Blonde Brazer 99%

"I am," the Brazer said calmly.

"Yeah? What's that?" the bandit leader mocked. blonde brazer

The bar held its collective breath. The jukebox skipped a beat. "I am," the Brazer said calmly

The Brazer didn't turn around immediately. He took a sip of the whiskey, savoring the burn. Then, slowly, he swiveled on his stool. The bar held its collective breath

He turned back to the bar, picked up his whiskey, and finished it in one gulp.

The sound was distinct—a heavy, mechanical cocking noise. The brass tanks hissed. A blue pilot light flared to life at the tip of the wand gripped in his right hand.

He stood six-foot-four in boots that had seen the wrong end of a flamethrower and survived. He wore a trench coat made of tanned hydra-leather, scarred and pitted. But it was what was underneath the coat that made the regulars grip their glasses a little tighter.