In your few years as a smuggler, you learned that sometimes it is a wise decision to shoot first and ask questions later. Jumping up out of your seat, your right arm whips the Magnum from your him to directly in front of you. Grasping the trigger, your aim is deadly with the big iron in your hand. This was not your first rodeo, and as such, you barely needed to aim. The .44 caliber bullet evacuates the chamber, flying through the air at over twelve hundred feet per second, directly into the head of the mercenary. Blood flies everywhere, splattering across the walls, floors, and his companion.

Distracted by the blood dripping from his face, the other let down his guard for a brief moment. Another slug of lead exits the barrel of your gun, and punctures his chest. As the second man falls, he drops his gun, clutching his chest with both hands, gasping for air.

Blood flows across the floor as the growing puddle around their bodies expands. The room was overtaken by an eerie silence; not a single soul breathed for what felt to be an eternity. This should not have been any other time he had killed someone, but this was significantly more dramatic, for some reason.

Turning around, you face the man who had until recently been your employer. "I could kill you now. It would be easy... so easy. Nothing is stopping me. Nothing... at... all..."

Kill Señor

Have Mercy on Señor