The crowds scattered, running for cover as the sky quickly darkened, and thunder continued to shake the buildings. Lightning rods were triggered by the alarms, rising from the building rooftops and stretching toward the sky. Fat raindrops fell, splashing against the dry, dusty streets and buildings like water balloons. It quickly became a deluge, streaming down as if emptied from buckets, soaking Gunner to the skin. From the corner of his eye he saw Pablo silhouetted by flickering lightning and glittering rain; on his knees with his bony arms outstretched and his head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth wide open as if in a triumphant shout. Whatever words he spoke were drowned out by the ear-ringing booms of thunder.
The Judge glared up at the sky as if furious at the interruption, but he hopped off the veranda and joined the crowds fleeing the area. Looking back, he waved his arms, mouthing words unheard in the chaos. Bane seemed to understand anyway, kicking the stool out from under Gunner's feet before trudging away.
The noose seized his neck, crushing his throat as his body weight pulled against the rope and sealed his doom. His legs kicked uncontrollably, body seized by violent seizures, heart exploding in his chest. His vision darkened, darkness came to claim him, filled with weeping voices, burning bodies, and a gaunt, blacked-garbed figure with crimson eyes and a skeletal grin.
They took refuge in the Baron's saloon, nearly overcrowding it. Men and women lined the walls, sat at the tables, stood against the bar, leaned on the upstairs railing. Occasionally someone would look up when a particularly violent boom of lightning rattled the walls and ceiling. Water dripped from leaks in the shingles, but no one paid it any mind. They shook the water from their coats, opened bottles, poured liquor into glasses, and shouted at one another over the sound of the storm outside.
The Judge removed his hat, watching the water pool on the floor. He shook his head with a rueful grin. "Well, that didn't go as planned."
Waingrow looked at the window, where the steel storm shutters obscured the view of the gale. "Where the hell did that storm come from?"
"Megastorms always come out of nowhere. Just haven't had one around here for a long time."
"I was thinking we'd seen the last of them. Used to have a couple every year when I was a kid, but then they died off. I hear funny stuff used to happen in the old days. Stuff people couldn't explain."
The Baron approached with a bottle of Scotch and a pair of drinking glasses. "Don't believe everything the old folks told you about back in the day, Waingrow. They were always going on about monsters birthed from the storms, killing and preying on the weak and helpless. That's almost as bad as the stories about Aberrations destroying the world."
Waingrow took a few steps back, jaw working. "Well, they built the Havens for a reason. Damned if they didn't."
"The Denizens built the Havens because they were incredibly inept and afraid of the catastrophe they caused. Man-made, just like every other disaster. And while they slept, the rest of us kept going. Surviving. Rebuilding the world." She cracked the seal on the bottle and poured into the glasses, offering one to the Judge.
He accepted it with a tight smile. "And what do we toast to, now that we're back on good footing?"
She considered for a moment before answering with a smile of her own, raising her glass. "To rebuilding."
"I'll drink to that," he said, clinking glasses with her. "After you, of course."
She laughed. "So much for trust." Tilting the glass back, she downed the whiskey in a single swig. The Judge followed suit only after watching her swallow.
"You can hardly fault me. It seems you've grown quite devious these past few months."
"I had an excellent mentor."
"And here we are. Gunner was right about one thing. It will be impossible to trust after this. Some sins are just too blatant to forgive. Like the murder of twenty-seven of my best people, many of them my relatives."
Her eyes flicked to the crowded room, where the mercenaries and outlaws drank and conversated, at first glance appearing casual and laid back. Until a closer look revealed the tightness of their eyes, the tense postures, the way their hands never strayed from the weapons in their holsters.
"I suppose your new triggers are just waiting for the command to open fire. I have to warn you that mine have the same orders. It will be a bloodbath."
"For you. I have at least twice the numbers that you do."
"My people are more disciplined."
"Doesn't matter. It's mathematics. Numbers never lie."
She smiled, leaning in to whisper. "Speaking of which, I wonder what would happen if I were to offer your hired guns twenty-five percent more to cross over to my side."
He gave her an amused glance. "A mutiny, I'm sure. But you don't have that kind of money. We both know that."
Her face turned deadly serious. "Step down. Walk away and I'll let you live, I promise. You had your time. It's over."
He blinked. "Are you serious? You actually have the audacity to—"
The door opened in a gust of howling wind and spraying rain. Bane stood in the entrance, massive body taking up the entire doorway. Lightning flickered behind him, followed by a thunderous boom. Water dripped from his soaking poncho, pooling on the floor.
"Ah, there you are." The Judge’s eyes flashed with anger. "Come here, Bane. There's something I want you to handle."
The giant trudged over obediently, eyes glimmering blue from the shadows of his wide-brimmed hat. Everyone scooted back, eyes wide as they watched him pass.
The Judge looked at the Baron. "You must see the irony in rebuilding a weapon I'll be using against you. Bane can't be bought. He can't be persuaded. He can't be stopped. And I'm the only one who can give him commands."
"Not anymore." She turned to Bane. "Stop." He froze in his tracks.
The Judge's eyes widened. "No. That's not possible."
A sneer curled her lips. "Did you really think I'd just hand over a weapon like this back to you? Of course my engineers altered his programming. He answers to me now. You should have taken my offer. But now blood is the only option left. Bane: kill him."
The Judge leaped backward, handgun sliding from his sleeve into his hand as he shouted orders to his gunfighters. "We're shooting our way out. Kill them all."
He opened fire on the Baron, but Bane shielded her, bullets ricocheting off his armored hide. The room erupted in gunfire as both sides shot one another at close range. The Judge cursed, noticing that some of his own hired guns had flipped, turning on the others. The noise was deafening. Men and women fell to the floor, screaming and clutching wounds, blood streaming between their fingers. Glass shattered, wooden chips and splinters flew across the air. Janey ran and slid across the blood-slicked floor, firing twin revolvers before taking a flying leap out the open door into the violent storm outside. The Baron stood back to back with Bane, firing at the Judge's men with composed efficiency. Waingrow emerged from behind an overturned table, holding a sawed-off shotgun. The Baron whirled, firing multiple rounds that turned his face into an unrecognizable mess before he hit the floor.
The Judge fired until his rounds emptied, but Bane remained unfazed, advancing until he loomed over him. The Judge held out his hands, trying to ward him off. "Stop. I order you to stop. You can't do this. You don't answer to her. You answer to—"