Others may not know exactly who Zachary was, but Ethan knew. He was the eldest son of the Steele Consortium, its only heir, and the kind of person no one with sense wanted to cross.
"Oh? So you really are just small-time punks," Ethan said, almost disappointed. "In that case, this is pointless. Go die."
He could tell these players had never dealt with Zachary before. They did not even recognize his name. His words made the enemy group shift uneasily. The last two in particular hit them like a bucket of ice water. The Sharpshooter tightened his grip on his revolver and stared at Ethan as if waiting for the signal to fight, but Ethan only stood there, calm and still, watching them with a faint, detached amusement.
The Blackridge players exchanged confused glances.
Splat.
