Torture is a fine art, but I ain’t no artist.

  Neither was my daddy, but he knew a little bit, as they covered enhanced interrogation techniques and methods to resist them sometime during his 10-year crash course on surviving the Frontier. What he learned, he passed along to me, and it can all be summed up in one line. While torture is great at getting people to talk, it’s not so great at getting honest answers. Not because folks can hold out under duress and keep their secrets for themselves. The opposite in fact. You hurt a man bad enough and he’ll tell you anything and everything he thinks you want to hear, whether it’s true or not, which ain’t of much use to anyone. That’s why there’s an art to torture, a slow and steady pace to take as you torment your target physically and mentally to elicit the answers you’re looking for while reading into his actions, reactions, and statements. Overall, sleep deprivation is far more effective at getting actionable intelligence than any hot knife will ever be, because keeping someone awake for 72 hours enough to send them into delusional hallucinations and disordered thinking.

  I don’t have 72 hours to spare though. Fact is, I barely got 10 minutes since I let a runner get away. So if sleep deprivation is the figurative scalpel, all I got to work with is a literal hammer, one I use to beat answers out of the fat man after melting bits and pieces of him with Alchemical Acid. All the while, I sift through the torrent of screams, curses, pleas, and abuse in search of a single kernel of truth, the name of the bastard who gave the order for the hit on me in New Hope. That’s the person responsible for Josie’s death, and the one I need to make sure dies slow. Difficult to say what’s what though, because even when I think Gio’s telling the truth, I gotta hurt him some more to make sure. Then he flips his story, and I gotta think about which version of events I believe more, so I tell him to convince me, one way or the other. That sets off another string of verbal abuse, hurled epithets and empty threats which I turn around and promise to inflict upon his loved ones, his wife, mistress, five kids, and even the little birds he keeps in a cage by his bedside because he likes the way they sing. Oddly enough, it’s the birds that put him over the edge, and he gets to singing just like them, making a fine argument for what I now believe is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  God won’t help him now though, because like I said, I gotta be sure. Even though I’m planning to kill them all, I need to know who I gotta hurt the most.

  All the while, I keep part of my mind focused on my surroundings, as well as the Arcane Bug planted outside in case I hear an ambush coming. Don’t hear so much as a peep from it though, nor do I spot anything from my Clairvoyance slat which I tossed outside too. Still makes me nervous when I step out the front door a few minutes later and leave a battered and melted carcass behind me, as well as a fully intact vault with all manner of riches because I can’t be bothered to break in.

  Checking the time, it’s been about 9 hours since I set the restaurant ablaze, and the ache of the pulsing Aether moving through my Wildshaped Hand is telling me I don’t got much duration on the Ability left. In less than an hour, I go back to being one-handed Howie and won’t be able to use my Wildshape Ability until after a two-hour nap. And that’s a full two hours of proper sleep mind you, not counting time spent lying down and trying to fall asleep. That said, I doubt I’ll have much of an issue as I am now. The physical exertion is one thing, but the mental toll ain’t nothing to sneeze at either, to say nothing of the bridges burned and butcher’s bill I’ll be paying for years to come. Done plenty I ain’t proud of, stuff that will haunt me soon enough, but it’s gotta be done, because the Puglianos have been a blight on the Frontier for far too long, and I won’t stand for it any longer.

  Yeah, even if the Don makes it back and chases me out of Brightpick, the Puglianos are finished. They still hold most of Rimepeak, but my attack on this town has not only wiped out a good number of holdings, it’s shown the rest of the criminal underworld that the Puglianos ain’t nothing but a paper tiger. Sure, they look big, bad, and scary from the outside, but tonight, I’ve proven they’re all bark and no bite. Can’t even protect themselves from a single lone gunman, so just think what another gang could do? Worst comes to worst, I get outta dodge at first light, get to my alibi, and come back a few days later to finish the job, assuming there’s anything to finish.

  Would much rather not have to, because not only do I want to handle things personally, I know that round two will be much harder when the Puglianos are ready and waiting. Not to mention with how the Rangers are gonna be watching me close too, but it is what it is. Took me longer to get to this point, longer than I thought it would, and I’m on my last legs as it is, so I retreat into the safehouse I done fortified for myself, one that ain’t got no connection to the folks in Mueller’s Quay.

  Ain’t nothing but a hidden attic crawlspace above a poker room I done shot up earlier today. The room ain’t used most of the time, and gets swept for Arcane Bugs, Clairvoyance tags, and other such things before every game, but they don’t check for stuff like the Alarm Ward I set up to warn me if anyone comes a knocking unexpectedly. What’s more, it’s easily accessible from the outside via a ventilation grate, one I unscrewed and re-attached using Arcane Bond, a simple Abjuration Cantrip which acts just like glue. Means I can get out in a jiffy if I needs to, while keeping people unaware of my presence up here in the crawlspace, which is only one of a half-dozen hiding spots I’ve scouted out in my time here.

  Ones I haven’t told anyone about, and was real careful to avoid getting spotted while coming and going, because can’t no one betray me if they don’t know where I am. Not that I got reason to suspect the folks from Mueller’s Quay or the network they linked me up to, all of whom ain’t been nothing but helpful so far. Thing is, why put your life in the hands of others if you don’t have to?

  Soon as I’m tucked safe and sound in the crawlspace, I take stock of my injuries and treat them before they get worse. Again, a longer process than expected, as most of my pain has been dulled by the Red Sun balm, so a lot of these injuries barely felt like more than a tingle. Got a busted lip from getting bum rushed in the boxing venue, as it was difficult to differentiate between customers and bouncers, and caught some glass in my cheek from a bottle thrown my way that same fight. Should’ve used a Barkskin potion, but they only last 15 minutes and cost a damn fortune, so I was trying to save them for emergencies. Wouldn’t have helped my bum ankle though, which needs a cold compress after I twisted it ever so slightly bailing out the second story window of a bookie’s office. Turns out, even though the Jump Spell does what you’d expect and lets you leap great heights or distances, it don’t do much for the landings. Worst of all is the gash down my calf that makes it hurt to walk, an injury sustained not during a fight or bailing out of one, but rather on the way to a fight with no one the wiser. Got snagged on an exposed nail poking out the side of someone’s roof while I was running by, and while it ain’t bad enough to need stitches, it’s a long, shallow injury that’ll sting something fierce until the skin scabs together.

  Can’t count the number of scrapes and bruises I got, mostly from taking cover right quick whenever someone starts blasting, and I’ve a fair few splinters too because ain’t no one in this shitty town ever heard of sandpaper or varnish. Swear the town itself has done more damage to me than the inhabitants have, which speaks to the quality of my opponents thus far. Can’t underestimate them though, because that’ll get you killed, like it almost did me when I took a Bolt to the ribs, one my armoured plate vest caught nice and neat while leaving a welt the size of a nickel underneath. Was stupid too, because I had the fool dead to rights, but I didn’t open up because he was fixated on the hallway and I figured I could sneak up and kill him quiet, then take out the fools in the hallway itself. Would’ve worked too, except he randomly turned to reposition and spotted me. I killed him before his gun went off, but he still pulled the trigger all the same, and while nothing came of it, I know I done high rolled there because I easily could’ve gotten got. That’s a big part of where that stress comes from, because even if I do everything right, I could still end up dead, and I ain’t been doing everything right.

  Ain’t all that bad, or at least that’s how it feels after I finish treating my injuries and lay my weary head down for a short rest, one from which I’m rudely awakened by the sound of pebbles being thrown at the grate. From outside the range of my Alarm Ward no less, which leads me to wonder if that’s on purpose or just sheer coincidence. A few more pebbles get thrown, but then whoever it is stops, and silence ensues as I stay still and listen for signs of trouble coming at me.

  Nothing happens, with my jimmies remaining wholly unruffled, but even when it comes to my own senses, I will always trust but verify. Rather than get up and scope things out for myself, I keep still and quiet while making ready to manually cast Clairvoyance in the still darkness of the attic. Meaning without the Ritual, since that takes me a good 10 to 15 minutes to get through with a fair bit of prep and chanting. Ain’t ideal, using a Third Order Spell when I otherwise wouldn’t have to, but better safe than sorry. Pulling out a flat piece of clear, polished quartz about the size of a knife handle, I take a pinch of Aberrtin and a sprinkle of diamond dust and lay it across a wooden slat. “Vide – Veritatem,” I intone, keeping my voice whisper quiet as the Spell Structure lights up in my mind’s eye. “See the truth”, pretty much, though I dunno what’s so true about Clairvoyance, since appearances can be deceiving.

  With that, the wooden slat is ensorcelled, so I wait for the Aether to drain out of me before Conjuring up my Mage Hands. Unlike with the Wildshaped Hand, my Mage Hand still follows the Orthodox Methodology of deriving a Spell from a Structure, with the only difference being that this Structure has been modified to function properly as a Cantrip or higher Order Spell depending on how I want to go about it. For now, I only need the Cantrip, and I send one of the two resulting Mage Hands off with the wooden slat to pop it through the vent for a look-see outside. Don’t see no one or nothing, just an empty alley that opens up onto two different streets, one narrow enough that wouldn’t no one in their right mind care to walk through it in the pre-dawn darkness. I look around in bird’s eye and first person both and find nothing of interest, no waiting gunmen in the shadows or messenger standing out in the open with arms out and to the sides. Just a whole lot of nothing in the darkness, or least that’s what I presume until I retreat form my Clairvoyance point of view and find a piece of paper sitting on the floor of the crawlspace.

  One that was there before I sent the wooden slat out, I presume, meaning I could’ve saved myself a Third Order Spell if I’d’ve just opened my eyes and looked.

  In my defense, it’s dark up here, but there’s light enough to read the ink on the bright white parchment. Using my Mage Hands to bring it over, I make sure not to touch the paper just in case there’s any tricks or traps Spelled into it. Might seem a bit extra, but you can never be too sure, and my stomach drops as I read what’s written on the page. “To the esteemed ōcēlōtl,” it begins, with the lines over the vowels indicating something or the other regarding how its supposed to be pronounced. “Matters have not gone entirely as planned, and the Phantom will soon arrive in town via the southern gate. He has more than thirty armed men and is expected shortly before dawn.” Which is round about an hour away, as far as I can tell, and means I got less time than I figured for. How though? Not gone as planned? Whose plans? Luisa’s? Given the timeline, this means the Phantom rode all the way to the quay, then right back to town double time shortly after. Or maybe they never made it all the way to the docks, and the Phantom took out the Don somewhere along the way to avoid a war with the Zampanos. Doesn’t make any mention of the Don, so it’s hard to say, but it means I got no time to waste.

  The letter goes on to offer assurances and assistance should I need it, once again stating that even though they aren’t warriors, they are all willing to rise up and give their lives for the cause, but much as I appreciate the offer, I’m more annoyed by the fact that they found me even after I went to all this trouble not to be found. Goes to show you shouldn’t underestimate anyone, and doubly so when they got home ground advantage. Ain’t nothing for it though, because I ain’t about to bring anyone into my war. Didn’t even want to bring the folks from Mueller’s Quay in, and was leery about sending the Don their way, but Luisa assured me that nothing would happen if I did.

  Which wasn’t as reassuring as it should’ve been, because I saw the heat behind Luisa’s gaze and the twinkle in her eyes when she made that promise. Not much I can do about it though, so I only hope they don’t do nothing foolish like what I’m doing here.

  Yeah, I know this is dumb, and there are all too many ways for it to end badly, but I didn’t start this war. I’ll damn well finish it though, or go down trying, and a quiet voice in my head even wonders if that’s what I’m hoping for. Would be best case scenario really, go down swinging and avoid all the consequences after the fact, maybe even meet up with Josie and my daddy again, see my mama for the first time, and keep Uncle Raleigh, Marcus, and Darren company while we wait on the rest.

  Sounds nice and all, but I’d be leaving a lot of people behind, and cause all manner of grief and pain to the people who love me. That’s the only reason why I ain’t given up entirely, why I’m planning to come out of this alive and clean, because there are folks counting on me to do just that. Still stings though, because I only just found reason to live for, something to fight and strive for, a new purpose to exist as a father and husband, but then these bastard Puglianos took it away from me. They brought this upon themselves, forced my hand and drove me to become something less than I was, a killer so full of rage and hate I can’t barely think of anything besides killing every Pugliano I come across. Part of me wants to take the information from this letter here and lay in wait for Francis the Phantom, to hit him hard with a Fireball then open up with the Ogre’s Bane to gun him and his people down in the streets. It’d be a hard fight, and a dangerous one to boot, and I got no confidence of getting them all, not if they scatter and run. Not to mention it’ll be dawn, so folks will be up and at ‘em by the time the mobsters get here, so there’s collateral damage to concern myself with. Haven’t scouted out the southern gate for a fight either, not as in depth as I’d like, because I was planning on hitting the mafiosos in transit, out in the woods where I’d hold the home ground advantage, alongside the high ground in the tree-tops.

  Here in Brightpick though? The roofs are too exposed, the roads narrow and twisty, the buildings haphazardly placed with little alleyways in between. Too many corners and blind angles to cover, and not enough open ground to hold, plus different levels of elevation to worry about meaning my back will almost always be exposed. Better to take the fight elsewhere even if I won’t have home ground advantage. Got a place in mind, and it won’t be easy to take, but I was planning on handling some business there all the same, so I might as well kill two birds with one stone.

  I don’t rush though, because haste makes waste. Slow is smooth and smooth is fast, that’s the mantra I live my life by, so I take a beat to think things through while restocking my ammo pouches and take inventory of my gear. The Nanfoodle and 3-Line stay in the carrying case, which I’ll drop off somewhere along my exit route for easy pickup, but the Ogre’s Bane comes out onto a sling strapped across my back. Unwieldy, uncomfortable, and unconcealed, but I figure any mafiosos out there have all bunkered down somewhere nice and defensible, possibly even at the target I plan to hit. Would make sense, since I took out the Underboss and all the other big-name players left town with the Don, so I might well have done goofed there. In hindsight, I should’ve taken care of all my business before settling down to rest, but I knew this last target would be a tough nut to crack and wanted to bring my A game. Also wanted to take my time with it, make them suffer for what they done because that’s what they deserve, not a quick death like what I gave to the shooters who gunned down my daddy.

  Like I told Josie though, things rarely goes as planned, so sometimes you gotta roll with the punches and make the most out of what you got.

  …Wish I done taken my own advice, and cherished my time with her more instead of wasting it all finishing my 480 hours right quick. Maybe things would be different if I’d’ve taken my time like everyone was telling me to instead of going all out just because I felt like I had to. Wanted to atone for my mistakes, make up for the clusterfuck in Pleasant Dunes, and prove I was worth the time and attention Uncle Teddy spared for our lesson every week. Funny ain’t it? He tells me to take it easy and be live my life, but he don’t walk the walk, now do he? Don’t know how he does it, work himself to the bone for an unappreciative public while his bosses put him on a leash and don’t let him do what needs to be done. That’s partially why I’m here in this mess, because the Federal Government won’t take out the trash like they ought to. Instead leave it all to rot and fester like the cancerous tumours they are, so I’m here to excise them nice and neat.

  Or not so neat I suppose, considering I done set a good half the town aflame in one night. All mafia holdings mind you, though I suppose the fire could’ve spread and torched a nearby house or five. I’ll have to live with that too, but the way I see it, the butcher’s bill would’ve been a whole lot lower if the Feds did their jobs and dealt with the Puglianos early on. Tonight’s events are the culmination of the Fed’s negligence and the Mafia’s overconfidence, because they done fucked with the wrong man, and one way or another, I mean to end this all today.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The night passed in agonizing lethargy as Mia huddled with Mama in the saferoom and waited for Daddy to come home.

  When the first report came in around dinner saying La Vino was on fire, Mia had lamented the loss of their favourite restaurant, but that’s all it was. Even when she heard it was arson carried out at gunpoint, she figured it for a disgruntled miner who’d recently lost everything and just snapped, as it wouldn’t be the first time that happened. Even with the vast majority of the Family out with Daddy and Uncle Iggy, Mia had no doubt in her mind that Uncle Gio would track down the arsonist in short order and make him pay for what he’d done, because there was no escaping mob justice here in their town.

  Then a few minutes later, someone came by to tell them someone had hit the casino cash room, killing everyone inside and setting it ablaze, and Mia knew this was the work of the Firstborn.

  She said as much, told Louie P to send word to Uncle Gio so he could beef up security on their other holdings, but the big lug just laughed and told her to settle down. “Even if you right, it won’t make no difference,” the idiot said, always the loyal dog when daddy was around only to revert to a belligerent slacker when he wasn’t. “The Underboss used to be a second-story man, so he knows how to guard against a one-man attack. Won’t be an hour before the schmuck is caught, and if it’s the Firstborn, then Gio knows enough not to cut the kid’s throat.”

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  Except it wasn’t the Firstborn’s safety Mia was concerned with, but rather the safety of the Family’s holdings. An hour later, 3 more of their places had been hit, a bookies’ bar, a brothel, and a pawn shop operating as a fence for illicit goods like Spell Cores and military materials. By then, Mia wasn’t the only one who figured this was the Firstborn’s work, as word had gotten around of how the gunman and arsonist was a slender young man of average height who spoke with a southern drawl and had a dead-eye shot. What muddied the waters was the fact that everyone who saw him and survived swore he had two good hands, meaning it couldn’t be the Firstborn, except Mia was all but positive it was. She couldn’t explain how he regained the use of his missing hand, but it was absurd to think that there was another youth as skilled as he was who also had beef with the Puglianos and decided now was the best time to hash it out.

  So Mia paid no mind to the naysayers and brought Mama down into their saferoom, because the Firstborn was on the warpath and probably wasn’t fighting alone. Maybe he was working with the Zampanos, or maybe he’d just taken advantage of Uncle Iggy’s absence, but either way, Mia knew full well how dangerous the Firstborn could be and had no desire to place her safety or the safety of her mother in Louie P’s hands.

  Mama was difficult to convince at first, especially when it seemed like the Firstborn had run his course after an hour-long rampage all along the main street, but then he hit the town clerk’s office, where the people on payroll helped forge documents for the Family. Showed that the Firstborn knew where to hit them where it really hurt, but rather than close up shop and send everyone home for the night, Gio figured a few extra bodies spread out at their remaining locations would be enough to dissuade the Firstborn from striking. All it did was up the body count as he slowly and methodically hit each and every one of their holdings, from places as small as the poker room to ones as profitable as the boxing arena, while killing every bookie, pimp, loan shark, and button man he came across in the process.

  Heard he even stopped for a meal in the middle of a firefight at the boxing arena, chowing down on hotdogs and drinking cider while shooting anyone and everyone who popped into his sights. That more than anything scared Mia something fierce, as it showed a cavalier attitude towards violence and bloodshed that most psychopaths would struggle to match.

  Over the course of the long night, the Firstborn waged a brutal, one-man campaign that Mia could hardly fathom, so much so that she kept looking for clues of supporters in the shadows. Second gunmen, lookouts keeping watch, runners bringing information to the Firstborn whenever he disappeared into the darkness, she didn’t find a single report of anything that might fit the bill. Made her want the Firstborn on her side all the more, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Doubly so when the devastating news of Gio’s death arrived a couple hours before sunrise, brought to Louie P by a friend who only stopped by to let him know that everyone else was lighting out. Cowards the lot of them, all running from a single man, and Mia had no idea how the Family, even reduced in strength as they were, couldn’t put a stop to the Firstborn’s rampage.

  How hard could it be to find one Qin youth in a small town like Brightpick? The family had eyes and ears everywhere here in town, so even if the locals were dumb enough to help him, surely someone would see something and come forward with information knowing they’d be well rewarded for it.

  Didn’t happen though, and after Gio’s death, the reports stopped coming in. Mia wasn’t sure if it was because the Firstborn had gone to ground or just because there wasn’t anyone to send reports, but either way, Louie P refused to send anyone out for news. “The boss told me to guard his family,” Louie P said, sat on a couch making faces he didn’t know she could see as he spoke through the intercom once more. “And that’s what I’m gonna do. You and the Missus just sit tight in the saferoom, while me and mine are gonna sit out here and shoot anyone who comes through those doors.”

  Meaning the front double doors, which were steel framed covered in varnished wood with Aberrtin reinforced glass on either side and an arched window above. A solid and sturdy entryway as any, but the Firstborn was too smart to walk up to the front door, and Mia wasn’t sure if Louie P was smart enough to know that. She’d been on a few jobs with him and daddy, knew that the 11 other men in their house right now were some of his most loyal and well-trained soldatos. Problem was, there wasn’t a single person among them that could do what the Firstborn had done tonight, or even dared brag they could come close. That’s how bad it was, as these wise-guys couldn’t even boast about killing the Firstborn on their own, and instead were all moving about in groups of three while holding down one quadrant of the house each. Mia assigned them all designations so she could be their eye in the sky, with Louie P in the sitting room as Group 1, Group 2 in the kitchen, Group 3 in the living room next to the dining room, and Group 4 in the sun room.

  All while Mama slept on the bed and Mia watched the security cameras closely. She hated the system they had, with 4 cameras to a screen and 6 screens to keep track of, none of which was ordered in the way she would prefer. Had the eastern approach on the top right, western on the top left, northern bottom left, and southern bottom right, with the middle two being the house interior. First floor only of course, but even though privacy would be an issue, Mia was starting to think it’d be well worth it to put cameras up on the second floor. As far as she could tell, that’s where the Firstborn preferred to attack from. Get in through the second story, then catch his prey unaware while they’re all sitting pretty inside. Though Mama had thrown a fit, Mia made Louie P show her pictures from every place that was hit, and she saw that at least a third of their men had died with guns still in their holsters, oftentimes from Bolt injuries to their back or side. That’s how he was getting away with all this, because even though he walked into a room and killed five men unscathed, it wasn’t exactly a fair fight to begin with. He’d show up, shoot two dead before they could react, and have time to shoot the other three while they were still scrambling to react.

  She remembered what Revolvers Rossi had said, upon seeing the video footage of the Firstborn at the Sherrif’s Office. “Draws second, shoots first.” That’s what he said, because he was impressed by how fast the Firstborn’s hands were, so Mia could only imagine how much of an advantage he’d have when allowed to draw first.

  Of course, if he were to attack the house, they’d see him coming. Still didn’t make her feel safe though, because while most of his fights had gone that way, he’d been in three protracted shootouts over the course of the night and came out unscathed all the same. Made her wish there were more guns in the saferoom, something higher calibre and harder hitting than her dainty, 22-10 Bashere Aerie Falcon. The compact semi-automatic pistol had been a gift for her 14th birthday, and while it was built to be accurate and fast firing with controllable recoil in a small package, like most Bashere blueprints, it was sorely lacking in stopping power, even with the addition of Empower at the cost of Distant and Extend Duration Metamagic. Made the weapon a true close-quarters Aetherarm that wouldn’t hit anything a hair over 40 metres away. Considering Mia had trouble hitting targets that far away with a sidearm regardless, she figured it was no big loss.

  She was much better with knives anyways, as she favoured stealth over all else, and while her Aerie Falcon came with a cute little suppressor that screwed onto the threaded barrel, it was still loud enough to wake someone sleeping in the house next door.

  Sleep. Now there was an idea, something Mia considered as she sat in front of the screens and watched the cameras showing nothing of note, all still as a picture because there wasn’t anything moving to see. Every approach into the mansion compound was covered, as well as all the doors and ground floor windows too, and Louie P could watch them from the monitors hidden behind the painting over the fireplace, which was where he was sat right now, with his two cronies fast asleep. A similar scene could be seen elsewhere, as each group left one man awake while the other two rested, which seemed like a great idea now that Mia thought about it. She’d been awake all night unable to sleep, because she knew the Firstborn had picked his moment well, attacking as soon as Uncle Iggy and Daddy were too far away to return in a hurry and giving him plenty of time to run rampant in Brightpick.

  Maybe it was over now, because it’d been almost three hours since she’d heard any news of his actions. And they would hear something, surely, because with Gio dead, Louie P was officially in charge here in town, or at least that’s how Mia saw it. Louie P was Daddy’s right-hand man, so while he wasn’t officially in the chain of command, his word carried a lot of weight. Since there wasn’t any news coming in, that had to mean there wasn’t anything to report, so maybe that meant the Firstborn was done with Brightpick and had retreated to lick his wounds and hide from their reprisal. There wouldn’t be anywhere for him to hide though, even if they had yet to fully confirm it was actually the Firstborn. The Family didn’t need proof like the courts did, they just needed a reason, and the Firstborn had given them plenty. Maybe Mia could make something of this yet, turn him into an asset once he realized there was no fighting against them. Then again, Uncle Iggy wasn’t one to forgive and forget, especially considering the sheer amount of damage the Firstborn had done.

  Mia didn’t have any concrete numbers, but she knew that even if the main mineshaft opened up this morning, the Family would be facing real cash flow issues in the short term and would have to invest quite a bit to build up all their infrastructure again. That’s without even touching on the issue of the face they’d lost in the attack, as they would have to retaliate and hit back hard to show their competitors the Puglianos weren’t ready to roll over and submit.

  Problems for later, as Mia could barely keep her eyes open after a long night of nervous anticipation. With one last glance at the monitors, she yawned and stretched out the kinks in her arms, only to freeze in place as she watched a shadow flash across the corner of one monitor. It moved so quickly she almost missed it, but her eyes hadn’t deceived her, nor was her mind playing tricks, for the shadow reappeared on the next quadrant as he sailed over the 8ft perimeter wall. Not the tallest barricade around, but not exactly a hop and a skip, yet their shadowy assailant leaped up and over in a single bound. A Jump Spell then, and maybe Longstrider too, because as soon as his feet touched the grass, he was off and away, bounding across the lawn in the blink of an eye.

  The assailant wasn’t sprinting though, just repeatedly hopping long distances with a massive revolver in his right hand, one too big to match the Firstborn’s preferred weapon. More impressive than his almost casual speed was the stop and go nature of his approach, hopping from cover to cover and taking a brief moment to look around before continuing onwards in zig-zag lines as he made his way along the outer perimeter. Glancing over to see what her guards were up to, Mia stomach flopped when she noticed Louie P sitting motionless on the couch, and her mind went to the worst. Was there a traitor in the house? Someone who drugged or killed the other men without her notice? Panic ensued for all of a moment before reason prevailed, and Mia slammed down on the intercom button and yelled, “Intruder inside the perimeter, south wall by the barbeque!”

  Louie P shot to his feet, having been awoken by her yell, while the 11 other men came to much more slowly. Mama was up in the blink of an eye, asking what’s happening without leaving her bed, but Mia paid her no mind while staring at the screen. Inside, Group 1 and 2 moved towards the southern side of the house, while outside, the intruder was still making a circuit around the mansion. There was a sense of purpose in his movements and no hesitation to be found whatsoever, like he knew his way around and was headed for a particular entryway.

  More impressive was how he didn’t so much as flinch when one of Louie P’s guys flicked on the lights to see what was going on outside.

  A terrible idea, and she cursed the fool who’d done it, because the intruder didn’t know they were wise to his presence, but it wasn’t her place to criticize in the middle of a fight. Still, the idea wasn’t entirely without merit, as most would freeze in place as the glaring floodlights illuminated the lawn, or at the very least hesitate. Not this intruder though, who dove into cover behind the above-ground jacuzzi and came up shooting. The security cameras didn’t record sound, while the saferoom was soundproof, but Mia saw the bright muzzle flash and knew there was no way that oversized weapon was a 22-caliber weapon. The barrel was unwavering though, as the assailant worked the weapon with both hands, fan firing faster than she could empty her semi-automatic, when all she had to do was pull the trigger. Inside the house, the soldatos fell apart as they all took cover behind the walls and furniture, but it didn’t help Bernie one bit as he went down with one hand clamped over the red blossom blooming over his midsection while his mouth opened in a soundless scream.

  A gut wound, which was a bad way to die, because even if Bernie got the blood loss under control, the infection would surely do him in. More to the point was the fact that the intruder’s weapon was powerful enough to punch through the solid stone walls of the house and shatter the Aberrtin reinforced glass windows. A weapon that was now empty, but that didn’t mean much as the assailant broke out into a sprint to take cover behind the outdoor shower stall and sauna room. Finger still on the intercom, Mia conveyed all this to anyone listening, adding, “He’s probably reloading, so move out now and pincer him from both sides while he’s – ”

  Trapped, was what she was going to say, but she was wrong, because the assailant had no intentions of stopping. He rounded the sauna and made a mad dash along the hedges to the dining area around back, where he paused behind the hard cover provided by the floating island counter top to line up his shot. Fired his gun the exact same way, right hand gripping the weapon while his left hand worked the hammer with the side of his palm. Mia almost thought he was using the same gun as before until she spotted a second one float into view behind him, held by one Mage Hand while a second reloaded it with practised efficiency.

  So it was the Firstborn, just as she suspected all along, but this wasn’t good news for Louie P. Operating on the logic that whoever turned on the lights would be hiding against the southern wall, the Firstborn had moved to the back of the mansion to deliver six more shots down the side of the house. On camera, Mia could do nothing but gasp as she watched two guards drop with Bolt wounds centre mass, because they’d both been leaning with their backs to the southern wall and the Firstborn’s Penetrating shots had clipped them both from the side. As for Louie P, he and his remaining partner were safe because they listened to her suggestion and pushed outside into cover, while the lone member of the Group 2 survived solely due to luck and nothing else.

  And while everyone was still reeling from the attack, the Firstborn moved with startling speed and certainty, pushing up alongside the island counter and straight up to the house itself. Grabbing a stool along the way, he hurled it through the shattered reinforced glass to clear his path and jumped through after it a split second later. He fired as soon as he was inside, using a third, smaller sidearm to kill the last survivor of Group 2 with laughable ease. The soldato was so shell shocked he didn’t even fire a shot despite holding his rifle at the ready with finger on the trigger to boot, and Mia wasn’t sure if it was because the man was scared, dumb, or injured. “He’s in the kitchen,” Mia said, and she watched as the Firstborn cocked his head, hearing her voice and knowing she was watching. Much as she wanted to tell them Group 2 was all dead and order Group 3 to hold outside the kitchen doors while Group 1 came around from the south east, she knew that doing so would be telling the Firstborn exactly where his enemies were.

  Not that he needed any help finding out. There was an otherworldliness to the Firstborn’s movements as he cleared the kitchen to make sure there weren’t any soldatos still hiding. It was incredible how he moved, so smoothly without ever stopping as he brought his gun about in this direction and that, never coming to a standstill and always in motion as he checked his corners and blind spots. Had both hands on his tiny pistol, the Model 10 he usually carried as a backup to his Rattlesnake, and while the small six-shooter looked almost comical in his grip, she knew full well how dangerous the weapon could be in his experienced hands.

  Of which he had two, and she had no idea how that came about. She’d seen the stump for herself, covered with a leather sleeve yes, but there was no doubt in her mind that there wasn’t room for him to hide a hand inside. That was a question for later though, and she watched in rapt fascination as the Firstborn skittered around the kitchen before deciding it was clear, only to grab something off his belt and lob it through the open doorway and into the dining room.

  Where all three members of Group 3 were making their way slowly towards the kitchen.

  Compared to the Firstborn, Daddy’s people were all amateurs. Mia hadn’t noticed it before, had thought Vito, Bernie, Louie P, and all the others were some of the best soldatos in the family, killers who knew what they were doing. She’d seen them go into a house and clear it room by room, working in teams and killing with practised efficiency after she killed all the sentries and unlocked the door. It was brutal and bloody work, and while men had died during her training missions, it was always due to circumstances beyond their control. That’s what Daddy said, and Mia thought so too, until she watched the Firstborn at work and realized how it really should be done.

  Here was a man alone in a house with eight armed defenders, yet he moved through the kitchen like he was the one familiar with the layout in complete darkness at a speed that was neither slow nor quick. Group 3 looked like they were tiptoeing about in comparison though, which meant they had no momentum to get to cover when the Flashbang went through the door and exploded in a burst of Light. And sound, she presumed, but she couldn’t hear a thing, could only watch as the Firstborn hot stepped across the open doorway to get a good look inside, then out the door to his left where he proceeded to move through the butler’s pantry and around to the other side of the dining room. In doing so, he avoided the blind fire from Group 3 who opened fire on the doorway almost two seconds too late, well after the Firstborn had flashed across it and about three seconds before he burst into the room behind them and executed them one by one by one.

  Pop-pop-pop went their heads, one after the other, so quickly they all seemed to drop at the same time. Covering her mouth to keep from screaming, Mia once again thought back to what Revolvers Rossi had said. “Picks his targets with care, hitting them only after they go for their guns. One, two-three, four, pause, double tap.” Back then, she didn’t truly understand what he was saying, because it looked like rapid fire to her, but now she understood. That shootout in the Sherrif’s Office might as well have been done in slow motion compared to how quickly he killed Group 3, locking onto one target after the other starting with the one standing furthest at the back and moving forward from there. Didn’t matter since they were all blind and disoriented from the flashbang, but if they hadn’t been, they might never have registered where they were being shot from or seen any of their friends die, not even after the Bolt passed through the back of their heads.

  Speed. Courage. Focus. Precision. The Firstborn demonstrated all this and more to a degree Mia had never before seen, and she knew then and there that her guards were no match. “Dining r-room,” she stammered, remembering far too late to pass on this crucial information. “Group 3 is dead. He has flashbang grenades.”

  No one acknowledged her statement, not even the Firstborn, who melted back into the butler’s pantry and doubled back the way he came. “He’s headed back to the kitchen, no, the main foyer,” she said, and watched with bated breath as the 5 remaining guards converged on the Firstborn, who posted up in the kitchen doorway and threw something down towards the front door, though Mia couldn’t make out what it was. Didn’t explode into light or erupt in fire, or do anything at all besides come to a stop, so all she did was mention it before moving on. “He threw something into the foyer, and is stopped in the left kitchen doorway,” she said, and almost clapped when Vito lead Group 4 to watch his approach by the sunroom exits, while Louie P and his teammate took up shooting positions by the main staircase. If the Firstborn stepped out, he’d be caught in a crossfire, and so long as she warned them when a Flashbang was coming, then they had him dead to right. Hopefully.

  One second passed, then another, then a third as the Firstborn waited and listened, but for what, Mia could not say. So intent on watching his left hand to make sure she caught him reaching for a flashbang, she almost missed seeing him trade out his Model 10. Which she dismissed, because he’d shot four Bolts and only had two left, so trading it out for a fully reloaded weapon was only smart, until she remembered the power of the oversized handgun he held now as he turned to face the pantry wall and took aim through it. “Get down!” she shouted, a beat too late as the Firstborn fan fired all six shots again. The first two Bolts took one guard where he stood, half leaning out the door way between the sunroom and main foyer, while the next four shots pierced through the walls and sent debris flying around Vito and his remaining partner’s heads as they dove to the ground. The Firstborn paused to switch out guns, then waited another beat, and that second pause was what gave it away as he lined up his shots through the walls. “Clairvoyance!” she yelled, hardly able to believe it herself, but there was no other explanation.

  The Firstborn was a full-blown Magus, a tried-and-true Diviner who could see exactly where everyone was.

  Neither Vito nor his surviving partner figured it out in time, as the Firstborn put two Bolts into each one while they laid on the sunroom floor. The last two shots were delivered towards the staircase, but Louie P and his partner had already retreated back into the sitting room and the shots went wide. The Firstborn fired so quickly his Mage Hands had yet to finish reloading the first revolver, so he reloaded it manually himself. So transfixed by her horror and awe, Mia couldn’t tear her eyes away from his shadowy figure, stood there in his ratty, torn up leather jacket and frayed flat cap that looked like he picked up off the ground. A simple bandana covered the bottom half of his face, while his goggles concealed his piercing gaze, and she wondered what expression he wore underneath it all. Smug satisfaction? Grim determination? Cruel delight? Which one was it? What sort of man was he really?

  So distracted by her inner musings, she almost missed seeing Daddy ride up to the gates, and her heart soared in her chest. Opening her mouth to say something, she quickly stopped herself and released the intercom button, because she didn’t want to give it away. Daddy was here, and he probably heard the gunshots judging by the frantic pace he set coming up the driveway. That meant the Firstborn was done for, because no matter how good he was or what Divination Spells he used, there was no way he’d see the Phantom coming. Not unless she let it slip, which is why she let go of the button so Mama wouldn’t accidentally say anything either.

  “Don’t worry,” Mia said, finally reacting to her mother’s presence beside her, all wide-eyed and terrified that they were gonna die here today. “Daddy’s home, so he’ll keep us safe.” Even if he hadn’t arrived in such timely fashion, the was no way for the Firstborn to punch through a solid foot of stone and Darksteel reinforcing the saferoom walls, nor could he Spell his way through since there was a complete lead lining blocking everything coming in and out of the room, aside from a vent not even a mouse could squeeze through which is also where all the wiring went. The room was impenetrable, and they made no secret of it, so even if the Firstborn killed everyone in the house, Mia and Mama were still safe.

  …Which begged the question, wouldn’t the Firstborn have known this? Daddy’s overprotective tendencies were a running joke around town, so much so that no boys her age even dared to approach her, no one besides stupid Antonio. Surely with all the research the Firstborn had done before launching his one-man crusade would have revealed that there was an impenetrable saferoom on the grounds. If so what was his goal in coming here? Was he going to try and force his way in, or hope that he got here before Mia and Mama got inside?

  A question which left Mia ill at ease as she watched the screens with rapt attention, hoping that Daddy would make this all right and deal with the Firstborn once and for all.