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Make Him Pay

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Miraculously, the first Felt member you see is not Crowbar - it’s Fin. He’s obviously drunk, being helped along by Die, and that’s probably the only reason why he didn’t remember or expect you coming, or whatever the hell it is he does. You don’t have the time or the brainpower for technicalities.

He goes down easy with a fist to the gut, your other elbow snapping out and knocking Die aside. Fin collapses with a retch; you ignore him in favor of grabbing Die’s collar. The slender gangster yanks out his doll and opens his mouth - you fill it with steel. You don’t have to be a mind reader to tell what he’s thinking; you can pull the trigger before he can pull a pin.

You plant a foot on Fin’s back to keep him from getting up and drag Die in close. He whimpers; a dark curl of satisfaction twists in your belly. “I’m gonna pull this away real soon,” you murmur, eyes like poison reflected in the unlucky Felt’s own, “and you’re gonna say one thing. Know what that is?”

He shakes his head best he can, gaze locked on your face. “Crowbar’s location,” you say, sure to enunciate. Die’s eyes widen but he nods slightly, and you pull the barrel until it just clears his lips.

“T-the mansion,” he whispers, trembling, “p-probably in one of the basements, he might be visiting Stitch-”

Eventually you let the two go. You’re tempted to take out some of your wrath on their helpless forms, but a red hat and stick of steel fill your mind’s eye, and you decide not to waste your energy. You leave them with concussions and head for the Mansion.

The doors are large and imposing, and you want nothing more than to slam them open, drag them off their hinges and toss them at whoever’s unlucky enough to get there first. But you can’t fight every green bastard at once, and you want to spend some time with the brains of the bunch.

Well. Relative brains.

You find one of the side doors, rusted shut and more or less ignored. And why not? Their main competition is the Midnight Crew, and Slick is a fairly direct thinker.

You find a shovel in an equally forgotten shed not to far away and pop the door open; it clatters loudly, sending you into the bushes for about twenty minutes, waiting for someone to investigate. When no one does, you carefully sidle in, keys drawn and ready.

You get most of the way down the hall before Eggs and Biscuits turn the corner.

You’re firing before Eggs can even reach the timer, the second shot piercing Biscuit’s nose and exiting his skull as you turn on his buddy. Without the thirteenth's interference, the twelfth goes down easy - but loudly. You freeze, waiting again to be detected; once more, luck is with you.

The first three basements are empty. The fourth is paydirt.