Leon's feelings right now were all over the place.
He had some good news and some bad news staring him right in the face.
The good news was, even though he'd been tossed into this post-apocalyptic world two hundred years in the future—where civilization had gone to hell, resources were scarce as hen's teeth, people were basically cavemen, and radiation and mutant freaks were crawling all over the place—well...
He had a superpower, and it was pretty damn incredible: time freeze!
The bad news was... sixty seconds.
Yeah, one lousy minute. His time-stopping ability only lasted one minute per day.
What the hell could you pull off in one minute? Shoot, you couldn't even get undressed in that time...
The only thing going for him was that this one minute could roll over. So if he didn't use it today, after the clock struck midnight, tomorrow he'd have two minutes banked.
BANG!
A gunshot snapped Leon out of his thoughts.
Right after came a whole bunch of wild whooping and hollering.
He looked up to see Ash Soil Town's main square packed to the rafters with people.
It was nighttime, and the harsh white floodlights in the square lit up countless moving bodies. Combined with all that crazy cheering, it looked like some kind of redneck block party from hell.
"Hmph, bunch of damn savages."
Leon curled his lip in disgust and stretched his stiff legs. The iron shackles around his ankles clanked and rattled.
Yeah, he was basically a slave to these backwoods barbarians.
Ash Soil Town was a human settlement with about eight hundred folks. Similar towns were scattered all across this godforsaken wasteland.
Right now, there was a table set up smack dab in the center of the square.
Sitting at the table was some young punk in a loud Hawaiian shirt, cigarette dangling from his lips. Across from him sat a corpse with its head blown to smithereens.
The stiff was still clutching a freaky revolver made entirely out of white bone, with twisting, skinny red patterns running across it like pulsing blood vessels.
These creepy vein-looking things didn't just cover the gun—they snaked onto the corpse's right hand, burrowing deep into the flesh.
The whole sick scene looked like someone had an IV drip hooked up to every finger, getting pumped full of God knows what.
Hissss...
With a bone-chilling slurping sound, the corpse got sucked bone dry by that freaky bone gun.
The crew standing behind the Hawaiian shirt guy went absolutely nuts.
"Hot damn! We won again!"
"Magic Hand Marcus is the real deal—three wins straight! A few more victories like this and he'll probably nail down the containment requirements for that cursed thing, Bone Spitter!"
"Hell yeah... Bone Spitter's gonna belong to the West District now!"
While these guys were pumped as all get-out, the crowd behind the dried-up corpse—the East District crew—looked like they were at their own funeral.
"Alright, which one of you sorry bastards is stepping up next?" East District Leader Vincent's ice-cold stare swept over his people.
Everyone he eyeballed guiltily looked away, not having the stones to meet his gaze.
Seeing his crew clam up like that, Vincent got even more steamed, but mixed in with the anger was a sense of being screwed six ways from Sunday. He had dozens of top guys under him, and five of them were already pushing up daisies.
If more kept biting the dust, he'd end up being a general with no army. How the hell would he keep the East District lowlifes in line then?
"Worthless! Every damn one of you is completely worthless!"
The East District people kept their heads down, scared of catching any more heat. Plenty of them were thinking, "If you're such a badass, why don't you get your butt up there? You're just as chicken as the rest of us!"
The East District going quiet just made the West District even cockier, with all kinds of trash talk flying around like confetti.
At the back of the crowd, some scruffy teenager with iron chains around his ankles kept his eyes darting all over the place. This was Leon.
He figured his moment had finally come.
A chance to ditch this slave gig and get his hands on a forbidden object!
Leon's current situation was East District slave. Yesterday when he first got dropped into this mess, he was just another East District nobody. Then he used his time-stop ability once, which caused a teeny-tiny screw-up, and today he became slave labor.
He stared at Bone Spitter sitting on that table, thinking about what he knew regarding forbidden objects.
A hundred years back, some massive catastrophe swept across the whole damn planet, turning civilization into rubble. Animals, plants, and even some regular everyday junk around the world went through different kinds of freaky mutations.
Forbidden objects came out of all that chaos. Bone Spitter was one of them—just a regular six-shooter that had mutated and picked up some seriously weird abilities.
To use a forbidden object, you had to meet its containment requirements, because forbidden objects weren't just dead hunks of metal anymore—they were alive!
They had their own twisted thoughts, so you could only get usage rights by meeting their demands. People called it "bonding."
Bone Spitter's containment requirement was pretty straightforward: gamble with your life!
In this wasteland where civilization was barely hanging on by a thread, there was this popular and crazy-dangerous gambling game called Devil's Wheel.
Devil's Wheel was a game where you literally bet everything—your whole damn life.
A revolver holds six bullets. Here's how it worked: you loaded one bullet, gave the cylinder a spin, and wherever that bullet ended up was pure dumb luck.
Two players took turns putting the gun to their own heads, leaving their lives up to Lady Luck, waiting to see who that one bullet would nail. After several rounds, whoever was still breathing won the whole pot.
Before Bone Spitter became a forbidden object, it was just a tool for playing Devil's Wheel. Maybe because it had wasted so many people, or for some other sick reason, this ordinary gun became a forbidden object.
Forbidden objects' containment requirements were usually tied to their past, so its requirement was winning Devil's Wheel. But winning once wasn't gonna cut it—you had to keep winning until the damn thing decided you were worthy!
Only someone lucky enough and ballsy enough could earn Bone Spitter's respect.
Leon glanced at the clock hanging on the square's stone wall: 11:49 PM!
Hold your horses... it wasn't time yet. His ability wouldn't reset until after the stroke of midnight.
"Vincent, if nobody from your East Side has the guts to step up and roll the dice, then Bone Spitter belongs to our West Side."
West District Leader Viper sneered, his metal prosthetic eye flashing with creepy red light.
Vincent's face went dark as a storm cloud. "I'm the one who found this cursed thing. Don't even think about getting your grubby hands on it!"
"Oh, is that so?" Viper let out this twisted laugh. "How many days have you had that forbidden object sitting around? Your East District crew is absolutely useless—not a single one of them can get the thing to bond with them. Now our Ash Soil Town's got mutant monsters breathing down our necks from outside. How the hell are we supposed to deal with mutant freaks without a forbidden object?
Since your people can't get Bone Spitter to play nice with them, are you really gonna stop mine from taking a crack at it?
Are you willing to let all of Ash Soil Town go to hell just for your own selfish bullcrap?!"
His words stirred up the crowd like a hornet's nest. The regular townspeople couldn't care less which boss got the forbidden object—they just wanted to keep breathing.
Seeing the crowd getting all worked up, Vincent's expression got even uglier. He knew that if he tried to hoard the forbidden object by force, it would royally tick everyone off. These people would tear this East District Leader apart without batting an eye if it meant staying alive.
But the thought of handing over the forbidden object made him feel like he was getting kicked in the gut.
The East and West Districts had been butting heads for years. Sure, they played nice on the surface, but there were constant beefs brewing underneath. Vincent knew damn well that once the West District got control of the forbidden object and ran off those mutant monsters, he'd be next on their hit list.
Man...
He took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth, "Of course I wouldn't screw over Ash Soil Town for my own personal gain. Forbidden objects should go to whoever can handle them, but..."
His tone shifted as he stared daggers at Viper. "The East Side ain't thrown in the towel yet!"
Viper smirked like he'd just heard the world's funniest joke. "Looks like you're planning to let all your people bite the dust before you wave the white flag. Fine by me, let's keep this party rolling. I'd love to see which East Side sucker has the stones to step up!"
Vincent spun around, his dead-serious gaze scanning the East District crew. His lieutenants all shrank back like scared rabbits.
But he wasn't eyeballing his lieutenants—he was looking past them at the regular East District folks in the crowd.
"People of the East District, I'm making you a promise right here and now. If any of you can get Bone Spitter to bond with you, from this day forward, you'll be my right-hand man! You'll be the East District Deputy Leader!"
The East District people looked at each other like deer in headlights, but nobody said a word. The whole situation got pretty damn awkward.
How many "right-hand men" had Vincent already gotten killed? Who'd be stupid enough to sign up for that job?
Vincent was getting steamed. His game plan was simple: even if his own crew couldn't snag the forbidden object, at least it should end up with an East District nobody instead of falling into West District hands.
He never figured that even after dangling such a sweet carrot, these lowlifes wouldn't bite.
Just as he was about to blow his top, the sharp sound of clanking chains cut through the air.
"Move it! Don't make it look like the East District's full of chickens!" Some cocky young voice called out from the crowd.