The Bounty Hunter |NEW COVER COMING SOON

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Bill Cipher.

A man without morals some would say.

A bounty hunter.

And a damn good one at that, at least when he wasn't showing off.

Currently, the blonde stood in the mingling crowds of the Fourth of July parade, dressed in a casual white t-shirt paired with a tropical vest of sorts, sunglasses and jeans. Sure he resembled a homeless beach-goer, but he was working. His target, a guy named James, short, normal, in debt with the law, was currently hidden among the festivities and Bill was on the lookout, hoping to take him down quickly so he could get paid. Bill had a busy weekend of sleeping off his feelings planned and wanted to throw some alcohol into the mix. Marching through the crowd, he found himself looking out across the parade. People not dressed in red, white and blue were almost nonexistent, even his shirt, tropical or not, had the signature colors. Scents of smoke mixed with hotdogs overwhelmed his senses, not to mention the faint undertones of body odor and sunscreen.

Today was a hot day, cloudless and as blue as any pastel. So far, the parade had been uneventful, the only big event to possibly spark a riot was when someone refused to move for somebody's else's kids. Marching through the flood of people, he found himself facing the man himself. A man dressed as "Uncle Sam" on stilts waved from the safety of the road, patriotic as ever. Bill took notice of the man's face, how similar it was to James. Then, it clicked.

"Of course... sorry Will." He muttered, pushing through the mob to get closer to the road, waving a hand to gain "Uncle Sam's" attention.

"Sam! Uncle Sam! You see a guy named James? Seems like you might know him!" The guy, James, panicked, almost falling over as he twisted to run. Bill sighed, jogging left of the parade to catch up, trying to dodge any oncoming floats or attractions that might cause him trouble. Just as he reached out to grab one of the stilts, the back of his shirt was yanked into the crowd. Being thrown to the trash covered pavement, a man with eyes as white as paper and a bandanna with skulls on it stood over him, cracking his knuckles.

"Oh! Ghost Eyes! What a surprise! Sorry I can't stay and chat, on the job and all that..." Ghost Eyes stared down at Bill, like he was a bug to be crushed under his shoe, maybe he was.

"You still owe the boss money." Bill nodded, pursing his lips as he looked back at his escapee, making a run for it, or speed walk at best, down the street.

"Tell that little white haired country boy I don't owe him anything-OOF!" Bill received a kick to the ribs as a reply. Bill staggered to his feet, clutching his side, Ghost Eyes remaining unaffected and bored.

"Come on man! It's the Fourth of July! I'll pay it off! Can we not do this today? OW!" A punch to the nose. Bill shook his head, his face aching, glaring up at Ghost Eyes with what little dignity he had left.

"Guess not." Bill swung, hitting Ghost Eyes straight in the middle, making him stagger back with a weak grunt. Bill felt a little hurt he didn't cause more damage but supposed it was fine as long as this didn't lead to James getting off scot free. He didn't get paid enough to deal with this and a runaway fellon. Hitting his knee, Ghost Eyes stumbled back into the crowd of onlookers, some cheering while others jeered at the loss. Bill didn't have time to stick around anymore. Shoving his way back into the road, he sprinted straight towards "Mr giraffe legs," knocking him straight over onto a low roof of one of the many shops down on the street. Cursing, he leapt over the yellow tape dividing the crowd and street and pushed open a door to one of the nearby overly expensive apartments, hoping it had stairs or anything to lead him up to a rooftop. Racing up, floor after floor of praying he didn't trip, he slammed the door to the roof open, spotting James running past him.