Boisterous Buck and his Cantankerous Crew [NSFW Probably]

[Nautical]

A groan left him as he hauled himself out of the pile of trash he'd been dropped in. He looked around as he blinked a few times, tin cans clattering away from his feet as the sound of plastic rustling beneath him stabbed at his fragile nerves.

What the fuck happened?

Buck had been dropped on a planet that would closely resemble Earth by the most recent employer he'd managed to upset: some low tier mob boss that didn't want the heat for killing him. The muscle-for-hire had a peculiar way of doing things and oft his anger got the best of him, or even more often his ego, and jobs went south. The main goal would still end up accomplished, but along with that accomplishment came property damage, fines and in some cases civil court lawsuits where applicable.

He couldn't really remember when he'd been loaded into the don's car, but he remembered being given a job..

---

"Listen, meathead. I need you to go fetch my little sister from those idiots across the river, okay?" The gruff, grating voice shot out at him. It was deep and booming, as if no matter where the man was that sported that voice it would carry an echo.

Buck sat, wide-eyed and starstruck as he watched the large-statured man pace back and forth behind a wooden desk in front of him. He was sitting in a plain wooden chair, the room around him absolutely nothing to speak of other than four walls. It was dark, damp.. but in front of him? The desk was extravagant, finely crafted mahogany with a finish on it that was professionally looked after. A single lamp perched on it the only light in the room. The chain swung back and forth as he had only just turned it on. He could only make out the silhouette of who he presumed was the boss behind the desk, a goliath of a man pacing back and forth in the dusky shadows thrown by the lamp that struggled to light the room.

The two equally gargantuan fellows on either side of him he recognized. They were the two he dealt with more often than not when running jobs for.. whoever he was just now meeting. A stern elbow nudged his head forward, to which Buck grumbled and cursed, stamping his foot in defiance.

"Hey!" The larger man behind the desk snarled as he stopped and turned towards Buck, leaning forward and slamming his hands down onto it with such force that papers lifted from it and shifted away from his hands. "You look at me, dammit! You think this is a fucking game, guy?" The hulking man was losing his patience whatever short fuse he had was disappearing quickly with a dear family member's life at stake - but why Buck? In a display of rage and strength, he shifted, scaled hands grabbing the corner of one side of the desk and he heaved it aside. The sound of wooden desk feet scraping along stone floors, the hideous scratching and moaning of the two materials fighting each other as friction called them to a stop several feet away, made Buck recoil as the man stepped closer.

What are you?

Buck pondered as he studied the features of the man in front of him, not having to try very hard as the hulking humanoid-shark got uncomfortably close. "Onions for breakfast, huh? Bold choice.." Buck turned his head away and let out a deep breath, putting a boot-covered foot up to the man's knee and finding that it was more like a tree trunk to push off of. The chair he was sitting in made the same sound as the desk, and he winced as he slid back slowly away from the brute.

"You've always got jokes, Mr. Corsair." The moniker made Buck smile. He wasn't entirely sure if David Corsair was his real name, but he sure as hell told people it was. "Maybe that's why the boys like working with you so much." The two stoic, less-than-bright individuals that stood on either side of him nodded in agreement quite quickly. "Well, now's not the fucking time for jokes!" He drew an almost comically large pistol, a stylized revolver. The blued gunmetal shimmered, and Buck's eyes immediately followed. Engravings marked the surface, but he couldn't tell the caliber.. was it custom? The cylinder was huge. What did that thing fucking shoot?

Who's he pointing that at?

The question was a tad too late in his mind to be answered.

A gunshot in a closed room was one thing, but the manufactured cannon that was held in the boss man's scaly grasp in front of him.. that was a different story. Buck could swear that he felt a drop of blood trickling out from his ear as the report filled the room. The flash from the end of the barrel was massive, a bout of flame jetting from the barrel like a dragon had visited them from medieval times just to say 'hello' before disappearing into the aether. And the amount of smoke that came from that thing.. how much gunpowder was loaded into one of those cartridges?

The sweet smell of gunpowder. Oh~ fuck.. that's the stuff. Wait.. did he just?

Buck's enjoyment for the smell of gunpowder was cut short by the sound of a body slumping into a heap. He had done exactly that, Buck. In a show of rage and a display of power, the Don had blatantly shot one of his own henchmen. Buck was not stranger to death, but.. that was a little morbid even for him. He looked at the body for a moment, watching the blood pool beneath it from the pomegranate sized hole that the fucking howitzer artillery cannon he'd decided to condense into a revolver had left in the dead man's chest.

"No games, then." Buck stated as he stood, quickly met with the barrel of that same revolver.

By Zyzz, I could put a fucking golf ball down that barrel.

"Relax, big man. I just don't want blood on my boots that I didn't spill." The gun didn't lower, though Buck hadn't exactly expected it to. He could see the man's hand shaking with anger at this point, fed up with Buck's antics.

"You listen to me, you no good sack of firepower." A fitting description for Buck in his current state. "You go get my little sister back from those fucking goons or I will personally see to it that you rot in the astral if it's the last thing I fucking do." As his voice got louder, the shaking grew in intensity. Buck, wondering if it might become an issue that his finger was still on the trigger of that matter remover in his hands, stepped to the side just a little bit.

"Yeah, I mean.. All you had to do was ask."

Oh, Buck.

He met the other end of that cannon, which felt everything how he remembered a baseball bat did as it found the side of his head. The room went dark, more so than it already was.

"Pick this sack of shit up." He heard shouting as consciousness faded. "No, the live one- forget about the body. We'll get him back in a few weeks when insurance kicks in. I'll have someone clean this mess up later. This warehouse is getting demolished soon anyway."

---

He groaned again and grabbed the side of his head, rubbing at the substantial knot just above his left ear. He sat there for a moment, contemplating a few things before finally hauling himself out of the pile of trash he'd been so gracefully placed on. He rolled his eyes as he brushed a banana peel off of his shoulder and kicked away an apple core. "Could have at least left me in the street." He scoffed and shook his head. He wore something akin to leather pants, though not exactly form fitting, they were more for blade protection that anything. The shirt was a tattered and frayed button-up that he covered up with a long black duster coat. Buck's hair was short and swept to one side, his hair crudely shaved close to his face with a knife's edge rather than a razor. He sported strong facial features dark eyes. He was broad-shouldered and chested, built to withstand punishment by all means. He had to walk a few alleyways before he found his bearings, finding his way back to what he called "home". He tapped on the digital pin-pad outside of the roll-up door in the alley a few times before he heard the telltale sign of several locks responding and slamming open. He bent down to grab the handle, throwing the door up and out of his way as he stepped in. It fell behind him slowly and the locks slammed shut just as loudly as they had opened. The small living space was just enough for him, and he treated it more like a live-in armory than anything. Granted he did not own as many weapons as he'd like to just yet, what he did own required regular service and cleaning here. This was also his only link to the framework where he could check credits and receive messages from certain sources that didn't want to be sent out in the world. People were paranoid more often than not in this world, it seemed.

He had several messages from an angry Don Grandiose, all just relevant details for rescuing the current damsel in distress sprawled out in large capital letters. He saved those to his phone so he'd have the information he needed. He hadn't managed to get himself a neural implant yet, so he was still stuck in the dumb days with an actual phone. His messages, calls and saved information weren't available in his mind like most folks nowadays.

He'd been sent a small pool of credits to spend on equipment for this job, which was good.. because looking at what he'd been sent.. his current ordinance would not be enough.

Body armor.
Ammunition, large caliber.

I ain't too sure about this one, hoss.

Buck was not feeling very at ease about this undertaking. It seemed a suicide mission at best, but if he succeeded.. the payoff was too good to be true. A don's favor and a boatload of credits. Enough to get off this planet and back into a crew somewhere. Back to chasing bounties.

His skin prickled with goosebumps, hair on the back of his neck raising at the thought of bounty hunting again. A passion of his, hunting the ne'er-do-wells of the system. He lived to see bandits and space pirates cower at his presence. It was sick to some, sure.. but others seemed to enjoy it. Some places he was a celebrity, others he was hated just as much as the bandits themselves. Go figure, when your path of destruction could sometimes be twice as wide.

The man sat on the small cot in his makeshift one room apartment, elbows resting on his knees as he battled demons about whether he took his fight or ran, looking at the few guns he owned currently sprawled out on his workbench. If he didn't take the job, Don Grandiose would have his head.. and if he took the job.. well, whoever had Grandiose's sister would likely kill him and think nothing less of it. Between a rock and a hard place.. there was no real ways about it, was there? He sighed and got up, walking to his bench and looking over the three guns. One was a semi-automatic handgun, much like any other standard. He had lightly modified this one to his tastes, kept it clean and functional. He wanted to do more, but the credits weren't flowing well enough. He dismantled it on his bench and cleaned it before putting it back together meticulously, making sure it was in working order before holstering it behind his back.

The next gun was the Judge, the hybrid revolver shotgun that seemed to be a workhorse for him. It did most anything he asked and never seemed to fail to operate. Revolver style firearms just had less moving parts, so it made sense. Cumbersome to reload, however.. it was painful to miss. He checked for any debris in the barrel or the cylinder, making sure it spun freely before loading it. He loaded it with rounds he made himself, specialty shotgun rounds first. The shells were especially forward on the gunpowder, bringing much more bang to the party. The load they fired was a volatile mix of flatted buckshot pellets as well as round, and the gaps filled with shards of metal. It wasn't efficient past ten meters, but within ten meters he hadn't found much more that was as lethal against something without police grade body armor on. The standard cartridges were simple reloaded cartridges that he kept in two spare cylinders on his person for quick reloads. There wasn't much to them besides the bullets sporting hardened tips to punch through armor with a little more effectiveness than a normal round, though it still took an extra shot or two to get through the good stuff.

Once he was happy with the gun's operation, it found it's way to the holster on his hip. The electromagnets whirred to life and locked the firearm in, recognizing the firearm and who it belonged to before shutting down. Should anyone grab the gun that wasn't Buck, they would spring to life and keep the gun where it was, rendering it much more difficult to steal. Not impossible, but very difficult.

The last gun was.. something of a relic. Those that had been around it long enough to see it used when it was in it's prime would have called it a trench gun. Modern days termed it a shotgun in simpler terms. Now it was still called a shotgun, but with some extra love and care.. despite it's looks it could do pack a hell of a punch when it needed to. He loaded it with slugs, holding the gun up to his face and inhaling the sense-heightening aroma of gunpowder and blued metal. "Fuck, that's the good stuff.." He slung it over his shoulder and let it drop low enough that it would be able to hide under his long coat, starting to slide extra shells into the bandolier he sported across his chest. The slugs made for a heavy load, one solid hunk of metal instead of multiple projectiles like a typical shotgun. He found he preferred that for blunt force.. it made a heavier impact with a good shot.. and it certainly caught those big power armor-wearing fucks off guard when they caught one upside their head. He grinned at the thought as he slid the last shell into it's slot and then pulled his coat around himself. "Maybe I've got some plates laying around here.. I really don't have the time to go shopping.." He mused quietly, shuffling around his little workshop as it were and looking through a few stacks of spent trauma plates. As it would happen, there was one plate that didn't have.. several shells in it.. just one. Dead in the center. "She'll have to do." He held the plate up and turned it to the side so he could see how far the round actually affected the integrity of the plate, wincing a little bit as he could see just the beginning of an exit hole where the round had struck. "Just don't get shot, right?" He told himself as he stuffed the plate into the carrier below his coat before buttoning it up.

He didn't imagine he'd make it back to this little storage unit, but.. just on the off chance he did somehow survive this suicide mission, he shut his storage unit up and locked it before shuffling through the alleyway it was located in. This was the quiet time that he always seemed to get the most reflecting done in.. the most chance to think and reminisce as it were.. about everything he'd done. He'd done some good.. and he'd done some bad.. oh had he done some bad.. but maybe there was enough good to outweigh the bad. Like some sort of hallucinating addict, he held one hand up with the other beside it, weighing his goods and bads in an imaginary scale as one hand went up and the other down while he strolled down the sidewalk. Passing civilians stared like he was alien, foreign to them.. and he just smiled..

Buck was never more alive than when he knocked on death's door.

 

[Nautical]

He whistled quietly now as he took his phone out. Artificial dusk was settling on the station, and this would be when he could get into the most optimal position for his.. well, really it all was a foolish plan - but much like most of his plans it was all just so foolish it might work. He followed his maps and guidelines until he was a few blocks away from what would be this rival gang's stronghold. He could see the rifle-carrying guardsmen from here already, cursing under his breath. Wrought iron fencing surrounded a massive court yard, and square in the middle of it was a huge compound that looked like it was the amalgamation of three different styles of mansion. It was.. well, hideous. "I hope you sued the architect, holy fuck." He leaned against the corner of a building and watched for a few moments from afar, noting that the guard only laxed a little bit once past the main gate. It was going to be hell once any word got out that he was inside.

"I wonder if this goes in the good column or the bad column? Can you put it in both? I'm doing a good thing for a bad man.." He mused out loud since no one was near, folding his arms over his chest as he watched, calmly observing from a distance that none of the guards were wise to. Taking out his phone again, he started to study the layout of the inside of the oddly shaped and designed home, taking note of the strangely placed hallways and stairwells that he was going to have to navigate in order to find the Don's sister.

---

A bump at his back caught his attention, and Buck turned to look back at what had stumbled into him. He raised an eyebrow at a drunk, curiously studying him for a second.

"Man, hey.. hey.. hey, man..Hey, man~.." He absolutely reeked of alcohol as he fought the intoxication to speak to Buck. "Y-you.. You, You-" His words were interrupted by a violent hiccup that he thought might have actually stopped the man's heart for a second because he stood there.. the light's gone out in his eyes.. then he continued, "..Yew gahd any shpar' creditsh?" He spat out his slurred speech, and Buck blinked a few times.. forming an idea in his head.

"You know what, man.. I am fresh out.. because.. you see those guys standing at that gate over there.. well, they stole all of my credits from me. And you- well, you look big and strong. I bet you could help me get them back. And if you do, well you can have them all. Last I checked, I had a couple thousand credits. That sure does buy a lot of liquor I hear." Buck, the ever-charming one.. had found himself a distraction.

"You know what, man- I'ma.. I'ma.." He stumbled as he made the imaginary motion of rolling up sleeves that weren't there. Well, one was there, but it fell back down as soon as he rolled it up. "I'ma go get your credits back!" He stomped off defiantly, prepared to fight the guard standing at the gate for.. well, it didn't really matter now did it?

"Good luck, buddy.. Ah, shit.. I did another bad thing, didn't I?" He raised his left hand higher, stopping for a moment and raising his right hand instead as he tried to remember which he had assigned as the good half of the scale and which was bad. He looked down the road as the drunk stumbled his way towards the guard, who was now shining a flashlight at the scene of a stumbling man who could not form complete sentences yet wanted to fight him for credits he supposedly stole from a man who the guard would never believe existed.

"You..!" He let another violent hiccup escape again, wracking his body as the involuntary response to the alcohol nearly made him vomit in the street in front of the guard that was shining such a bright light in his face. That didn't help, surely. "Yew took shum' credz frum my fren'.. an I'ma git 'em bachh.." He raised bony arms and fists and crouched into a fighting stance.. and the guard laughed so loud that Buck heard him from where he was clambering over the fence.

---

"Fucking fences, stupid.. I'm rich and I don't like people getting in my yard.. fuckin' If you think a fence is stopping me, you have another thing coming you fucking losers." He had literally just.. let himself in to the compound, and was now walking right up to the house. "They don't really get much stupider than this, I don't reckon. Hopefully that can't aim either." Despite how easy it was to get in, it was going to be absolute hell to get out. Unbuttoning his coat, he reached down to his belt and grabbed a smoke grenade and shortly after it hit the ground spewing artificially died thick smoke. Every ten steps or so he repeated this process until he'd dropped six of them, causing a veritable cloud to descend on half of the courtyard. He could hear commotion behind him as patrolling guards shouted through the smoke, asking questions to unknown bodies on the other side of the obstacle that Buck had created. A few seconds after, he heard a few gunshots that caused him to pause, looking back at the falling body of a guard. "Wasn't me. I didn't do the bad thing.. nope." He did, however.. need to hurry now.. He shifted into a bit of a jog as he searched for a way to get inside, noticing that the garage door was just open. "Come on, really?" He dropped down low and slid under it, pulling it down closed behind him. He rose slowly, carefully looking around now slowing his movements down as he visualized in his head the layout of the house. Where was he and where did he need to go? What wing was the garage in? He reached down to his side and let his hand find the handle of his Judge, a warmth finding him once he had the comfort of his old friend in his hand. The electromagnets whirred as they shut down and let him have the weapon, and he slowly moved his way into the house through the garage.

Inside, guards were absolutely losing it. "Someone shot Lenny!.. Why? Who would shoot Lenny? What do you mean Niko shot him? Smoke? What the fuck is going on?" Buck had.. simply strolled in next to the two guards that were conversing next to the garage door, too focused on their confused conversation about their dear dead friend Lenny to figure out that he was their. "Yeah, what is going on?" As he spoke, he pointed the Judge at one of them and reached his hand into the holster in his waistband in the middle of his back to draw the other handgun and point it at the other. Just in time, as they both made moves for their weapons. "Now, now.. Let's not make any silly decisions, right?" Lenny's dead.. I think they shot Niko, too.." The one in front of the barrel of the judge jerked to reach for Buck, but it was expected. The moment he made the move, both of Buck's weapons fired. It was loud, messy and gunsmoke filled the scene as the two fell limp to the floor.. blood pooled beneath their stained suits. "I told you-.. well, maybe I didn't tell you.. but.. I mean, you should have known right? This is a really big fucking gun?" He gestured at the one he'd shot with the heavy revolver. He tucked his smaller handgun back into the waistband holster behind him and quickly searched either of them for any sort of access keys or cards. "Don't you fucking bleed on my boots you animal. Oh shit, nice hat.." He snatched a snazzy looking bowler hat off of one of the men and firmly placed it on his head before continuing through the house.

"Stealing hat.. bad thing." But not murdering two men. Nope, not on Buck's moral compass. He was just nearing the double doors at the top of the stairs, preparing his line for his entry when the bullets flew through the glass. Zzip! The sound of bullets whipping pats him accompanied by glass shattering and wood splintering filled his ears as he dropped below the doors and down a few steps on the staircase to keep out of the line of fire. "I guess they knew I was coming.. interesting. Must have been the hat.." He reached up to grab the hat and toss it down the staircase back to its original owner.. the dead one. He reached behind him for the shotgun and pulled back on the pump-handle to make sure there was round on the chamber before creeping up to the doors at the top of the stairs. He just peeked over the top stair and found a bullet hole to peer through, looking at a group of guards at the end of a corridor that were all posted up and waiting for him. "What a welcoming party-" Slowly he raised the long gun and pointed it at the bullet hole - the slug was much larger, but it wasn't going to matter. He pulled the trigger and it sounded like a cannon went off. Shortly after a comical scream was heard as the heavy lead slug had contacted one of the men square in the chest but it seemed he was wearing an armor plate. Now, with several broken ribs more than likely, he was rolling around on the floor writhing in pain.

"Fuck! FuCK! FUCK I'M SHOT! HELP ME OH-.. OH, FUCK..!" He clutched his chest and coughed up blood on the floor as he continued to roll around in pain, screaming his woes out to his companions.

"Hey! Larry, Moe and Curly! You three wearing body armor too?" Buck was laughing at his own joke when they answered his question. They answered with a hail of gunfire through the door again. He quickly ducked and leaned back against the staircase, grabbing another shell from his bandolier and pushing it into the tube of the shotgun. "They speak my language!" He seemed so overjoyed to be so dangerously close to dying.. it was almost laughable. He slammed rounds through the now larger holes in the door.. well were there ever doors left at this point? He still had to open them.. so.. yes? He opened one of the doors.. and it practically disintegrated, falling off of its hinges and onto the floor amidst the rest of the pieces of it. "Huh.. shoddy craftsmanship. Just can't get anything nice these days." His shotgun was empty, so as he walked the corridor, he reloaded. At the other end, there was still the one man he'd hit square.. but he appeared to be passed out from shock.. another he'd hit in the leg and was now also screaming, but louder and much more woman-like.. it was quite annoying to be frank. Another he'd got in the.. well, what was his head, but what was left was a poor excuse for one. The fourth one.. "No, I did not.." He was leaned against the door frame, both hands covered in blood between his legs as he couldn't form screams. Buck winced visibly as he started to console the man he'd just shot in the manhood. "Hold on-" The cannon sounded again, sending the screaming man he'd shot in the leg the first time to a final resting place before he turned to the only one still conscious. "Man, that.. that is really hard to see. Like no, it's just really hard to look at. I did not mean to do that to you. The sound of footsteps behind him cut his conversation short and he racked the pump on his trench gun back before plastering the man's grey matter against the wall with a slug and disappearing into the next room. He did, however, let his shotgun fall and sling it behind him so he could grab one of the automatic submachine guns that one of those four guards had. He yanked the magazine out to check it, grumbling as he only had about three quarters of it to use.. but it would help.

The footsteps grew louder and louder.. he guessed there were at least six men coming to greet him.. and he had no clue what kind of firepower they had. It wasn't exactly a smart and calculated risk to take. He briskly walked through the halls, taking sharp turns down corridors until he felt like he'd successfully disappeared into a labyrinth of bedrooms and different entertainment quarters. "Spread out, find that fucking bastard. Go!" A larger, louder voice called from the end of the hall and he heard the little drones he'd ordered scatter into rooms all around him. He crept around the bedroom he was in, looking for something he could use.. anything. "Really?" He sighed as he looked at a pair of pink, fur-lined handcuffs hanging off of the bed post.. with a long-enough chain to strangle someone. "My life's a comedy." He only had a moment to think about the silliness of what he was about to do as he he heard footsteps at the outside of his door. He waited on the other side of the door as it opened, letting the guard step past it before slowly shutting it and then he struck. He wrapped the frilly cuffs around his victim's neck and wrenched back tightly, hauling on the man's body as he dug a knee into his lower back for every thing he was worth. "Don't get any funny ideas, I'm not turned on and neither are you." He warned the guard as the man reached up in a panic to grab the furry cuffs and let go immediately in confusion. In a few moments, the body went limp and Buck settled a thick arm around his neck, wrenching violently to make sure he never did wake back up. "They don't teach you guys anything? Check your fucking corners, man." He scolded the now very dead guard and flipped him over, gladly confiscating the automatic rifle and slinging it over his shoulder while he tossed the submachine gun on the floor.

Turning around, he slowly opened the door and chanced a peek out. Just enough of a glance down each side of the hallway, trying to figure out where he was. "Fucking stupid architect. Hope they shot him instead of paying him." He cursed under his breath, waiting for the man in charge at one of the hall to have his back turned and then slipping out into the hall to dart into the next room. "What's all this gonna matter anyway? I'm going to spend blood and sweat and bullets to get to where the idiot Don is keeping Grandiose's dumb sister.. and he's gonna be sitting there, fucking shit-eatin' grin on his face with a gun to her head.." He had yet to realize that there was a guard in the room with him. He looked up at the man who was currently aiming down a rifle at him. "Ah.. so you've just been listening to me, weren't gonna say anything? Just let me.. get all of my thoughts out before you air me out, huh?" As he spoke, Buck inched closer.. pressing the right side of his armor plate against the barrel of the gun, ensuring that the round didn't heat the weakened part. He lashed out in a sudden move and braced himself as he did - he knew the gun was going to fire and there wasn't much he could do to stop that, but thankfully that fucking armor plate did its job. Gods be damned it still fucking hurt though. Buck wrestled the rifle from the guard practically in the same moment that he fired, the adrenaline keeping him from stopping as he pummeled him with the gun like it was a bat and not a finely-oiled firearm. "Fucking.. shoot me, will ya? Well.. I shot me.. but.. you pulled the trigger, so.. fuck you.." He spat blood on the slowly bleeding out man and turned just as the door opened.

"Oh, you're fucking joking-" Buck could barely finish his statement and drop to the floor behind the bed as the wall behind him was.. removed by quite literally a stream of fire from two shotguns. "Not the good wallpaper!" Buck sprang up screaming like a concerned elderly woman who was actually worried about the flower wallpaper that was now very ruined. In an apt response, he shouldered the rifle and let off two very precise bursts to set down the two assailants at his door.

And there it was.. that sound. The gutturally mechanic click of a revolver's hammer as it drew back beneath someone's thumb. He could hear the cylinder rotating behind his head. Was this it? Was this the sweet swan song of death for Buck? "If you didn't shoot me already, you weren't fast enough." He got the words out and wheeled, dropping his frame beneath the barrel of the revolver as it fired - what fucking caliber was that thing? It was louder than his shotgun, the puff of smoke and flash of flame from the barrel massive. Buck drove all of his weight forward into the leg of the man in front of him, his shoulder connecting with his kneecap. The scream that emitted from the guard captain was visceral, piercing.. and damn near brought a tear to Buck's eye with how much it fucking hurt his ear drum. Buck couldn't blame him though.. he felt that himself.. muscles tore, cartilage popped.. then the bones broke.. and it sounded.. "Disgusting." He commented as both man and gun hit the floor - separately.

"D- Don't.. Don't kill me, please.." He pushed with his good leg to crawl away from Buck - a man who was every bit the judge, jury and executioner in that moment. "Why not? You just tried to kill me. Tried to shoot me with your fucking bear hunting gun." Buck stepped out and planted a boot on the destroyed knee, and the man cried out again. "Call your dogs off!" He shouted at the man and pressed his boot down harder. "Call them off or I break the other one!" He bellowed, growing tired of this game.. he could only do this for so long before they did finally hit him where it counted.

"Okay!, Okay! I'll do it!" Buck raised his foot, and the man grabbed a radio from his side. "Intruder's dead, clean up and get back to your posts." The chirp signified the end of the communication and buck reached down to grab the radio, squatting down in front of the crippled man. He tucked the radio inside of his coat and turned the volume knob all the way down.

"Fuck.. why didn't you just kill me?"

Buck grinned as he reached into his boot and drew a knife from its sheath, eyeing the man down from over the blade. "All you had to do was ask-" Any scream or begging plea was cut short by a gurgle as the blade thrust into the man's throat, silencing him for good and easing any pain of a destroyed knee or torn acl.. hamstring.. any of that. All gone in an instant, "No more pain, my friend." Buck commented as he wiped the blade off on the captain's shirt and tucked it back in his boot. He searched his pockets for a few extra rounds for the massive gun he had and then picked it up, whistling calmly as he strolled the halls now vastly uninhibited.

He had left a trail of carnage, but finally he arrived at two massive double doors. "Well.. the handles are in the shape of a D.. so this must be the don's office." He grabbed the handles and flung both of the doors open like he just belonged there. In one hand he held the absolutely massive revolver of the now deceased guard captain, and in the other he held his judge. Before him was an extravagant study - much nicer than the shithole Grandiose had lectured him in. On the left and right walls there were shelves lined with books, and on the wall behind the high-backed chair there was a massive portrait of a regal-looking hound. To his right sat Don Grandiose's sister, a shark-woman? Was that politically correct? Ah, who cares.. To his left.. some other woman.. who also looked to be in distress - far prettier than the shark-lady. In front of him, one.. someone.. Buck didn't really care at this point.

"So, here were are.. The mysterious murderer who broke into my home.. killed a bunch of my men.. and now you're here. For what?" The man was really the least argumentative of the ones he'd confronted on the night.. he just asked a simple question. He looked rather harmless, to be truthful. Small in stature, well-dressed.. kind of comical, truthfully. Something.. didn't add up. Buck stepped into the room, looking to his left and right on either side of the door calmly. "Now.. that's no way to treat a guest." He saw the other woman.. the one who he had not anticipated, visibly cringe at him calling himself a guest. As he stepped forward, closer to the desk.. the smaller man in the chair recoiled at each heavy thud of the boot. Buck tilted his head curiously, looking at him. "You should know what.. You stole something.. You took something.. someone that doesn't belong to you. And I'm just acting as loss prevention. No harm, no foul, that's all.. just recovering stolen property." The man in the chair was shaking, visibly. That was not his big bad bossman, but she was.

He dropped the large handgun in his right hand and reached behind him for his shotgun, grabbing it on its sling and pulling down so it pointed at the woman to his left and fired. An eruption of flame shot from beneath his coat and the force of the gas leaving the ported barrel made it seem like he'd cast some sort of fucking spell as it whipped around like a windstorm. Not to mention she had a new hole to breathe out of.. a big one. "You made it a little too easy, I'll be honest." He turned his head at the sound of footsteps again, cursing as he heard a lot of them. "You little shit, a panic button? Are you fucking joking? I should kill you on principle-" He looked at the window to the right of the large regal painting, smirking at the small-statured man. "Come here, short stuff." He snatched him up before he could get past him and into the hall, slamming the huge double doors shut and walking over to the window with his battering ram held by the collar. He hauled him up, despite the man's struggling, and with a bit of a running start launched him through glass and latticework and all with a screaming finish. There was a comical scene as he rolled down the angled roof a ways and then stopped, groaning something about an 'owie'.

"You're Grandiose's sister, right?" The shark-woman nodded and hurried to follow Buck, holding out her hands to show that they were tied together. "Ah, right." Buck quickly drew his knife and cut the binds off so she had her hands, leading the way out onto the roof.

"They'r-" Buck heard the smaller man starting to yell and turned, drawing his knife again only this time he flung it at the hobbit-sized individual. The heavy combat-style knife did not fly true, so instead of killing him.. it merely knocked him in the back of the head and turned the lights off for a bit, though it did send him tumbling the rest of the way off of the roof. Buck didn't dare go back for his knife, frowning as he stared at it for a second and debated on whether it was worth it. He could get a new one, a better one.. with pearl handles.. Yeah! Just gotta get the fuck out of here..

He slipped around the roof with his freed captive in tow and finally found a way for them to get down, helping her down since she was far more petite than her thick-skinned and headed brother. Were it not for the shark part.. hell, she might be kind of attractive. She was probably into women. "You uh.. swing for the softball team?" Buck asked in passing as they reached the fence on the edge of the courtyard, leaving screaming and yelling guards behind them as they found their head of house dead as anything.. the elaborate plan seen through clear as day.

The don's sister rolled her eyes and mumbled an appropriate "Fuck you. Take me home.. and yes." before following Buck across the road.

Once they had slipped through twelve different alleyways and walked down what felt like a hundred side streets, Buck had to stop. He bent over and put a hand on the wall to steady himself, groaning as he clutched his side. The adrenaline finally wearing down, he was feeling the pain of being shot in a trauma plate. He groaned and undid the Velcro cover, letting the now cracked plate fall out before putting it back. He breathed out a sigh of relief for the simple feeling of that weight being off of him. Newer weapons weighed less, but when you fought with historical finds.. you still carried hunks of actual metal around. "Fuck, that hurts." He rubbed his side as he walked, taking a few more alleyways until they were nearing his little tiny apartment. He saw a large, looming figure outside, immediately darting back around the corner he'd just come from and peeking around. He couldn't quite tell in the darkness.

"Hey, wait!" He tried to stop the don's sister as she ran ahead of him, but she wasn't stopping. She ran ahead and he followed, and Buck could only hope there was not more than one person as large as Don Grandiose on this fucking station.

 

[Nautical]

Well, I don't quite remember what my plans were for this, so I am going to kind of nix it and start anew. I'm currently drumming up a bit of an adventure in my head and will write something new here and respond below once I actually get a bit of a fleshed out summary to write away from.

I'll save you a cliffhanger ending on the posts above:
It wasn't the don or anyone friendly at his apartment. More murder, another damsel-in-distress rescue and returning Don Grandiose's sister earns Buck a paycheck and one singular favor from a grateful Don.

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