GUN SALAD

Roulette awoke to pain, darkness, and a great, buzzing void where her recollection of the day’s events should be. 

Fear set in. Where was she? Why did she feel so strange? Her back and side felt oddly tender, so she reached down to probe at them… Only for her fingers to come away wet. Sticky.

Bloody.

She gasped, running her hand over the affected area once more. Even in the dark, the cause was clear: a lattice of scarred flesh, jagged and cruel, that extended from her right arm all the way down to the ball of her left foot. It felt fresh, yet the wounds weren’t weeping much, as if the trauma she’d suffered lay just beneath the skin. The scars seemed to deviate and run together at random; Flowing. Weaving.

Forking.

In a flash, the memory of the strike returned. Her vision, her senses, everything was consumed by a white-hot resurgence of sudden, all-encompassing pain. The girl felt it all over again, as keenly as she had the first time, and it laid her low. She writhed about on the floor, whimpering, as she relived the whole experience from start to finish. Her head throbbed. Her blood boiled.

…Then, suddenly, it was over. She sat up again, quivering, smacking her lips to rid her mouth of the metallic tang that had filled it. 

What was that taste?

Had she bitten her tongue?

…

She sniffed, then stubbornly forced herself to her feet. There was no time to dwell on what had happened to her–no time to regret what had, in retrospect, obviously been a stupid decision. The important thing was that she’d done it for a reason, and if she wanted it to mean something, she had some work to do yet. 

Roulette picked out a sliver of light across the room and stumbled toward it. Outside, she could hear the rain coming down in sheets, occasionally punctuated by the sound of thunder. The latter filled her with a sense of visceral terror, now, but the girl refused to let it hinder her; she carried on up the steps and threw the tarp aside, resolved to meet the squall on her own terms.

It was awful. The rain pelted her relentlessly, and the wind whipped at her tattered clothing, nearly toppling her back down the stairs. Water saturated everything in sight, running down every sheer surface in rivulets. There was no sign of Marka anywhere–no sign of the stormbringer, either.

That suited her just fine.

Roulette held her gun aloft and fired into the cloud-clotted sky above. As usual, it dispensed her weakest offerings most frequently: chips of liquor-filled ice. Tiny, pitiful bullets too weak to even break skin. And, when the arcan-seeking bandage she’d relied upon so heavily in the past dared to show itself, she took it in-hand and ripped it from the barrel, tossing it to the soggy ground like yesterday’s trash.

At one point or another, all these things had failed her. And worse, she had no control. No consistency. Lady Luck did what she liked, when she liked, and–as its wielder–she was just along for the ride. It was getting mighty old, the way she’d always fall short… The way she’d always do too little and end up endangering her friends.

No more. If she couldn’t be consistent, she could at least be strong. She could protect her friends. She could become someone Gunn wouldn’t dare trifle with. And all she had to do to make that happen…

…Was hurt.

A burst of pink-hued electricity erupted from Lady Luck’s barrel, arcing up into the clouds to merge with the cold, blue light already churning within. Immediately, the rumbling of thunder intensified, and the overcast skies crackled with energy. The girl grinned up at the sight and doubled down, pulling the trigger repeatedly in an effort to feed the storm–to make it hers.

Eventually, she succeeded. The lightning began raining down on Segue just as before, but in her colors this time. It hammered the ground, cleaved through structures, and lit up the huddle of half-built houses around her such that she could see a ways down the road in either direction. It was then that she finally caught sight of her target.

They were embroiled in a slugging match with Marka on the second floor of a partially constructed building across the street. They looked to be holding their own surprisingly well considering the Truvelan’s strength and even appeared to be gaining the upper hand; Marka was clearly tiring, though he had apparently succeeded in knocking the stranger’s gun to the floor earlier on in the brawl.

In a sudden display of ferocity, the Niner lunged forward, barreling headfirst into Marka’s chest. The gambit worked–he teetered over backward and fell against the far wall, holding an arm up to stave off further aggression. Instead of pressing him, though, they took up their fallen weapon and took careful aim. Even from a distance, Roulette could see electricity sparking inside its transparent chamber. She saw Marka hang his head in resignation, bracing himself to accept his inevitable defeat, until–

CRAK

A bolt of pink lightning parted the clouds, seeking the stormbringer’s own weapon. Whatever protections they enjoyed from their own lightning didn’t appear to apply to Roulette’s; it lit them up like a firework, sending several million volts coursing through their bulky frame. They shuddered in place, reeling from the shock, before collapsing to the ground face-first.

She had done it. She had won! Roulette sprinted across the street as fast as her legs would carry her, intent on seeing to Marka’s injuries. At her approach, Marka looked up, but didn’t smile–if anything, he seemed perturbed.

“Roulette? Was this your doing?”

“Yep!” she answered brightly. “I inherited the lightning–took control of the storm!”

At that, his frown only deepened. “Was there no other way? You could have been killed!”

Roulette couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was he cross with her? After all she’d gone through to reverse their fortunes? She opened her mouth to speak, ready and willing to defend her actions… But she didn’t get the chance.

A fresh gout of the stormbringer’s lightning found her first.

She seized up instantly, her every nerve alight. Electricity arced across her back–from the stranger’s own weapon, she realized–and she had no way to respond in kind. Lady Luck fell from her open hand, clattering to the floor as Marka looked up at her in horror. Apparently, the bolt she’d called down hadn’t been enough to keep their enemy grounded.

…And now, she’d have to pay for that oversight with her life.

The sound of cruel laughter filled her ears. Her clothing sparked and fumed as yet more electricity roiled in her body, worsening her already considerable injuries. Paralyzed and overwhelmed by searing pain, Roulette began to drift into unconsciousness again. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her lungs struggled to draw breath. Little by little, darkness closed in from the edges of her vision…

“TERESLA! ENOUGH!”

All at once, the raking claws of current withdrew. She slumped forward immediately, and only Marka’s timely intervention prevented her from bashing her face on the hard cement floor. Then, at the edges of her awareness, she heard people talking.

…One of whom she recognized all too well.

“Ehh? CJ?”

“Thought I remembered tellin’ you to stay put after you’d finished with Copperlock.”

The stormbringer snorted. “So what?”

“So, the fact you didn’t heed me has me doubtin’ your ability to follow basic instructions.”

The wet slap of saliva on concrete reached her ears despite the rain. “That’s as it should be,” Teresla grunted. “I didn’t sign on to cross the boss just so I could start takin’ orders from somebody else… Least of all you.”

A pause ensued. “I see. Guess I can expect more of this kind of thing from you in the future then, huh?”

“You’re damned ri–”

BANG

A shot rang out, and Roulette heard a body crumple to the ground. Her sore, stiff muscles made it difficult to turn in place, but she made an effort anyway–she had to see. She had to know.

Her head lolled off of Marka’s lap, neck twisting at an odd angle as she peered back over her still-twitching shoulder. There she saw figures in the rain. They stood over the body of her fallen enemy, features coming clearer by the second. With Teresla’s demise, the rain had begun to let up. 

The storm was receding, but a new one was building in her heart. For the woman standing at Morgan’s side–the one with the graying hair and the smoking gun–was a ghost from her past; an unwelcome reminder of all that she had lost, and all that she’d been glad to leave behind.

Roulette’s command of her facial muscles was lacking, but she managed to narrow her eyes regardless.

“Hello, mother,” she snarled, taking pains to enunciate around numb lips.

“I see you’ve been keepin’ busy.”