Warty Hugeman and The Outlaws of Rustler's Ravine

"Keep your head down," Warty Hugeman yelled over the echoing gunfire. Marissa dropped down beside him.

"I'm fine," she said. "There's a position on the other side of the ravine. We can catch them in a crossfire fire." She still had her timesuit set to look like a saloon whore, all bows and ruffles and cleavage. Warty wanted her, right there in the dust, bullets slapping at the rocks around them.

The Old West had been her idea; she wanted to solve the mystery of a silver mine that exploded in 1877. Marissa was convinced alien tech was to blame and wanted to steal it before the outlaws mining it destroyed it and themselves. She had been gathering information in the local saloon when the outlaws running the rogue mine got suspicious. They had to steal horses and run because Warty's timesuit was still going through a recharge cycle. Marissa's couldn't shift them both. He had urged her to go somewhen safe. Her only response had been to shoot the horse out from under one of their pursuers and grin wildly.

“We can’t work our way over there,” he said. She smiled and flickered like a bad splice in high school filmstrip. Gunfire erupted from the far side of the ravine.

“I’ve told you not to do that! It’s too dangerous!” Marissa had traveled to the opposite side of the ravine, and came back an instant after she left.

She leaned into him. “We win,” she said, her breath hot in his ear. “We kill them all. And you bend me over this boulder and fuck me.” She bit his earlobe lightly.

“You can’t be in the same place at the same time with yourself. I’ve seen the results. If you come in contact with yourself you’ll cease to exist!” Warty remembered throwing a Juniper multi-assassin at one of its own time-duplicates. When they met flesh-to-flesh they imploded to into a one dimensional point and evaporated.

"So I'll never get to fist myself in a 69?" she asked, with a mocking pout. The shots from the valley below suddenly stopped. Reloading. Warty stood, sighted out one of them and shot him through the back of the head.

"Only three left," Marissa said. The dust in her cleavage was streaked with rivulets of sweat. Warty wanted to bury his face in them. He wanted to shrink himself down and live in the warm caves between her breasts and between her legs forever. She brushed his erection lightly and his whole body shuddered. She kissed him quickly and rose to fire shots into the valley below. On the other side she did the same. Screaming men and horses.

"Only one, now," she said, squatting back down.

"I'll do it," Warty said. He went around the boulder. The last outlaw was spinning around, unsure of where he would be attacked. Warty whistled and when the man turned, he shot him in the throat.

Marissa. She had pranked him, stole from him, hated him, and hunted him. He pulled her to her feet and tore open her timesuit, the saloon whore dress configuration giving off a satisfying ripping sound.

Across the ravine, Marissa began masturbating furiously as she watched them.

THE END