The shaded, iron muzzle of a Miriness .22 Caliber Hunting Rifle rattled nervously as it edged its way through a crack in the wall, pinging off the edges of the opening ever so slightly as it shook. It was clutched by the fierce, sweaty hands of one, Ronc Bellamule. Fighting the urge to reposition himself, the greasy, panicked man, no taller and none wiser than he was in secondary school wiped the sweat from his brow for what must have been the 4th or 5th time now in the last ten minutes.
Do not misconstrue the man’s composure though, for Bellamule has done his fair share of killing before this night, particularly with the iron Miriness. That is to say, as much murder as is common to simply remain alive in the Post-Downfall. Those who still remained capable and as underdeveloped as Bellamule must have killed a half-dozen people by now to protect their own well-being. Clearly though, this was no matter of self-defense.
An original member of the “The Last Justice”, a Downfall Band often known for their motto “Justice, Where Justice is Due”, Bellamule and his group had made a small name for themselves as their reach spread across a myriad of Davlo’s largest cities. In fact, it was Bellamule,himself, that coined the phrase that became the Band Motto not 3 months ago when the The Last Justice was first formed. It was in Bellamule’s simple, yet direct, perception of justice perhaps, that led to a message that could be so easily understood and appreciated by the masses.
It was his time, the moment he had promised the people of Davlo, as well as himself, was now becoming an actuality. Struggling to keep his composure and remain undetected, Bellamule felt a pressure unlike anything he had ever experienced before. All the organs in his body turned to mush and became gelatinous heaps that swirled around his abdomen. His bones chilled, locked, and became like ice, unmovable. Bellamule felt a deep heat permeate from his core, where he imagined his soul resided, and anxiously swelled through his nostrils and ears overtaking him. Any second now he would receive the signal to shoot.
The man that had killed his father, for whom Bellamule could only half-recognize through the small opening he peered through, was becoming impatient, pacing back and forth throughout the tiny room adjacent to him. Moments passed and then suddenly, Bellamule had realized his mistake. Glancing away for a brief second he saw his fellow Band member, Azard, frantically gesturing to Bellamule from under the table at which he sat, over and over again. Putting everyone at risk, Azard, the livelihood of his Band, himself, and the promise he made to this dying world, Bellamule flinched, snapped his weapon toward the devil that had slain his own father…. and missed.