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Meet me at the end of days.” Her eyes darted to and fro, rereading the simple sentence again and again. “We’ll settle the score there.” For once, the fire in Typhoid Mary Sue’s eyes matched the unending infernos that dizzily swirled about her insides. It was rare for her to consciously feel the full extent of her disease boiling about in her blood. It took a special kind of man to awaken her from such learned numbness. She had actively suppressed the feeling of the hydroplague ravaging her organs.

This was different. This wasn’t a hit. No one had put her up to this. This was personal. As the highest-ranking vigilante in Columbus, Mary Sue was far from a slouch, and so perfectly did she follow her moral compass that she only enacted hits that were just causes. Justice was the impetus in which she employed violence for the low, low cost of nothing at all. She never asked for payment in return for her services, nor did she accept any. Not a soul had contracted her to take down David O’Connor. The dramatic evangelist asked for this of his own merit. He envisions himself the sole feudal lord of Columbus, doling out water only to those he deems worthy. His growing armada of armed upper-class worshipping nutjobs, known as the Altar Boys, followed his every command. He and Mary Sue had crossed paths on a number of occasions, fostering a fiery rivalry that led to a lot of bloodshed. Mary Sue had mowed down an entire swarm of his foaming, faith-fueled followers, though many still remained. In retaliation, David and the Altar Boys murdered a number of her fellow vigilantes at Heathen Yard, as well as her beloved uncle, Measles Mercer. The bloodshed had cresendoed to a climax. With a swift crumpling motion, she discarded his letter with disgust. His message was received. Mary Sue knew exactly what he meant by his statement - they were to settle the score at the End of Days Mausoleum, a resting place for the Old World. She intended to bury him in the plague-spattered cemetery. But first, she had to find her way there.

Patron vigilantes of The Outback watched with baited breath as Mary Sue reached for The Featherduster, her signature long barrel pistol. She kissed the tip of the barrel, which everyone knew could only mean one thing - she was going hunting. The mausoleum resided on the outskirts of District 1, and The Outback boys of District 4 knew she needed to hitch a ride. Luckily, her answer came in the form of an upbeat tune blaring in the distance, the well-known call of Bus Number IX, a locally-famous water courier transport. As the music swelled the dry summer heat, the bus slowed to a crawl. The driver, a mechanic by the name of Petey emerged, whistling, ready to unload and distribute the bottles of water. After filling his arms with enough bottles, Petey turned around and was swiftly graced with The Featherduster’s eager barrel. He froze in place, observing Mary Sue’s perfect brown hair and flawless skin. He had never been attracted to a vigilante before, loosening a few bottles at the sight of such a woman. “You got a name, boy?” she asked with unwavering tenacity. “M-my name’s Petey. Everyone calls me Pistol.” Mary Sue took a brief second to chuckle to herself. “Pistol, you ever had a pistol pointed at you?” “N-no, ma’am. I-I just wanted to deliver this here water.” “Listen up and listen well, Pistol,” she said, caressing his face with the barrel of her gun. “I’m commandeering this transport. You got a problem with that?” “N-no, ma’am. S’all yours.” “Good, good. Now hand off that water to my boys, y’hear?” she trailed off, boarding the IX.

It would be a three hour drive to the North-end of District 1, but her superior knowledge of Columbus’ topography could shave off an hour. Her icy grip aclutch the steering wheel defrosted at the mere thought of O’Connor’s condescending smile. The godless priest drove her positively stark. As the arc of the towering sun shook hands with the deep purple of a summer night, Mary Sue had touched down in District 1. She was met with the foulest of stenches as she disembarked. The former sanitation department/current industrial graveyard hung with the reek of hundreds of rotting bodies. Discarded belongings littered the mausoleum. She spotted a boil scooper not five yards from where O’Connor and his boys stood. He had the audacity to stand in formation out in the open, dramatic as ever.
“Call off your boys, O’Connor. This is between you and me. Wouldn’t want any more of your pureblood praisers to die with you tonight.” He flashed his haughty teeth and chuckled. “I see you got my message. And my boys obey my call. Simple as that. And you know what I say, boys? ATTACK!” In a split-second, the Altar Boys fired barrage after barrage from their shotguns, each one missing their target. Mary Sue took cover behind a nearby makeshift tombstone. Their fire continued. “You know why I call my gun The Featherduster?” she called out, as the Altar Boys halted fire, creeping towards the granite slab. She hopped to her feet, and sprayed all fifteen of them in one grand sweeping motion, imitating how an Old Worlder might clean their home. The thuds of their bodies deafened the mausoleum. She pressed her heel into the gut of the nearby squirming Altar Boy and graced him with a double tap between the eyes. Stepping over him, she stood face to face with O’Connor, blowing out The Featherduster’s smoke. “Now...where were we?” She lined up the shot, as he reached for his golden revolver. The thick, stolid air stirred as the two prepared to fire.

Nervously, O’Connor pulled the trigger first. Mary Sue followed suit. She had plugged him in the chest, and he had scraped her torso. Both fell to the ground. Eyeing the nearby boil scooper, Mary Sue left a bloody trail as she crawled over to it. O’Connor dug his claws into the toxic soil, hoping to flee to no avail. She grabbed his legs and mounted him, digging at his retinas with the scooper. Fire surged through her as she ravenously gouged his eyes out from his very skull. His blood-curdling cries could be heard all the way by the Scrap Yard. She watched with pleasure as he flatlined. Mary Sue exhaled deeply, falling onto her back as she caught her breath. She lay there panting before she howled at the pain of removing the bullet from her abdomen. The deed had been done, the score settled. She looked up at the violet of the night sky as she happily bled. The deep horizon would be enough to nurse her back to health. It was not the end of days for her. Not yet.