Everyday, a new bounty would be posted. With more and more threatening mercenaries, whose jobs were to kill anyone they were hired to kill. It would take long until the mercenaries were hunted down and killed, then the bounty would be collected by a mindless soldier or a mechanical super-bot. But, there is always one bounty that has never been collected, nor even started. Each week people would gear up with their strongest weapons to go out and hunt the legendary ghost of the mercenaries. The one who has always survived, Alan Gomez.
Sly looked at the bounty with disgust. He pulled out a large knife, composed of solid steel, and a marking at the end saying "Beware." He was the greatest bounty hunter to ever live. Sly took a seat in a rusted metal chair in a rundown bar, where a waitress argued with a synthetic android over customer service. He began to sharpen his knife with a large metal stone that his father had given as a kid. Sly would not rest until he found Alen. He would send his knife through his cold, heartless flesh. He would put one hollow point 357. round in his head. Then he'd burn his body back at his childhood home.
Sly suddenly shivered as he remembered his parents. Such great people... until they were murdered by the one and only Alen Gomez. He wanted vengeance for what Alen did, and he didn't care how he'd get it. "Dammit, Sly." a man sat down next to him and waved the waitress to get him a drink. Sly turned over to the man and said, "I'm guessing you're my contact." The man held his hand up and replied, "Daniel Fysch. Alen Gomez is a hard man to track. I suppose that you have my pay?" Sly reached down into his coat pocket and gripped a leather pouch filled with coins. He pulled pouch out and passed over to Daniel, who smirked and said, "Last traces were in Fairbanks, but he might have moved out of town. You better have high hopes he didn't go across the border." Then he stood, and left.
Sly laughed, quietly. Fairbanks, huh? I'm not afraid he hopped the border. He's hoping that I did. He thought to himself. He stood from the chair, knife in hand, and walked through the door and into the fresh air of Anchorage. A man on a street corner was being mugged by a man in all black, and a woman held a gun up to a man in a trench coat and slacks. The city was a place where the laws didn't apply, and anything could happen, and people weren't safe. Anchorage wasn't a place where people lived, it was where people tried to survive, and no one tried to help. No one cared.
Sly walked down the empty road and his eyes fixated on a gang of street muggers who were surrounding an elderly man. The muggers were armed with crowbars and switchblades, the average assault weapons for small time gangers. Sly turned a began to walk over to the group. He reached into his right cargo pocket and pulled a suppressed .22 sidearm, a weak, yet smart weapon for an assassin. He held the gun up and forced it into one of the mugger's faces, startling and tripping the mugger. The rest of the group back away, but still held their weapons at the ready. Sly turned and quickly fired a round directly into one of the mugger's legs. The gang backed off and started to walk down the road towards another victim. Sly turned towards the man and said "Go. The road is not safe."
Then he turned away and went home.
Sly was fully equipped with a large assortment of weaponry. He loaded a large, semi-truck with bulletproof windows and armored plating. He activated one of the robotic assistants in his garage and a bottle of scotch was sent down to him. Then, he pulled a blank piece of stationary from a stack and an ink pen from one of the cups on his wooden desk. He began to write -
06:49, March 17th, 2057.
Today I set out to find the legendary mercenary Alen Gomez who is traced to Fairbanks. I will find him. I will kill him. I wish myself good luck in my travels.
With great sincerity,
Sly
He smirked as he stuck the paper back in the stack and loaded into the truck. He looked back at his garage and said, "I'm glad to be leaving this hellhole." and drove off into the early hours of dawn, knowing that death awaited him.