How to Make Friends & Vaporize Bandits

Chapter 1

Pistol sat happily among his "friends" spending his hard earned blood money. He laughed when they laughed and smiled when they did also, but he couldn't shake this feeling in his gut that he wasn't where he was supposed to be. Though relaxed and relatively safe from the wildness of Pandora, he had an urge to expel it, to run out the doors with his gun in the air screaming loudly and manically. Although, that could have just been the alcohol taking hold.

He finished the last of his bottle and then made for the toilets, the sudden urge too strong to ignore. He sped in, did his business and sparsely rinsed his hands with the ice cold water that escaped the faucet. He looked up into the mirror as he shook his hands dry considering what he could see of his appearance. He wore a scuffed up old leather jacket on top an off-white vest with a loose blue neckerchief around his neck. His hair was short at the sides and far too long for his liking on the top.

He swiped back the long brown hair atop his head as it fell into his eyes; he hated that it got in the way of getting good shots. There and then he decided it had to go, he could be impulsive that way. He pulled out his more than sharp pocket knife and cut a good inch off the top. It fell over his forehead but gladly missed his eyes.

'Much better' he thought to himself smirking at his reflection. He slicked it back and turned to leave. A woman, tall, with golden hair that reached just above her shoulders, and wearing a much too big overcoat, stood in the doorway staring blankly at him. Pistol stiffened and instinctively reached for his gun in the holster at his hip, his finger hovering millimetres from the trigger.

"I hear you're the guy to hire if you need something done?" she began, "You willing?"

Pistol wasn't sure if this was serious or some new kind of roleplaying kissogram, he'd been getting them a lot lately, he wasn't sure why but he played along regardless, relaxing his stance.

"What's the job?" he asked, feigning seriousness and donning a poker face.

"Simple really, accompany me, keep me safe until I get what I need and then you get paid." She said bluntly.

Pistol squinted, 'definitely not a kissogram'. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, quick, simple and easy. Come now, and you'll be done before the day is over. I'll be waiting outside." she finished, before walking out the door.

He stood, a little stunned. This was the most random, out of the blue job offer he'd ever received, and he'd received many a random job. Like that one time an old recluse paid him an insane amount to plant MIRV grenades in the letterboxes of unsuspecting bandits. 'Ah, that was a blast' he thought to himself, chuckling at his impromptu pun.

He walked across the bar floor, his eyes zoning in on his friends. They were too wasted and completely oblivious to his absence. He could just leave, they'd never know, and then he could stash away the pay; finally have to enough to leave this good for nothing rock. It was almost as if fate had decided for him; his friends blanked him as he walked right past them, lifting his small haversack as he went, seconds later the door was swinging shut behind him. No-one even questioned him.

The early morning sun hit his eyes abruptly as he left, a welcome, if not straining change to the dim almost absent light of the bar. Situated in the middle of a desert plain, the bar had little for company other than the modest fuel station beside it. It was ideally situated for travellers and the residents of the nearby 'Hollow Point', and a somewhat safe place to stop and rest, unless you were unlucky enough that local skags got you. It was barely 8am, and by Pistol's principles that meant it wasn't too early to work. He took in a deep breath as his eyes adjusted; when he opened them he saw her, leaning against a motorbike that looked a tad too big for her, black from hood to exhaust (which was large enough to store a dead skag-pup) it bore a golden 'X' across the left side, simple but robust. He approached her with an ever increasing excitement growing inside his chest.