Silas wasn’t above a one night stand. He faced death on a daily basis because of his job. Why shouldn’t he have a few pleasures here and there? Just last night, he had taken a particularly pretty sight up to one of the rooms above Quincy’s Bar. He hadn’t even caught their name, but it was sure worth it.

Still, no matter how good the night was, Silas always left before the sun rose. It was better this way, for both of them.

His target tonight was some big shot from overseas. The president or some shit, maybe it was the emperor? He didn’t care much about the title of someone. He paid more attention to the number under the request, and this one was a hefer. He got the room number from the man who hired him, and took out the guards easily with a sniper. He would always stand by the belief that guns always won against blades, and all these goons used blades.

He hopped down from the rooftop and patted Rusty, his old Trampler, on the hip. “This’ll be a piece of peach pie,” he bragged.

That is, if the pie was raw, and all the filling fell out. Turns out this emperor packed a heavier punch than Silas anticipated, literally. It was a tussle if Silas ever had one. However, in the end, he managed to get the upper hand. Sitting on top of them and pointing his gun at their forehead, he nearly pulled the trigger before he actually looked at their face.

It was his one night stand. Emphasis on the one.

“Well fuck me,” he groaned. “Ain’t that just my luck, lovin’ and leavin’ a hotshot with a crateful of credits attached to yer ass.”