The Sin Hunter: Double or Nothing

The Glory Days

Three days, three nights. That was the time that had passed since he had moved into his perch. The shoulder of the highest compound rifle in Hell had molded into his arm, becoming a part of him since the first bullet had been loaded into the long, trembling chamber. Muscles ached from stagnant positioning, sitting cross legged with his back to a folding chair in the corner of the abandoned apartment building, a ruined structure dusted with strips of billowing, dry white cloth and decaying scaffolding.

Yet the cyborg remained unwavering, silent against the dry, abandoned wallpaper, his barrel scraping the tip of the window ledge as it exited the building, angled toward a building across five blocks at a large, glass domed building. The wind blew away the curtains in a flash, and without hesitation he pulled the trigger. The force from the recoil on such a rifle designed by the most technologically advanced cephalopod in all of Hell shook the building and sent the Scarlet Sinner flying backward. Thankfully, he recovered quickly, knees and boots dragging patterns across the dusty, decaying floor.

The rifle hung limp in a dislocated shoulder as the Crimson Killer advanced to the window. The sound of screams and loading weapons filled the air from the gala across the street, as well as incoming sirens in the distance. The sound of an orchestra to the patience of Diamond Jack, a long time rival and old enemy. His face plate, blank and burning red, flashes out from beneath the folds of his scarlet trench coat and his large, brick red fedora. Diamond Jack cracked his shoulder back into place using a rag from the corner of his setup. He tied the rag tight across a steel bar of scaffolding, twisting over his own arm.

Pulling tight, the Crimson Killer snapped his shoulder back into place with a sickening pop, stepping back to untie the rag. He raised two fingers to his monitor on the left side of his head, a small wire feeding into a microphone in front of where his mouth should have been. When he spoke, a series of beeps and clicks vibrated against the walls of the abandoned apartment building. A fatal flaw of his creator's programming. 'So much genius and prowess in those mechanical fingers, and that moldy piece of sushi still can't program proper vocals for me,' was what Diamond Jack would have said.

Unfortunately, all that came out was a series of beeps, clicks and whistles like an astromech droid, signaling in Morse Code that the job had been completed. The Mayor of Exorcist Avenue had been throwing a sweet little party for his precious daughter's fifteenth birthday. 'Guess she didn't expect red icing on her cake this year.' Diamond Jack swept away from the window, swinging the glowing black rifle over his shoulder as he scooped a fire extinguisher from the floor. He did not break his stride once. The red canister smashed through a lock on the apartment door into the hallway, shattering a barricade into the hall.

Stepping over the wreckage, Diamond Jack slid both of his gloves into his trench coat pockets, removing a lighter, a package of compressed kerosene and then a cigarette. A small hatch opened to hold the useless smoke to his face plate, and Diamond Jack lit the end, embers blushing at the tip. Smoking meant nothing to the Scarlet Sinner. It was simply an intimidation tactic. Diamond Jack left the hallway, entering the elevator shaft and leaping across the ledge of the broken open door into a shaft across the way. The cables that tangled the shaft rippled and strung with vibration, scattering dust and cobwebs.

Diamond Jack snagged his hand around one pole, sliding down to the bottom as his boots crunched through a layer of glass, shattering the roof of the elevator beneath him. The Crimson Killer collapsed into a pile of red and darker red, rising as if from a pool of blood and purity seals. His fedora leveled with the door as a kukri flashed from beneath his coat, slicing through the lock and prying the doors open. Diamond Jack stepped out into the lonely, deprived office space. His boots echoed in the floor of a once prosperous and thriving lobby. It was eerily quiet, even by the Crimson Killer's standards.

He remembered this place, or rather, he had done his homework on the subject. This apartment complex once belonged to an Overlord named Pembrose, a wealthy Sinner who had claimed a whole block for himself. 'Not too shabby for a Sinner, especially by the standards of the olden days.' Pembrose, accordingly, had been swindled out of the ownership by the Mayor of Exorcist Avenue across the way. The one and the same that Diamond Jack had plugged with a bolt of deadly celestial bronze and sainthood steel only minutes ago.

Diamond Jack leapt from the floor in a flurry of red, a bloody bat while his boots struck the railing beside the steps, grinding down the tight, dusty pole. At the bottom, Diamond Jack leapt from the rail, arcing in a flip across the room where he landed on both feet, standing tall in the center of a once glorious shower of champagne and cheer. Now, the only remains of a once cheery and lively apartment show were a fallen chandelier in the lobby, and someone pinned beneath it. The Crimson Killer paused, removing the cigarette from his face plate, pausing beside the corpse of the well-dressed Demon who lay beneath the broken glass and framing.

He flicked the smoke cigarette onto the body of the decayed corpse, causing it to burst into flame at the first lick of an ember. As smoke built on the ragged, moth-infested suit, Diamond Jack swept away from the apartment, pushing through the doors as he dusted off his sleeves, popping his trench coat collar out as smoke began to billow from the old apartment building behind. 'Take nothing but a life, leave nothing behind.'