Preparations for the mission begun the moment Markus exited Jane's office. The progress took ten days, which were mostly information gathering, intense training and new equipment testing. When everything was done, he spent five more days going by train from Nevada to his destination, a small seaside town called Marshall in the central east area of Florida.

Coincidentally, Marshall was also Markus's hometown and he would use his original identity to blend in, so the operation felt like a homecoming trip to him. Obviously, he could not go around claiming to be a resigned Steel Talon operative, so he was arranged to be a newly transfered firefighter from Clark County fire station in Nevada.

The whole "lifetime mission" thing still seemed fishy to him. But he pressed on because there was a person in the outside world he wanted to meet, no matter the cost.

And so, on the sunday morning of September 12th, Markus set foot in his hometown for the first time after leaving it six years ago.

Marshall had not changed much over the years, but he could feel a sense of dread hanging in the air. Most of the walls had been vandalized, covered in anarchistic grafitis. Beggars, street thugs, gun-toting militants and lowlives of all kind had set up tents in the central park, turning the whole area into a slum. The street was mostly deserted and one could see glimses of despair on the sunken faces of passersby.

Strangely enough, the police was nowhere to be found. The only semblance of order left were grim-faced mercenaries guarding the mayor office and some large businesses. While they would keep trespassers away, they made no effort to stop crimes happening in broad daylight.

As he walked past Mama John's general store, Markus ran into one such crimes. Three good-for-nothings were cornering a beautiful young girl.

The girl had pale white skin and silvery white hair done into pigtails. Her well-defined face was bright and charming, with clear blue eyes and lovely pink lips. Her body was well-proportioned with subtle muscles, although a bit on the chubby side. She wore a navy blue button-up shirt with detached sleeves, a pleated red miniskirt, navy blue thigh-high stockings and black sneakers with red accents. It was a fashionable outfit which commended her figure well.

The three thugs were probably horny young lads attracted to the girl's beauty. They made no effort to hide their vulgar intentions as they closed in on her. There were some witnesses around, but they either watched from a distance or walked past. The situation seemed so utterly desperate that Markus decided to interfere. He walked past the thugs, put his hand around the girl's left shoulder and pulled her close.

"Back off, punks. This girl's mine." His voice was low and intimidating, almost like a growl.

The two wimpy lackeys immediately retreated. But their leader, a muscular guy sporting a flaming red mohawk refused to back down.

"I'd say she's my girl. You are looking at the infamous Texas Red here, hero wannabe. I have killed twenty pushovers like you before." He tried to threaten Markus with sloppy lies. When that did not work out, he reached for the small snub-nosed revolver on his belt, "You'd better screw off or I will blow your brain out!".

Before he could do so, Markus had already pressed the long barrel of his Ruger Super Blackhawk against the guy's forehead. While probably not as big as the legendary Big Iron, this .44 magnum revolver was still an impressive revolver with enough power to take down black bears.

"Then I'm the Arizona ranger. How about you make a slip right here for me, Texas Red Jr.?" His face twisted into a vicious grin as he taunted the red mohawk thug. But his cold eyes were not smiling at all, staring straight at the scum like a hawk about to swoop down on a rabbit.

"Bang!", Markus imitated the sound of a shot as he pretended to pull the trigger. The fake Texas Red fell on his butt, trembling with fear. His two lackeys hurriedly picked him up and fled the scene. Markus returned the Super Blackhawk to its holster only after he could no longer see the thugs.

Then he felt a slight tug on his coat and realized his left hand was still on the girl's shoulder, so he released her and politely apologized, "That was rude of me. I'm very sorry for touching you without permission."

"No no, I understand you meant well. It would have been difficult for me if you hadn't stepped in." She shook her head vigorously, causing her fluffy white hair to flutter.

To express her gratitude, she handed Markus a discount voucher for El Grando Smokio Firearms, the biggest gun store in town. Then they headed off in different directions.

Markus headed for the gun store after taking a stroll around the city. He came there not only to use the voucher but also because he suddenly remembered something from the past. El Grando Smokio Firearms was run by an overweight mexican guy called Big Smoke, hence the name. When he was a kid, Markus usually went there with his childhood friend Sabrina to play. She had a strange fascination with firearms and would spend hour after hour gazing at the guns on display, while he simply tagged along.

That was the happiest time of his life. But for some reason, his memory always became blurry when it came to Sabrina. He could not remember how she looked like, where she lived in the town or how he became friend with her in the first place. Only her name, some fragmented memories of their time together and the fact that he made a promise with her remained clear. It was probably a memory lapse caused by a severe trauma in the past and he wanted to know what exactly happened.

His train of thought was interrupted when the mercenaries around the gun store refused to let him through. They were extremely cautious of him for some reason.

With his terrible fashion sense, it never occured to Markus that his conspicious outfit was the cause. He wore a dark striped suit with a black fedora and a white satin scarf, while also holding a large suitcase. Together with his natural tough-guy face, they made him look like a mafia boss from the Prohibition era. Any decent person would to want to steer clear of such a character.

"Tell Big Smoke that lil' Markus has become a ranger and is coming back for the Big Iron. He will understand." Markus told the mercs. They reluctantly let him in after talking to someone over the radio.

The inside of the store was filled with guns of all types and calibers, guarded by tough mercs armed to the teeth. Behind the glass counter was the owner, Big Smoke, totally immersed in polishing a rifle.

When Markus entered, the big guy stopped working and introduced himself in an exaggerated manner, "I am the propietor and salesman of the month several years in a row; the ladies call me "Oh, God!", but you can call me El Grando Smokio 'cause I know I got a weight problem but still felt light like a puff of smoke."

"Cut it out, Smoke. I'm here for serious business." Markus was familiar with Big Smoke's flamboyant manner ever since his childhood so it hardly provoked a reaction from him.

"Give me some face here, would ya? Anyway, did you become a mafioso or something? Forget the Big Iron, you need the Chicago Typewriter now." Said Big Smoke, after looking at his long time customer from head to toe.

"Nah, I'm a firefighter. Just wanted to have a new image when returning to town." Markus answered.

"Good thing the local police was disbanded after hurting one of those "peaceful protesters" or you would have been in big trouble right now." Smoke shook his head in resignation and pointed in the direction of the central park.

"Now that explains all the lowlives and mercs around. Didn't expect the Police Reform movement to be so bold these days." While intelligence department had already filled him in on the town's situation, he was still surprised to find it had escalated so quickly in just five days.

"It's a goddamn revolution, son. The east coast's gone to hell after Ronald Thumb won the election last year. But that's good for business so who cares?" Smoke shrugged and continued to polish the rifle, leaving Markus to freely browse through the merchandise.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Sabrina left just before you came. Said she was helped by a cool mafioso on the street. Seems like she didn't recognize you in that ridiculous outfit.", he suddenly remembered something and called out to Markus. "What's with the disguise anyway? Planning a surprise party for her?"

"No, I couldn't recognize her as well so we just headed off in different directions." Markus shook his head. So the girl he saved before was really Sabrina. Good thing he decided to interfere before the situation got worse.

"Listen here, punk. Sabrina could have moved to a better place but she chose to waste her youth in this godforsaken town waiting for you. For six whole years. How could you forget the face of your little wifey like that, Markus?!" Smoke was furious. He walked over and grabbed Markus's collar.

"Memory loss. That's what the doctors told me. Imagine waking up someday and realizing you could no longer recall the face of the most important person to you, no matter how hard you tried. And it was not just her face. Memories of our time together was lost too. I only remember making an important promise with her, but I couldn't tell what it was about." Markus exploded on the spot. The frustration bottled up inside him gushed out at once, like a raging black tide of negativity.

It was Smoke who backed down. He released Markus's collar and slumped down in his seat, "Sorry, I lost my cool there. Didn't mean to twist the knife. Anything I can do to help?".

"Nah, I'll told Sabrina the truth myself and try my best to make up for her. That was why I returned here." Markus shook his head and turned around to leave, "I'm going to meet her now. Thanks for giving me the courage to do it."

"Drop by sometimes. And bring her along next time, you hear?" Smoke gazed outside, not looking at the young man's disappearing back, but at two children happily walking out of his shop, hand in hand.