My name is Shamino Warhen. What do I do for a living? I end the lives of others. As a teenager I was trained for years to execute pimps, drug dealers, small time military personell, and finally working my way up to government officials. That was cut short, however, a year after my father was Killed In Action. I moved to Varron City to get away from it all- the killing, the drugs, the crime. My father spent his entire life saving people that were held captive by Terrorists, Gun Runners, Drug Dealers. His father- my grandfather- was a Spy during World War II, and his help saved many Jews, Gypsies, Homosexuals, Communist Sympathizers- I could go on. Then there is me. Within half a year of coming to Varron I started to illegally supply automotive parts to the Street Racing scene of Varron. Next I began to smuggle in guns small time- by myself. Pick up a few Uzi's, sell them to a few 'fellow' Hitmen for a nice price, make a few grand spending money...

It was when I decided that my life was spiraling downwards that I wanted to go Legitimate, as well as illegal. I purchased a small diner, and in months I built it up to one of the most famous restaurants on the continent. I've shared laughs with governors, senators, generals... But one of the most fascinating laughs i've ever had was with a South American cocaine dealer. He came into my restaurant like I did- like he owned the place. He casually shook my hand and then rubbed his finger under his nose with a laugh. I personally set him down on the third floor, which he had rented out for himself and his 'assosciates'. He told me that the first time he ever sold drugs, he was scared as hell. To this day, he still has that fear inside him, pumping through his veins. He's seem the movies, he's read the books- every single Evil falls. But he also told me not all good things last forever. A balance. He had just told me he was trying to balance it out.

He had a good meal, and tipped his waitress.


After that incident, two months ago, I had a craving... It wasn't drugs. I hate anything I have to smoke, snort, inject, or put on my tongue. I would be a liar if I said i've never killed somebody. I would be an all time bull-shitter if I said I haven't indirectly killed people. Varron has one of the largest teenage populations, and due to the capital punishment systems they all know how to use a pipe, fire a gun, and throw a punch.

They also know how to take them, too.

I looked around and realized that the one thing that Varron was exempt from was Gang violence. I was happy about that- but when University came, it was the same thing. No gangs, whatsoever. While this was excellent for everyone but me... I am a selfish, selfish man.

The problem with making an honest buck, is that honest bucks are so hard to find. My restaurant was creating enough profit to sustain my barely-used Spa. However, when I say barely used, I mean 'legally' used. The Spa is quite possibly the greatest thing I own. Ignoring the cars, the staff, and my own clothes- the Spa is my money maker. I probably spent ten thousand dollars a night on the Spa, but every month- I make over two mil. Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean its not there.

Guns.

Today, where Honor is found in History Books, and History Books alone, Guns are used in every city by one or more people. There are over 550 000 000 guns in circulation at any given moment- one and twelve people own a firearm, using that statistic. I just do my bit to make sure 1 in 12 people in Varron own a weapon, as well. In the continent that has over 11 000 gun related deaths a year, that clearly shows that nearly everyone that owns a gun, uses it once a year... Using statistics. I am also, a statistic. An unknown statistic...


I don't know how many Gun Dealers there are, you see. Well, the authorities prefer 'Gun Runners'.

You have the Yakuza- one of the few organizations that try and incorporate Honor into their illegal works. They purchase Submachine Guns and small firearms all the time. The small Russian Mafia that resides in Varron are the only ones that Purchase the Klashnikov Nineteen Seventy Four edition, better known as the AK-74. Or AK. The Italian Families purchase a bit of everything- probably the most honorable illegal organizations still in existance. Italy invented the Mob, and they perfected it. If somebody fucked up, only that man would die. It would be frowned upon if his family got involved. If somebody had a firefight in the middle of the city- their body would be found in a car a week later. The Mafia were doing their bit to society to even the balance.

So every morning, at 1 A.M, the limo's, or the sport cars, or the Cadillac's arrive and pick up the guns, I get the money, and we all have a laugh. The Triads, the Yakuza, it doesn't matter who comes- as long as they have money, and they want guns.

My receptionist, Fauve, nearly got involved in a deal gone wrong- but that was because it was done at the restaurant. Every businessman keeps his personal funds away from his business. Those guns were business, the restaurant was personal.

I am not evil. I am far from. I am probably the most neutral person in the city. I supply Glock 22's to a Triad Group to go kill another rival Triad Group around the block- who misses them? No one. When a Glock 22 punctures the flesh of my friend Ajax, killing him in moments, everybody watches. You could say I am rambling, or I am simply proving point after point... It doesn't matter at this point. As of now, I am a Gun Runner. Try and catch me.






One O' Five AM, Saturday.

Shamino flicked the toothpick into the small trash bin beside his desk. He stared down at the arriving limosines. He brought his Five-SeveN up to his chest, and cocked a bullet into the chamber. He then holstered it under his ivory white overcoat, and snapped his fingers without turning around. The two men dressed in black turned on their laser sights and exited the office. As they moved the steam would increase two hundred percent. It would be near impossible to see five feet in front of you. The guards placed their optics down over their eyes, and the building became shades of green. The men would be escorted to a room that Shamino and King had been in- it was like a small park, yet indoors. The Koi fish swam about obliviously, and two benches would be where dealer and customer would sit. Shamino entered last, he always did. The guards entered the room and exited as Shamino came through.



Selling your first gun is much like having sex for the first time. Its somewhat confusing, you have no idea what you are doing- but it is exciting, and most of the time its over way too soon. Shamino had done this well over a hundred times by now, it was routine. A small table seperated the two benches which had been brought to the center of the room. "Hello Mister Hayamoto." Shamino said, taking a seat across from the grey haired Japanese man.
"Muchi Muchi, Warhen-Sama." Hayamoto bowed his head. Shamino bowed his an inch lower.
"What will be your method of death this time? A new shipment of Micro Uzi's came in, including silencers. I just got a few H&K UMP45's, Police Issue- extremley hard to get, they're roughly 1500 on the market, but you can get them for 1250..."


It was a little too easy to make money off of the organizations in Varron. The average UMP went for 750 to police, since I had friends at the SWAT department in the next city over, I could get a dozen UMP's a month for the same price that the cops pay, and I was making 500 a pop. Chump change compared to my monthly income- but every bit counted.

"I will take all of those, they can be silenced, yes?"
"Of course, Mister Hayamoto- not as well as the smaller weapons, but these things will put a dent in SWAT Vans..."
Ironically Enough.
"Alright. We have a deal then." The old man brought up his suitcase, and opened it to reveal a laptop. One of Shamino's men came in with an identical suitcase, and using the Wi-Fi connection, they began the money transfer. In two minutes, Shamino's man gave the thumbs up.
"Alright then, Mister Hayamoto. A crate filled with a dozen UMP45's with extra clips are now in your limosines. I will see you when I see you. A pleasure doing business with you."

Both stood, both shook hands, one left. Shamino turned and loomed over the large pond that took up half of the room. His hands were behind his back, and his eyes were closed as he took in the scents of the pond.

They're probably going to go and kill each other this very night using those guns. Hell, they might come back and try and kill me. It wouldn't be the first time. I slid out the Five-Seven and took the bullet out of the chamber, and flicked it like a coin into the pond. I could see the gentle shimmer of hundreds, if not thousands of spend rounds and unspent rounds in there. Every nine milimeter bullet was fifty cents, every .357 Magnum round, two dollars. I must of had a fortune in unspent bullets lying down there... Then I imagined the dockside, an army of dead Mobsters- all lined up in a row, all with their hands behind their back, all wearing the same cement shoes. All probably held at gunpoint- my guns-point.

Some kids fight for money, others steal- some get it from their parents. Either way, some of that money trickles my way. Keep fighting, keep spending- and i'll keep running my guns.