[1] Deer
"Would Mr. Gunslinger please report to the arena? Mr. Gunslinger, please report to the arena. If you don't, you will die. If you do, you will die. Make your choice right now, Mr. Gunslinger. Please--"
Mr. Gunslinger adjusted his wide-brimmed hat and shot the intercom speaker above him with his golden revolver. Sparks flew out of the ceiling, and the voice faded away. "I could do without you sayin' my name every few seconds," Mr. Gunslinger muttered under his breath.
The room around him was white and shiny, much like everything else on this moon. Mr. Gunslinger was a little sick of it by now. Every time he'd shot paint pellets at the walls, the magic robots arrived, shot lightning out of their clunky hands, and the room became white again.
"You fellas ain't stylish," Mr. Gunslinger had told them. "Y'all ain't stylish at all. I'd give y'all zero style points."
The robots would always turn their glowing eyes at him, tilt their heads, and say "Well, we do not care about that." And then they would warp away. This was also a very unstylish and rude move in Mr. Gunslinger's book.
But now wasn't the time to judge the ettiquette of clunky moon robots. Now was the time for Mr. Gunslinger to go out and show everyone at the arena what he was made of: eagle-eyed precision, an impeccable sense of style, and snappy dialogue.
He looked in the mirror to make sure he was ready for battle. Blue bandana harvested from the silk of the deep sea spidersquid? Check. Shining visor forged from the remains of a lost meteorite? Check. Long coat tailored specifically for himself from his grandmother? Triple check. Mr. Gunslinger was ready.
He left the room and walked slowly through the tunnel in front of him, listening as the cheering of the crowd came closer and closer. They were cheering for Mr. Gunslinger's opponent, but he didn't care. He knew the crowd would change their minds after they watched the battle play out.
After a few more minutes, Mr. Gunslinger ducked out of the tunnel and stepped outside, right into the sandy arena.
The sky was blue and clear, reminding Mr. Gunslinger of his home planet. The arena was circular, and the stands were filled with cheering humans, robots, and everything in between.
Mr. Gunslinger bowed, and the disembodied, masculine voice that had previously spoken over the intercom exclaimed, "Behold, citizens of Sysys! The newest challenger for the Silver Crown --Mr. Gunslinger!"
No one cheered except for one spidersquid, who was immediately slapped by the wingman next to him.
"Hats off to you," Mr. Gunslinger said, tipping his hat in the spidersquid's direction. No one seemed to understand what he meant. Confused babbling erupted all around the stands.
"Y'all ain't got a shred of decency," Mr. Gunslinger muttered, shaking his head.
"Silence!" shouted the disembodied voice. "Mr. Gunslinger will face off against the current Elect Three. First off, introducing . . ." The crowd cheered loudly again as the door at the other end of the arena slid open, and a silver, glowing deer stepped gracefully into the arena. "This guy!"
"What's he called?" Mr. Gunslinger asked.
"Don't ask me," the disembodied voice said, verbally shrugging. "He's a glowing deer, and he's one of the Elect Three who will try to kill you. That's all you need to know."
Mr. Gunslinger nodded. "So he ain't got a name?"
"He does 'got a name'!" the deer shouted defensively from the other side of the arena. "He just prefers not to say it."
Mr. Gunslinger walked forward. "It's 'cause it's embarrassin', right? Somethin' like . . . Priscilla?"
The disembodied voice gasped. "Hey! My name is Priscilla!"
The deer shook his head. "My name isn't embarrassing! It's really cool! Too cool to speak of! Too--"
The warp pellet left Mr. Gunslinger's golden revolver and hit the deer directly in the chest. He barely had time to gasp before he disappeared in shards of piercing blue light.
Priscilla verbally made a shocked expression. "You shot him!"
Mr. Gunslinger looked at the spot the deer had been standing in the moment before. "I did."
"He didn't even get a chance to attack you! Or to put up his psychic shields!"
"'Course he did. He just decided to start lyin' about his name, instead."
"He didn't even die!" Priscilla sputtered. "You shot him with a warp pellet! Are you going soft, Mr. Gunslinger?"
Mr. Gunslinger slowly shook his head. "You can rest easy knowing I ain't a softie, Priscilla. That deer was just too pathetic and sad to be killed by my special revolver."
"Okay. Well, you won't find the next challenger pathetic at all. You'll really meet your match this time."
Mr. Gunslinger took another step forward. "Bring it on."
