The archive of the forgotten

Wanted: Dead or alive

The whiskey still tastes burning in his chest but it does not feel the same as it used to. He looks at his leather gloves and avoids the questions he has in his head. He wonders who he even was, who he will come to be one day. He takes enother sip and pays the bill. He saunters through the edwrdian streets, the steampunk clocks announcing the time to everyone in this sleeping city. He lights his cigarette, strangely there is no lighter in sight. He walks up to a poster bearing a drawing of his face.

Tycho Galilei
Wanted: Dead or alive

The young man rips the poster away and chuckles as he puts it in his shoulder bag and adjusts his fiddler hat. He puts a cigarrette between his lips and smiles as he studies the other wanted posters, looking for his next target but none are in his prce range, all a bunch of unsuccesful criminal. No, Tycho needs a challenge, a normal person will not do.

"Tycho?" A heavy voice says, the young man does not recognise the voice so he turns around with surprise. He did not expect to see a revolver pointed at him. The loud shooting rings in his ears as he feels the bullets quickly run through his abodomen and leave his body through hsi back. Leaving a trail of deep red fluid. He falls unto his knees, he grinds his sharp teeth, he remember how it hurt when they made them that way. He takes a deep breath and looks up as the gentlman walks up to him.

The gentlemen is wearing a white suit with golden details of technology. "Who are you?" Tycho says trying to stand up but lacking the energy. The gentleman takes off his white gambler, reavealing his long blonde hair and blows the smoke from the gun in Tycho's face with a beautiul and mocking smirk. "They call me ghost, but I am nobody important, I only intend to be the one who gets the money they are asking for you. I do wonder, what have you done? I cannot find an answer to that anywhere, why do they pay so much for you Tycho? Are you a prodigal son?" He shakes his head and thinks for a second. "That wouldn't make sense than they would want you alive. So tell me Tycho, why must I kill you today." Tycho looks up at him with a maddening disdain and hatred, why does he recall this voice? Why does he know these gestures? Why does this person seem familiar? But why does this person not recognise him?

"You will never know about me Socrates." He hears his own voice murmur to the chic looking person. The surprise and fear in the gentlemans eyes feels genuine as he lifts the revolver to the forehead of the boy, the boy smiles almost lovingly. "Do it.....shoot me. Or are you too fascinated?" Socrates looks at him again and resists the urge to take a step back. "Why aren't you dying yet?" He asks while looking at the chest of the boy, tycho only now notices the liquid slowly tainting his shirt, socrates is right, he should already be dead, why isn't he dead? But Tycho only looks up with a smile and puts his forehead against the revolver before darkly mimicing the sound of a pistol. "You are insane." Socrates says as he breathes heavily and finally pulling the trigger.

The body of tycho is launched back and he falls on the floor, the blood flowing from the middle of his forehead, the pupils do not dilate, they already were dilated. Socrates sigh and smiles, another job done, and perhaps the world rid of something more rotten than himself. He walk out of the street but just a few meters before the street stops he hears something. He turns around and to his horror he sees the corpse moving.

The white suit hears wheels and gears turning but he is not quite sure where it coming from. The ripped pants are tightly wrapped around the corpse's legs and as the the corpse slowly stands up he rips off his stained shirt. Revealing a fully metal body included with beautiful decorations and muscles sculptured out of gold and silver. There are no holes in his abdomen, where the bullets must've hit. He looks at Socrates and the blood coming from his forehead slowly streaming down his forehead and painting his eyes red. The muscles flex as he rolls his neck, only his head, neck and shoulder is made from human contains. "It won't be as easy as you hink to send me home dead." Socrates feels the fear surrounding his heart, suffocating his understanding. The blood spills into the mouth of the cyborg and his gleaming sharp teeth look frightening in the pale moonlight. "It cannot be....." Socrates murmurs as he once again lifts his revolver. The cyborg points his finger to the gentleman, like a child would do when simulating a gun, the finger slowy turns into a revolver. Socrates softly gasps and pulls the trigger but only hears a soft click. The fear of realisation hits him as he tried not to drop to his knees.

Tycho smiles, bearing his sharp teeth again in a cruel expression of danger. "Please." Socrates whispers  He says while looking at the cyborg as he nears him, the beautiful machine fascinating the frightened guy even though he is forzen by fear. The supple mechanics of the body slowly walks towards  the sinner, in the same way Socrates had walked just a few moments ago. "Have mercy on me." The coward with his blonde hair says, his chin lifting in utter fear and his brows furrowing in fragile hope. The cyborg chuckles. "Yes, exactely, I shall have mercy on the person who intended to murder me in cold blood. Who did not consider mercy at all. Did you? Why should I consider it? I have no reason to be kind anymore. I am no longer human, I am no longer obligated to a moral compass." He leans in and smiles. "And still, I seem to have a better one than many." He chuckles "Run Socrates, and save your life with silence."

Not perfect and the writing needs some editing but I hope it satisfies you guys!!!