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An Instant Fan Fiction by ClericWolf

The skies over Libria were a dark grey against which the buildings stood, each as regimental and as uniform as the other...this was the world that mankind had created from their over indulgence in the past...shaped by the actions, wars and a typical petty nature of most of the species.

But there were those that had forsaken Father's word, those who were turned from the blankness of his face and the lack of lustre in his voice. They called these, Sense Offenders.

And it was they who threatened to overturn the perfect world that Prozium had created, by refusing to take the drug and deaden their hearts and minds...they were a dangerous foe and had to be stopped.

To this end, there were the Clerics.

Deep within the Tetragrammaton's dark and forbidding halls, they practiced the arts of the Gun Katas...not one Kata but many, each focussing upon a different form of gun combat, combined with a strict regime of martial arts training they had become Father's long arm against the Sense Offenders.

There was no emotion only direct action...a prediction of mathematical precision that would ultimately lead to only one result - the elimination of all their opponents, with the minimum expenditure of ammunition and the maximum death toll possible.

While the Clerics trained in the deep shadows, another made his first steps into the outside world. The Nethers were a place that the Sense Offenders gathered, where they collected their treasures and trinkets...where they tried to be human once more.

In Father's law, to be human was to be an outlaw, an offence punishable by death.

Today, Cleric James Stretton would learn to make his final judgement call as he graduated from the Tetragrammaton's methodical regime and training...today he would learn how effective his art truly was.

The wind once more blew dust into small swirls as the figures that surrounded the Cleric, melted out of the shadows, he took note of each and everyone of them. Not their faces or their looks, but the position of their bodies and the possible location of weapons.

All it took was one to raise his arms and the circle of death began, before the offender could even draw a pistol to aim, a bullet impacted with his throat and blasted out of the back of his neck. He scrabbled backwards, hands coming to try and staunch the flow, he was white-wide-eyed and dead before he hit the deck.

A cry went up and another fell as his knees were ruthlessly torn into by the Cleric's weapon, round after round splintered bone and shattered his kneecaps.

And the circle continued, each motion was designed to put Stretton far from harm and bring to bear those deadly weapons in a balletic display of protracted violence - death was the only outcome and it came swiftly and did not ride a pale horse.

One by one his assailants fell, red mist blew into the air, as their bodies were penetrated by the expended perfectly aimed bullets. The Cleric continued to move, body almost still, legs slightly apart and his arms automatically finding the correct position, hands following...both guns trained as an extension of his will - the will to kill these who had affronted the Father's law and the Father's own will.

As smoke trailed a lazy whisper from the ends of those guns, he brought them into the final position and the bodies of his foes were nothing more than broken ragdolls, bloody and tattered on the floor.

A shadow stepped from the carnage, perhaps where he had been hiding.

"Excellen-t work Cleric, welcome to the Tetragrammaton, I am sure you will do well."

A guard of leather clad, black cycle-helmed 'Sweepers' entered the area, weapons moving to cover it.

"This test is over, a performance to be proud of."

It seems that he had made the correct 'Judgement Call' after all.

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