The jazzy tones of the band inside Astoria Casino could be heard from all the way down the block. As Tornado Joe stepped along the sidewalk, his trot confident in anticipation of the coming fight, he let the growing sound of music light him up a bit. With Elroy in lock step at his side, Joe found himself sufficiently fired up. The necklace hummed lowly as he approached his target.

  Pedestrians in the street parted ways for the pair of Gunslinger-sorcerers, who appeared significantly out of place in the bustling streets of New York City. Their presence concerned many, and their steady gate deterred any from getting in their way. Chauncy Higgs waited for them at a street corner, having been watching the glamorous building discreetly for over an hour.

  “There’s plenty in there.” He spoke as he joined the pair in approaching the modern Deco-themed building, “Are we really gonna kick this off?”

  “Better believe it. They got a little girl in there.” Joe answered with the surety of steel.

  For a moment, only a moment, Chauncy remained quiet. “But are these guys really are enemies? Do we have to kill them?”

  Thos words hit Joe like a Comet round. He remembered a time not so long ago where he had said the same thing.

  ^^^

  1929

  “Are these guys really the enemies?” Joey asked, fiddling with his scarf, “Do we have to kill them?”

  Bundled up in a brand new puffy coat, with a blue scarf wrapped around his neck, the young boy stood near a fallen body. Dark blood polluted the fresh Rocky Mountain snow. Little Joe looked out at the snowy peaks stretching on into oblivion, skirted with frayed clouds. He took in the vista for a moment before his eyes traveled back down to the ground, littered with corpses.

  Something primal told little Joey that this was wrong, that he shouldn’t be seeing so many of the dead with his own two eyes. Instinctively, he focused on some sensory distraction. Tracing his fingers over the pretty triangle pattern sewn into his scarf, he averted his gaze from the scene in front of him.

  “Well now that’s a great question.” Billy placed his boot on the shoulder of the bleeding man in front of him.

  On his knees, the Oathbreaker sputtered through bloody breaths. His life drained out onto the snow as he looked up at the man looming over him. Billy leaned down, his foot resting on the man’s shoulder, grinning into the eyes of his enemy. He watched the hatred and bitterness fade from the Oathbreaker’s Resolve as he lost his life.

  “We have to talk about an enemy really is, Joey.” The older Gun looked to him.

  “Ok…” small hands continued to twist the scarf about. “What’s an enemy, Billy?”

  Billy had always found it amusing how the harsh street urchin lifestyle hadn’t managed to kill the wonder and curiosity of a child.

  “An enemy is a person or a creature who would kill you if they got the chance. For instance…” Billy pushed the dead Oathbreaker over with his foot, his boot crunching the snow as he regained his footing, “This man here, was my enemy. If I had no gun, no Resolve to spare, he would have shot me or worse.”

  Joey studied the dead gunslinger carefully as he listened to his teacher. There was a stillness to the dead which the child had become accustomed to in his time with his teacher. Sleeping people breathed and shifted, sometimes made noises. The dead made no sounds and no movements. It was like they were objects on the ground, not people.

  Billy continued, “He would have killed you too, if he wasn’t more worried about me. That makes him your enemy too.”

  “My enemy…” Joey rubbed his cheek, flushed from the cold.

  “Exactly.” Billy stepped over, looking down at his charge with that ever-present smile Joey had come to know, “There’s people who will kill you if you let them. All you gotta do is walk their way, and they’ll give it their best shot. Those are your enemies.”

  Stooping down, the gunslinger leveled himself to Joey, “And you know what we do with enemies right?”

  Joey looked again to the man laying silent and still in the snow. A light dusting had already begun to obscure this blood.

  “We kill them, before they kill us.” Billy’s blue eyes glowed through the dark of his hat’s shadow, “We snuff their fire, Joey boy. Remember that, and a lot of stuff people say is complicated becomes very clear.”

  Standing, Billy adjusted his belt. “Kill your enemies, Joey, unless there’s greater value to them being alive. Get that value out of them, then kill them. Very simple.”

  ^^^

  Tornado Joe stopped at the door, prompting a sideways look from a man in a long coat standing watch. By now the music had become very clear, as well as the low rustling of voices and merriment within. Astoria was booming, as it had been every night that week. The necklace shook and shivered on Joe’s skin. This confirmed it to him; the Ghedinis were right. He knew this might be a trap, but he was beyond caution for such things. Now came the time for Billy Baird’s teachings.

  “Chauncy. These men will try to kill us if we go in to get the kid.” He turned his head to face him.

  Chauncy could see the hollowness of Joe’s gaze, he could hear the heaviness of his words. They came form a place which Chauncy had never truly been.

  “Hey!” The doorman flashed a pistol tucked into his waist, “Get lost, yous fuckin’ hecklers! This party’s closed to you.”

  Joe ignored him, maintaining eye contact with his Hearts-aligned companion.

  “We kill them, before they kill us.”

  Without warning, Joe pulled his pistol and shot the doorman between the eyes. The Viper hadn’t failed the man called Tornado; the doorman died with his pistol still secured.

  Inside, the gunshot hadn’t been heard. A large band played on a corner stage, the brass players swaying with a swing rhythm. Glasses clinked together, as if to accent the music; glasses filled with all colors of liquid. On the main floor the tables stretched out in a line. Men in suits and women in dresses dined, danced, played gambling games, and milled about. Standing by seemingly everywhere a person might look, men in stark grey suits kept watch. They smoked and drank a bit, but did not partake of the festivities.

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  The front door crashed open as a pair of Diamonds kicked it in from the outside. The crash had been drowned out by the sound of drums banging away on the stage in the corner. Joe covered his ears as Elroy raised his pistol. His special Resolute Technique, Sonic Transmutation, came to life as he fired a round up into the ceiling.

  Manipulating the soundwave of the gunshot, Elroy hit the entire place with concussive blast which pounded the eardrums of everyone inside. Pandemonium followed as people hit the floor, others screaming in shock. Those grey-suited mafiosos, members of the Bartolese Family, pulled their handguns in reaction to the ferocious assault.

  Both Tornado Joe and Elroy reacted far quicker than any of them. Joe went left, shooting two men as he did. Their bodies hit the ground, blood splashing the other party-goers nearby. Elroy slid right, turning over a table as he readied his pistol. A few rounds came at him from farther within, but he shot the gunman before they could destroy his table cover.

  More of the mafiosos drew forward as the party crowd scurried away from the sorcerer-gunslingers. Joe, razor focused on the fight, gunned down as many as he could see. Their presence on the Currents seemed a null factor, they weren’t magical at all. These were simply mafioso men. That deep yellow of the Cult’s machinations faded into the Currents from somewhere beyond the main hall. Joe continued to kill his enemies, working his way back.

  Chauncy, meanwhile, focused on securing the unarmed civilians. He used Suggestion, working tirelessly, to keep them from a full-on panic. Gesturing with his hands, he guided the crowd out of the hall. This still didn’t sit right with him, but he knew it had been inevitable. He knew that neither Joe nor Elroy would hit a civilian, those two represented some of the tightest control Chauncy had ever personally witnessed. The mobsters concerned him, however.

  A Critical Moment rang out in the currents, alerting both Diamonds of the coming cascade of fire. The doors on either end slammed open, revealing men with Tommy Guns.

  The Tommy Gun; choice weapon of the Bartolese Family. Developed in 1918, it was designed to dominate the mire of Trench Warfare. By 1936, the Tommy Gun had proliferated in the organized crime scene. Bartolese mafiosos had been known to take the drum magazine, putting one hundred rounds of .45 ACP on target. With such weapons in hand, the men could saturate their targets and erase any threat.

  Almost any threat.

  Tornado Joe ducked behind a granite pillar as the volley of several Tommy Guns came his way. Their rapid fire shots resounded through the main hall, as loud as thunder, tearing up everything decently sturdy in their path. He could feel the repeated impact on the once-beautiful stone at his back as it began to crumble around him. Glasses shattered on tables, wood chips flew through the air, and the brass casings rained onto the carpet at the feet of the mafiosos.

  Looking over, Joe caught sight of Elroy as he took cover in a hallway to his right. His eyes bugged as he watched the pillar behind Joe take all the punishment of the Tommy Gun barrage. By the time the guns had stopped firing, ready for a reload, the entire front of the hall had been peppered with gunfire.

  Forming the Rite of Release with this offhand, Joe checked his cylinder for a round. He half-decided on unleashing the technique behind his nickname, his eye forming a Delta engram.

  “No Joe!” shouted Elroy, sensing his intentions, “No man! Not here!”

  “I’m gonna blow this place!” Tornado Joe snarled, observing the holes in his poncho tails.

  Fire bubbled in Tornado Joe’s gut. He found himself itching to show these mafiosos what proper gunning really looked like. It was a feeling somewhat unfamiliar to the student of the Southpaw.

  “You tryna kill the girl back there too?”

  The words gave Joe pause. Of course, Elroy was right. He was always right about these things. Breathing out, Joe felt just a little embarrassed. He had let the thrill of the fight get to him. Dust settled around him as he gathered himself yet again.

  “Let’s wrap this shit up!” Tornado Joe called out.

  “On you!” came the response.

  Both Guns hopped out from cover, moving quick for their attackers. Joe slid as the closest Tommy Gunner raked shots above his head. Firing off two shots in quick succession, he killed the mafioso. Blood splashed across the walls, illuminated by the spotlights.

  Another Critical Moment rang through Joe’s head as a man lunged for him from his left. Joe ducked under him and fired quickly into his gut. The scream that followed echoed though the hall, cut off as another shot ended the man’s life.

  Multiple mafiosos stepped across the side halls, attempting to flank their assaulters. Cigar smoke filled the hallway as a taller man with a scar across his face puffed as he walked. Striding with confidence, the man held a look of contempt.

  “Sonny, these Grady Boys are killing all our guys!” A smaller mafioso stepped up beside him, his forehead beaded with sweat, “We have to do something else! They’re gonna chew through this place.”

  Removing the cigar, the broad mafioso spoke. “We prepped for this. You know what to do.”

  Looking pale, the smaller mafioso pursed his lips.

  “We aren’t supposed to use it indoors. You know that.”

  “Did I ask?” the man named Sonny stopped to look at him.

  Shrinking, the smaller mafioso shook his head, “N…no…”

  “Then do what I say!” he started again, “Give ‘em the Deuce.”

  Pulling back, the mafia men shuffled up around the balcony on the far end of the great hall. As the bodies of their comrades littered the floor, Western-style boots striding quickly over them, the mafia had fallen back on their most powerful secret weapon.

  Joe watched as two men carried something quite long across their shoulders. They remained silhouetted in the shadow of the balcony, so he couldn’t quite make out what they were doing. Observing some other men carrying boxes, Elroy casually spit onto the floor.

  The low clack of a charging handle could be heard as some unseen machine prepped for combat. Both guns saw the Critical Moment clear as day. Joe and Elroy could see they were now faced with a weapon the likes of which they had never seen before. With no cover, they simply hit the floor to get as flat as possible.

  A Browning M2 .50 Caliber machinegun had been prepared on the top balcony. Without a word, the mafioso at the back of it pressed the pedal trigger and spurred the horrible machine into life. This was a very new weapon, some might say a super weapon in the hands of men like the Bartolese. It fired a round which blurred the lines between bullet and cannon shell, its destructive capabilities beyond belief for members of Grady’s Posse.

  Massive rounds raked and scythed through the building, destroying absolutely everything in their way. No object, no obstruction within the walls of the Astoria Casino could hold up to the force of a .50 Caliber round. Wood, stone, and metal ground to dust when faced with the power of the Deuce.

  As debris rained onto Elroy, he shouted to his companion, “Joe! Do something smart man! We’re done for!”

  Steadying himself, Joe listened to the rhythmic explosions aimed his way. He pictured the rounds as they traveled through the action, exploding into action, and zipping through the barrel. Such visualization was absolutely necessary at times like these, when Joe needed to manipulate the difference in kinetic energy between two objects he couldn’t actually see with his eyes.

  The Delta became clear to Joe. He used his technique to alter the change in kinetic energy between one .50 Caliber round travelling through the barrel of the machinegun, and the next. The velocity of the two now varied, allowing the second one to smack into the first within the barrel of the gun.

  Both sorcerers heard a sharp pop as the barrel of the M2 exploded outwards. Everything fell quiet once again; the Deuce had been silenced. Breathing out, Joe felt the trickle of blood run from his nose. He had spent a little more Resolve than he wanted on that maneuver.

  Both Guns sprang up and swiftly reloaded their pistols. Standing now in the hall, they found it had become utterly annihilated by the firepower of the Bartolese. Only now could Joe see just what it took to stop a couple of gunslinger-sorcerers. He looked to Elroy, who had been dusting off his maroon coat. The double doors at the back of the main hall lay open before them.

  “You go back into the halls,” Elroy looked to him, “I’ll draw fire out here. You dig?”

  Nodding, Tornado Joe reloaded his pistol, “I’ll stop this Doctor guy.”

  As Joe stepped quickly down the hallway, Elroy prepped himself for more Tommy Gun-toting mafiosos. Both of them knew their hunt was drawing to a close. Police sirens could be heard in the distance as emergency responders poured into the scene. Dozens of dead Bartolese lay splayed out on the floor among the debris of the destroyed party around the lone Six-Gun holding point in the hall