My Bad Boy Werewolf Quadrillionaire Space Lord

9 - An Accord, Of Sorts

"Hey, so does this mean we're friends now?" I asked as Luca stepped forward and shook the vampire's hand. My hands were starting to shake, and I was having a hard time maintaining my killer posture. Plus, my heels were sinking into the grass.

This shouldn't be too surprising. I was holding a railgun, after all. A six barrel autoloading railgun I had kinda ripped off the side of Nightmare's hull. It's really meant for close-range ship-to-ship combat, and I was really, really hoping I wouldn't have to fire it.

Because we'd all be super dead. Luca wasn't kidding about this being a weapon of mass destruction. This gun fires 1kg slugs with a muzzle velocity of eight thousand metres a second. To anyone who hasn't taken a physics class, that is freakishly fast. Basically, if I fired the weapon, the recoil would hit me at about four hundred meters a second, and turn me into red mist. The explosion caused by the air turning into plasma as the slug fired might kill us before the shot actually hit the hill. Which would make an explosion big enough to kill us. And kick up enough rock shrapnel to kill us.

Oh, and it might blow up the super-capacitor banks powering the gun. Which would also kill us.

So, super dead.

"My dear, I believe we can reach an accord on the subject," the vampire, what was his name again? Something vampirish that made you think of some well-dressed, eerily pale man with graceful manners necking you in a candlelit dining hall. Preferably on a comfy chair in front of a fire. "You excel at escalating things to an absurd degree."

"Izzy, are you okay with putting that down gently?" Luca asked. "And seriously, let me know if you need some help."

"Aw, are you being chivalrous?" I asked, and wouldn't you believe I actually shifted my aim a little. At him.

"No," Luca said, and he held up his hands. Which really put those arms of his on display. Whatever he paid his personal trainer, totally worth it. "I just don't want to die. You're holding a weapon of mass destruction."

"You recognize it?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's a StraightShot 9400m. Lorenzo Corp product, and if you knew anything about the Lorenzo Corporation, you'd set that down really carefully," Luca explained.

"Are you saying I should have bought it from your company?" I asked.

"Obviously. Would these abs sell you an inferior product?" Luca asked. And I have to admit, those abs were pretty convincing.

"You made a line of flashlights that ran exclusively on solar power," I accused.

"Mass oversupply of solar panels, we had to do something with them. And I made a fortune," Luca rebutted.

"You made beard grooming products that caused permanent hair loss."

"Popular with the women in hipster communes. Made a fortune."

"You have a line of beer that keeps you from getting drunk."

"I know. Quietly marketed it to high school kids and released it on graduation day. Made a fortune in a single weekend."

"Your coffee puts people to sleep."

"Not a single lawsuit when people realized how good a full night's sleep felt. Made several fortunes on this one when I combined it with a nap bar."

"You sold a line of firearms that fired foam darts."

"I have a vault full of thank-you letters from law enforcement officers when I sold those exclusively to gangs and cartels. Still made a fortune."

"You made televisions and computer screens that wouldn't work unless the person watching them was getting exercise."

"Collectively, the world's population lost nine billion pounds last year. And I made a fortune."