Woke up this morning, got myself a gun. Mama always said I'd be the chosen one.

Aug 23, 2008 12:10

There is a man in a bar at the outskirts of Chicago who is not Jack Harkness.

One could be forgiven for mistaking him. He's got the same face, the same clothes, the same pistol and wrist device. But there's an edgy quality where Jack kept an easy confidence, and the drive with which he's demolishing a line of shots - vodka, tequila, a couple of Everclear thrown into the mix, and he wasn't paying attention by the time he poured the last few - isn't Jack's style at all.

Nor are the two policemen collapsed just inside the door, each with a perfect headshot from an amped-up Webley Revoler darkening the skin between their eyes.

Backwater planet. Backwater authorities. No Time Agency, if Hart is to be believed, but if Harkness is around... this is going to get interesting. He's just debating whether to shoot him down himself. As much as the thought should bother him, now it's seeming like something he should have done way before.

[[Not locked, per se, but there's about an 80% chance that he'll shoot you if you don't know how to deal with him. And he will shoot to kill. And I won't stop him from killing you.]]

captain john hart, john thane

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