the desert night did little to sober McGraw. He was intentional with the copious amount of alcohol he had consumed that night. In accordance to the gorilla’s ideals, it would be a shame if his buzz were to dissipate before his head had nestled into his pillow aboard his cozy ship. He may not have had quite so much to drink, though, had he known an encounter with bounty hunters was on the agenda for the evening. It was the second of the day and he admittedly hadn’t caught wind of the their approach as he usually did, but that didn’t matter. In the mind of the mighty ape there were few he couldn’t best, despite his current debilitated state. After eleven months of maintaining the status of “high priority target” on the bounty hunters guild most wanted boards, McGraw had become quite desensitized to the almost daily visits. Arkan Arkham, Saint Starbreak, the Riot Gang; none of the so called “master class” hunters had the competence to bring him in.
McGraw reverted from the upright position he generally maintained into a more primal stride that included using his knuckles, much like a gorilla of Earth. His tribal tradition taught getting around in such a manner was disrespectful to one’s self and dishonoring to one's family. Even if he were to care about such out of date customs, which he didn’t, he walked alone among the dunes marked with rising spires of crimson rocks that penetrated the glittering night sky. At least he truly thought he did. “You’re gonna be stuck with a savage hangover tomorrow, mate,” said a deep, proud, and thickly accented voice from the shadows. McGraw, caught off guard by his apparent visitor, scrambled to draw his pistol. His adrenaline began to do what the night chill refused as his vision tightened and his senses crept back to him. He felt the smooth sandalwood of his pistol grips on his knuckles as they drifted over the polished surface of his weapon. As he clenched his fist around the handle muscle memory took over. The ape’s left arm flung outward, throwing the tattered poncho over his shoulder just as his right arm sprung forth leveling itself with his best estimation of where the voice originated. A vile grin of success crossed his maw as his index finger repeatedly squeezed inward. It was at this moment he realized something was incredibly off.
Observing there were no plasma bolts originating from where the weapon should be, Mcgraw noticed the firearm wasn’t in his hand at all. Looking a little further he noticed it wasn’t even nearby. Instead it was hurtling through the air, barrel over butt, toward the voice in the shadows. In his devastatingly intoxicated state McGraw had failed to fully draw his pistol before thrusting his arm forward to aim. In turn, the firearm had caught his holster by its sight and the force of his movement catapulted it forward and out of his grasp. “Dammit!” exclaimed McGraw. His sidearm clattered against the smoothed sandstone before coming to rest deep within the darkness. Unsure of what waited for him just ahead, McGraw desperately said the only thing he thought might save him, “I’m worth more alive!”
“I’m well aware of that,” the deep voice said with a chuckle. After the echo of the words ceased to resonate off of the nearby formations what looked to be a very small child stepped out into what little light there was. From what McGraw could gather in the ambiance of the night, the child stood about four feet tall with an exceedingly toned muscles sitting on his otherwise unimpressive frame. His skin was darker than some humans he had met in his time but certainly lighter than others. The child’s complexion was complemented by a pair of deep, burnt umber eyes that yielded a glow and a smile which was posted ear to ear and exuded a similar vibrant. The apparel of the young human confused the ape. He was wearing a sidearm packed neatly into a tactical belt, that was complemented by a bandoleer overstuffed with ammunition. A rifle sat neatly across his back and an uncomfortably large knife rested on the opposite hip of his pistol. This was as far, however, as the child’s military garb went. Beneath all the weapons and ammo he was wearing what McGraw recognized as a sports jersey, but he wasn’t sure what sport or team it was affiliated with. It was all black with a white collar and had a silver fern sitting on the breast without much more detail. What perplexed McGraw even more than that was the fact that the child was equipped only with khaki shorts to wear in the place of pants with any real combat value.
Perplexed by what refused to stop unfolding before him, McGraw let out a loud, detesting statement. “You send a child to do your work? Reveal yourself, you dishonorable bastard!” The ape looked past the child into the darkness, where he was sure his true enemy still remained.
“Uh, I’m the only one here, pal,” said the booming, proud voice, this time from right in front of him. McGraw returned his gaze to the child. “You should’ave seen your face a second ago. You looked as if you’d seen your nana attending her own funeral!” The anthro’s mouth dropped open in an uncharacteristic moment of disgust and disbelief as he realized the bellowing voice was originating from the small human. Maybe he had had too much to drink.
McGraw, still trying to process the situation, was only able to articulate five words,“What the hell are you?”
“Me? I’m Jett. I’m here to claim that bounty, so let’s stop pissing around and get on with it.”
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