Side Story #15: Deviant West- The Deadshot Demon And The King Of Blades

--- Niel Truman ---

“The west was a wild lawless place at times. The unsettled lands marking the very edge of civilization and the wilderness man had long since fought against. A place where hardy folk fought against the world itself to try and build themselves some kind of future better than the one they’d left behind.

A future made far more tumultuous by the Great Shift that shook that world and forced it to change in ways no sane man would have ever guessed.

In one day the skies cracked open across the globe, as if the heavens themselves were being shattered. And with that shattering magic once thought mere myth and superstition by the enlightened man began to pour through the world. No place more so than the already west.

The wild lands becoming even more dangerous, wilder, and by far weirder than they’d ever been before.

It is here that our story begins-”

“Yeah, yer not getting that free drink.” His companion interrupted him.

He blinked at the unexpected interruption, before adjusting his glasses as he turned back to the old prospector he’d been selling his tale to. “Well, I mean, I’m still in the opening of my story. I haven’t really earned that drink yet.” He reminded the old prospector. “Just, just let me finish and you’ll absolutely want to give me a free drink.”

The prospector shook his head. “Nah, yer story ‘s too wordy. Makes ya sound like some kind of snake oil salesman. Especially when yer just tellin’ me things everyone already knows.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to paint the setting without using my words?” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, but I’m not the one trying to trade a story for a drink.” The prospector reminded him. “So I guess yer goin’ to have to pay for yer own drink tonight.”

“Heh, yeah… just one problem with that…” He was dead broke, and hadn’t actually eaten anything since his travel rations ran out two days prior.

The prospector stared at him for a moment, before suggesting that, “If you need coin you can pull a few shifts down at the mines. They’re always lookin’ for more people to pull out more gold.”

He couldn’t help but grimace. “Ah, I would but…” (He couldn’t breathe the walls too close, the air too thin, and the bodies too many…) “I’ve… issues with… caves…” (And any small spaces really.)

The older man gave him another once over, this time with the distaste that so many frontier men gained whenever another admitted to weakness. (Good thing I’ve long accepted that I’m a coward…)

Eventually the prospector’s eyes fell on his gun. “Can you use that gun or is it just fer show?”

Realizing what the man was asking him, his eyes darted to a nearby wall covered in paper with no small amount of resignation. “I’d prefer it was for show but… I can use it…”

“Well, I’m sure you’d prefer a drink more.” His companion told him, finishing his drink before leaving Niel without said companion.

Rather than getting up, he sat there by himself for a few minutes before once more feeling a pang of hunger from his stomach. “Honestly, I’d settle for a handful of crackers at this point…”

Once more he was forced to bitterly remember something he’d been taught back in the city workhouses. (Only those who work get to eat.)

It was a shame he hated the only work he was good at.

With no other choice available to him, he made his way to the saloon’s Notice Board. Of the three that he knew just about every town had, this was the one that likely saw the most use. If only because it was the most likely to be seen by someone who -half drunk- thought themselves capable of whatever task had been left on the board.

Most of the pages on the board were the random bits of town news that were spread in any place too small to have its own newspaper, but here there, there were ‘Bounty’ fliers.

Normally these would be the work of the Sheriff and any other cocksure gunslinger, but after the Big Shift changed everything a few decades prior, littering the west with magic, monsters, and everything else law enforcement began to have a few too many tasks that were more about dealing with ‘Pests’ that were either just annoyances for the locals or more dangerous than the local sheriff was willing to deal with.

The only reason the system was even half sustainable was because with the end of the Great War there were far more gunslinging drifters with no place to go wandering about in need of coin than the people killed off taking on these errands.

And unfortunately for him he was one such drifter. (Let’s see what they’ve got for me here…)

More because of their placement on the board than any intention of taking the job, he found his eyes drifting over a number of wanted posters with vague pictures and descriptions of the men they were for. The ones at the top were of course the kinds of monsters that no sane person would want anything to do with no matter how many zeroes were slapped on their posters. The likes of the Graveslinger dressed like a mortician with his revolver raised, while wearing his crow skull mask. The Ghoul of Gaunt, a large man with leathery skin and a maw full of fangs. Or the man with the highest bounty in the west, the Deadshot Demon.

Part of him couldn’t help but stare at the ten zeroes laying below the image of a man with two glowing eyes and a six shot revolver. The flesh of his hand drifting to the metal of the other, as he remembered, (flames danced all around, and in the center of it stood a man in a blue and white coat, his eyes glowing blue as he looked back at Niel, the bodies of the dead littered all around them.)

He shook his head. (No, don’t think about it.)

With no small amount of regret he forced himself to look at the smaller local bounties, once more reminded that the only reason the monster on the flier was still alive was because he was too much of a coward to… (Don’t think about it.)

Eventually his eyes fell upon a stack of papers that had been nailed to the wall, indicating a group recruitment rather than an individual bounty. The kind of thing where just participating and supporting the rest would be enough to get him paid without him actually having to fight anything himself. (Exactly what I’m looking for.)

Tearing the top flier off the stack he actually read the bounty page, knowing that no matter how much it sucked. After all, it was probably the only job he’d be able to take given how many of the others were about killing this or that.

(Let’s see… ‘Recruiting hands to help with the reclamation of the nearby Ghost Town, Belle Plain and the College therein. Town has been abandoned since 1892, moderate wilderness reclamation is to be expected and appropriate defensive skills required. Rations and transport shall be provided for all volunteers who cannot provide their own. Base pay for this expedition is $50 dollars for every accepted applicant upon completion. Bonuses shall be granted for appropriate feats or finds.)

He couldn’t help but whistle at that, while he knew fifty dollars was only a week’s wages in the big city, it was a not so insignificant amount out here in the west where business was a little less common and the folk a little more independent.

(This could be enough to keep me going for a good couple of months.) Admittedly, just the line on ‘free meals’ was enough to get him to sign on, but that sweetened the pot far more than he could bring himself to turn down, even if it did mean going to another Ghost Town to do so. (Just got to find out where these applications are taking place.)

---

As it turned out the application situation was a little more complicated than he’d been expecting. According to the Saloon owner, the fliers had been left behind by a secretary working for some wealthy big name or another as they passed through town before moving onto the next.

This wasn’t to say that his chance at this job had been missed. The opposite really, given how the secretary had told the barkeep that their caravan would be returning in a week as they looped back around before heading into Belle Plain proper which was in the opposite direction of where they’d left town. (Which means whoever is running this expedition is smart enough to bring a lot of people to reclaim the Ghost Town or they learned what they needed after losing the first troop.)

While the former meant this job would be significantly easier than he was expecting, the later meant that it would be significantly harder. (And Ghost Towns are already a nightmare on their own…)

All of this came together in such a way that while he did have to wait an extra day without food for them to come back to town, he was able to track down the caravan as it came to town the day after he’d acquired the bounty poster.

The caravan itself was about what he’d expected, the camp being divided into a handful of small fires that likely represented the towns each little sub-group of this expedition had come from, with the actual caravan wagons being gathered in the center of everything.

It was here he found a dark haired woman wearing glasses and a button up blouse sitting at a table while going over a number of papers with an anxious expression. A state he felt was more her default than a reaction to whatever paperwork she was going over.

He stood there for a few minutes, as politely as he could before realizing that the woman was a little too involved with her paperwork to notice him. “Um, excuse me, miss?”

The woman jumped, causing her to dislodge her glasses.

“Oh, you-you startled me.” The woman admitted a steading hand to her chest.

“And I apologize for that.” He told her sincerely, before pulling out the bounty poster for this job. “But I was told this is where I needed to go to join the expedition?”

The woman fixed her glasses and took a look at the poster. “Ah, yes. That’s, that is correct. I am supposed to do a preliminary interview with anyone wishing to join the expedition. Though I should warn you the final say belongs to my employer rather than me. My job is merely to make sure no one wastes their time, thinking this will be easy money.”

From the way she said that, he got the distinct feeling that she had in fact told this to everyone thinking to apply to the expedition. Which is why he merely nodded, “That’s perfectly understandable.” (No reason to get cross with someone just doing their job.)

The woman paused for a moment before letting out a relieved sigh as she wrote something down on a sheet of paper. “At the very least you’re the reasonable sort.”

“I’m guessing some felt this interview unnecessary.” He sympathized, just imagining what kind of folk this poor woman had had to deal with.

“Amongst… other issues.” The woman grimaced, before giving him a proper once over her eyes falling on the black emblem of an eye and several letters stamped several times over on his crimson coat. “That insignia… are you part of a known organization?”

It was his turn to grimace, even as he forced himself to nod once more. “Yes, ma’am. Or rather I was a soldier during the War…”

“Well, we’ve a fair few of those within our encampment already.” The woman assured him, not knowing that her words did the opposite. “Perhaps you’ll find some of your old companions here.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled back, knowing damn well that he wouldn’t.

“Now it wasn’t listed on the poster, but you have brought your own armaments, yes?” The woman asked him, her eyes drifting to the space his gun would be beneath his coat.

“Ah, yes.” He answered, opening his coat enough to show the gun strapped to his leg rather than in a holster like most slingers would have it.

The woman blinked as she gave his gun a curious look before adjusting her glasses. “Pardon me, I’m not the most familiar with firearms but that doesn’t look like anything standard.”

“I’d be concerned if it did.” (Very concerned…) He admitted without drawing the blocky revolver that weighed thrice what any other hand cannon would. “It’s a custom make.”

“You’re a tinkerer?” The woman asked with a fair amount of astonishment.

“Ah, no.” He winced, less because of the reputation the odd ones had gotten and more because, “My brother is, but I know how to maintain everything he… gave me.”

“O-oh…” The woman winced herself, noticing how he turned slightly away from her even if for a different reason. “M-my condolences.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He told her, knowing she didn’t mean anything by it.

The woman stared at him for a moment, her eyes gaining a considering look as she nervously bit her lip. “Now, you said you’re not a tinkerer yourself, but that you can maintain their technology, correct?”

He was reluctant to answer that question honestly, but a growl from his stomach forced him to press on. “I can maintain anything that wasn’t built while one was in the… mad place.” He was unfortunately not suicidal enough to do that. “Though, uh, only the mechanical things. I’m not so good with the things that… bleed.”

“I see…” The woman said before glancing off to the side for a moment and then nodding to herself. Seemingly having come to a decision she turned back to him and told him that, “I… I think that my employer would be quite interested in meeting you themselves.”

“Because of the tinkerer bit.” He noted cautiously, knowing how many people felt about the odd folk the government had dubbed ‘Human Deviations’.

“Yes. I was told should one arrive I should immediately bring them forward but… So far you’re the closest we’ve discovered to that criteria.” The woman explained.

“Uh-huh… And I don’t suppose you’d be willing to explain what exactly she wants a tinkerer for?” He pressed, because while he knew he was going to accept the job -he was too hungry to refuse- that didn’t mean he was stupid enough to walk into whatever this was blind.

“It has to do with the core objective of the expedition.” The woman answered.

“The reclamation of Belle Plain?” He frowned, knowing that ‘reclaiming’ a Ghost Town usually meant something other than just making it habitable. (After all, there’s a reason some rich guy is willing to pay to clear one out.)

“I… I think it’s better if you ask my employer that.” The woman admitted with a grimace.

(Oh, this is so going to bite me in the butt…) “Well, then lead the way Ms…?”

The woman blinked before gasping. “Oh, my! I completely forgot to introduce myself! How rude of me! My name is Blake Sherfield.”

“Don’t worry about it, after all I didn’t introduce myself as ‘Neil Truman’ either.” He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, Mr. Truman, if you'd follow me to my employer’s tent I’m sure they can answer any questions you have about our expedition.” The woman -Ms. Sherfield- told him as she stood and made her way to a gap between the encirclement of wagons that made up the center of the camp.

Stepping between the wagons they found themselves in a small camp with a trio of tents, one of which looked impractically big for anyone making their way through the wilderness. (Meaning that’s probably where the rich city slicker bankrolling this operation is sleeping.)

In front of this tent was a large man -dressed in a duster with dark hair and rugged features- cooking something above the campfire in the middle of it all. When the man looked up and their eyes met, Neil had no doubts that while this man wasn’t the one paying for everything he was in fact the one running everything.

“You’ve brought us another volunteer Ms. Sherfield?” The man asked, giving him a once over. “Hmm, not really dressed for this weather.”

“Coat is surprisingly cool.” He shrugged, fully aware that the man’s eyes were locked onto the emblem on his chest, trying to recognize it.

“Is that even more tinker’s work?” Ms. Sherfield blinked, drawing attention to something that while he wasn’t necessarily hiding wasn’t something he was trying to spread around either.

The man’s eyes immediately narrowed. “You’re a tinkerer?”

“No, but I’ve worked with more than a few of their-”

“We’ve finally found a tinkerer?” A feminine voice called from the tent, before a young woman with pale blonde hair stepped out of the tent.

Her eyes locked onto him with no small amount of interest as she made her way around the grimacing man. (Probably wanted to run his own interview of me before she spotted me.)

Before she could get too close to him, he took a couple of steps back and turned the most blatant piece of tinker work on him away from her. “No, not a tinkerer. Just someone with a lot of experience dealing with tinkerers.”

“Oh.” The woman gained a vaguely disappointed look, held back by whatever high class etiquette said that showing strong emotions was ‘inappropriate’ behavior.

(Which is why you can’t trust ‘upper class’ folk.) He liked to give people the benefit of the doubt, but (Anyone that thinks being honest about their feelings ain’t going to be honest in their dealings.)

The fact that the woman’s gaze had a calculating edge to it as she looked him over, more than doubled that particular bit of advice at the moment. “What kind of experience do you have dealing with them Mr.?”

“Truman. Neil Truman.” He introduced himself with a curt nod. “And I’ve worked on more than one Ghost Town reclamation before.”

“Oh, under whose employ? If you don’t mind me asking for your references?” The woman asked, with the semi-flirtatious look that told him she’d tempted more than one man into idiocy. “If it’s a friend of mine perhaps I can even grant you a more favorable contract?”

“I’ll have to decline.” He frowned. “After all, discretion is something you lot always pay for.” (The real trick is getting that payment in money rather than in bullets fired at me. And that means keeping my mouth shut.)

“Hmm, can’t blame a girl for being curious.” The woman shrugged.

“Depends on what part of Belle Plain has you curious.” He argued, knowing that there was always a reason folk wanted to go exploring Ghost Towns and it had very little to do with bringing the town back.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him for a moment. “My, my, you are a sharp one, aren’t you Mr. Truman?”

“Eh, I’ve met sharper.” He admitted, knowing exactly how many times he’d been conned over the years, as well as the fact that that number was notably higher than it would be for other men with his experiences.

“I’m sure…” The woman grinned, before crossing her arms and making her way back to Ms. Sherfield who offered her a paper. “I’m also sure, you’ll keep the contents of this meeting discrete?”

“So long as I’m paid.” (And you’re not doing anything too untoward.) Regardless of being a coward, he did still have principles after all.

“And you’ll be paid so long as you prove your worth.” The woman assured him, reading the page over. “You were in the military, yes? What branch?”

“Internal Guard.” He answered honestly, since the newest branch was the one to deal with the newest problems in the country. Namely how much weirder the frontier had gotten since the Great Shift.

The woman glanced at the rugged man, who nodded as he lit up a cigar. “Don’t recognize the unit emblem, but it would make sense given his coat. Internal Guard always got the newest toys compared to the older branches, and that coat is clearly a new toy given how heavy it is without making him sweat. Where exactly were you stationed?”

“Here and there, I was mostly Interior Guard for the research branch of things.” He was not stupid enough to actually name where or who he was actually stationed with, given how the end of his military career came to be.

The man chuckled. “Interior Guard for the Internal Guard. Knew they were more scientists than soldiers, but didn’t expect them to need a nanny to watch them.”

“We were all part of the same team.” He lied. To them or himself he wasn’t sure. (I mean it wasn’t all a lie… was it?)

“True enough.” The man sighed, likely thinking he meant something other than what he was actually thinking of.

“Based on what you’ve said, I assume this means that while he himself isn’t a Tinkerer he likely worked quite close with Tinkerers himself?” The woman asked after a moment.

“It’s a safe bet.” The man nodded. “Though he was probably more their bodyguard or test subject than an actual scientist type.”

“More the latter than the former.” He cut in, wishing they wouldn’t speculate about something he didn’t like thinking about. “Meaning at the very least I know how to operate most mechanical Tinker work. Unless it’s something… particularly maddening, in which case we’d be better off burying whatever it is six miles under.”

The woman stared at him again with another one of her considering gazes. “A bad experience with Tinker work?”

(All around him metal erupted through the corpses of the dead, each and every one just more fuel for the machine at the source of it all.)

He clenched his fist behind his back, his hand wrapping around his forearm as he struggled not to let them see it. “I… I’ve seen a town become a Ghost Town before.”

“Ah…” They both had the decency to grimace at that, while Ms. Sherfield let out a gasp.

(Yeah, everyone is happy to pick over the town’s carcass, but none of them want to remember why the town is a carcass in the first place.) He shook his head before running a hand down his face. (No. No. Don’t let the bad thoughts win…)

“Well then…” The young woman coughed. “At the very least you do have enough experience that I believe you’ll be of quite some aid in our coming expedition. Enough so to offer you a position slightly higher than the rest of our employees.”

He gave her a cautious look. “And that means?”

The rugged man spoke up. “It means, that the only person you’ll have to directly answer to is the three of us, but at the same time no one else in camp will have to answer to you. Since you’ll be hired more for your expertise on how to handle things, you’ll be directly working with us to keep everyone alive rather than just working like our other men.”

“It also means you’ll be paid twice what our other employees are.” The woman tacked on after a moment.

He couldn’t help but whistle at that.

A hundred dollars wasn’t just enough to survive for a few months but really live it up for those months, if he didn’t just stretch it out for the rest of the year. (A whole month of sleeping in an actual bed with two, no three whole meals every day…)

“Well, if you’re going to be paying me that much I’d like to know how to actually earn it.” He told them, trying to keep his hunger -and more importantly desperation- from showing.

“That can wait for later. For now Mr. Crawford was just finishing preparing our dinner, why don’t you join us and tell us a bit more about yourself.” The woman offered with a smile that was just a little too practiced.

“That’s uh, mighty kind of you, but if we’re going to be eating together then we should at least know each other’s names.” He told her, not because he had any issue eating a meal with a stranger having done that hundreds of times over the years, but because having a name to put to this expedition might tell him just how trustworthy this lot really was. (After all, I’ve been bitten enough times to recognize a few names.) “I mean, I know Ms. Sherfield, and I now know Mr. Crawford, but unfortunately…”

“I haven’t introduced myself.” The woman nodded, before offering the back of her hand. “Eliza Fairweather, of the Tennesse Fairweathers.”

(Okay, so… not anyone I actually know.) Given how proud Ms. Fairweather seemed of that introduction, he got the distinct feeling that it would be better to keep that thought to himself, and so instead pointed out, “We’re a fair bit from Tennessee.” as he shook her hand.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ve heard how we’re at the start of a new age Mr. Truman.” Ms. Fairweather told him, taking a seat near the campfire as she shook out her hand. “Now that we women have suffrage rights in the US it’s only fair that those of us previously held back by our station begin pushing forward.”

“That’s a happy thought.” He smiled wryly.

Ms. Fairweather’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t believe a woman can become a man’s equal.”

“Trust me, I’ve seen enough of this world to know we’re all equal as far as nature is concerned.” He grimaced. “The problem is that people don’t like it when they have to suddenly treat their ‘lessers’ as ‘equals’. Ol’ Jim Crow more than proves that.”

Ms. Fairweather’s eye twitched. “I… can see your point though I do believe our situations are different.”

He gave her a sad smile. “The fact you do is why it’s so sad that there isn’t.”

“Well, the situation is improving, isn’t it?” Ms. Sherfield asked accepting a bowl from Mr. Crawford. “Ever since the Great Shift there have been more and more Travelers and people have been accepting of them.”

“Because they won’t take the same bull dust humans give each other.” Mr. Crawford added. “The places that accept them realized that hirin’ the foreign soldiers and craftsman stranded here could only prove profitable or give ‘em the edge they’d need with how much the Shift has changed things. The fact that their mercenaries changed the rules of the Great War proved that to everyone.”

“True, better mercenary guardians than traveling bandits.” Ms. Fairweather nodded in agreement as she accepted her own bowl.

“Oh…” Ms. Sherfield frowned, sounding disheartened by that cold truth.

“Have you ever met a Traveler?” He idly wondered, his eyes more on her food than Ms. Sherfield herself.

“There was an Avarician woman in my hometown. She was always so kind to everyone, she was a seamstress but she also taught all of the town’s children all that she could. I remember she had such pretty feathers.” Ms. Sherfield smiled. “How about you Mr. Truman?”

“I’ve met my fair share, good and bad, while with the Guard.” He admitted, briefly recalling some friends he hadn’t seen in years. (Not since… Juillet…) “Should track a few of them down sometime…” (Even if none of them want to talk to me… It’ll be good to know who made it out in one piece.)

He was drawn out of his thoughts as Mr. Crawford (finally) brought him his own bowl, his mouth watering at the mere idea of the first real food he’d be eating in days.

When it was finally in his hands, he found that he didn’t quite have as much self-control as he’d been hoping.

“Oh, my! You’re eating like you haven’t eaten in three days!”

(That’s because I haven’t…)

---

A few days later, once they were half-way to Belle Plain, Ms. Fairweather finally deigned to brief him on the particulars of their current expedition into the old Ghost Town. And from the way she’d been behaving that was more due to her own impatience than anything else, something he’d recognized on his first day when he’d thought to ask her about their job only to realize she was waiting for him. A power game he’d recognized from more than one of his more distasteful commanding officers in the military.

(Too bad for her I was fully prepared to walk into this place blind as long as I got to eat every day until then.) He may’ve been a coward, but he was a hungry coward.

“Now then as has been previously established Belle Weather is a Ghost Town, and as I’m sure you know every Ghost Town has a story about how it became a Ghost Town.” Ms. Fairweather told him, unrolling a map along the bottom of the wagon they were riding in. (One that could’ve been used for more supplies, but well… it’s her money we’re all spending so…)

“Belle Weather was originally founded as a frontier college town, a place to gather the west’s most educated for betterment and intellectual pursuits.” His employer continued. “In the beginning things were going fairly well, until the railroad decided that this town wasn’t worth adding to its line. Thus causing the population to slowly shrivel as people moved to better opportunities elsewhere as an out of the way college simply wasn’t worth the trip when there were more convenient ones on the line.”

“So closer to the ‘mines went dry’ end of the spectrum rather than the ‘unholy demon slaughtered all townsfolk’ end.” He noted, thinking (that means we won’t have to worry about accidentally summoning the Demon back.)

“Correct.” Ms. Fairweather nodded. “On its own this wouldn’t amount to much, but there are two factors in our favor for this expedition, both due to the fact that this was a college established shortly before the Great Shift when the odd folk were first beginning to come out…”

“You think enough of them gathered to have something worth all the money you’re spending on all of this.” He finished for her. “And given how you were looking for a Tinkerer I’m guessing whatever information you have on this place leans to the more mechanical side of things.”

“In part.” Ms. Fairweather glanced towards Ms. Sherfield.

The other woman shifted in place for a moment before explaining that, “Thanks to my education from an Avarician I can recognize more mystical signs than most, even if I lack the ‘spark’ to perform any magic myself. While we’ll require someone with the actual talent to determine how valuable our findings are, I can still spot and even dismantle anything magical we come across.”

“But how can you dismantle magic if you don’t- Ah, you’ve a red soul.” He realized, before frowning when he saw Ms. Sherfield flinch. “Oh, apologies Ms.” (Forgot that’s considered a bad omen in some places…)

Irony was, while everyone else was scared of the ‘Demonic’ red souls he was terrified of the ‘pure’ white souls.

The young woman assured him with a smile that didn’t look quite right. “It’s, it’s fine.”

“You do know that most colleges didn’t take magic seriously before the Great Shift.” He said, trying to force the conversation along. “If you’re hoping to find some grand magical find you’d be better off going to a Ghost Town with a famous church of some kind.”

“I’m aware.” Ms. Fairweather nodded. “In truth, she’s more here to cover our bases and maximize our profits on this endeavor. You however will be the one with the most value on this expedition, with your ability to recognize and use tinker work.”

“Well, this’ll be the first time someone has considered me the most valued member of a project.” He chuckled, lightly before bringing up the fact that, “It does make me wonder though why you’re accepting a half-rate tinker guinea pig, instead of tracking down a known Tinker… preferably one who used to live in Belle Plain at some point?”

Ms. Fairweather flinched. “Ah, normally I would, but unfortunately tracking down a tinker resident who was absent prior to the town ‘dying’ proved more costly than it was worth, and I was forced to find something more befitting our time tables.”

He glanced out the back of their wagon at the other wagons and the numerous men that had been hired to the expedition. (Right, ‘costly’... Really hope I’m still getting paid at the end of this.)

Instead of continuing that line of thought he instead pointed out that, “You said there were two factors in our favor thanks to the Great Shift?”

“Ah, yes.” Ms. Fairweather nodded, looking relieved by the change of topic. “Normally when a town is shut down due to financial reasons a bank or some such would come through and clear the town out of anything valuable thanks to most taking out loans or mortgages in an attempt to continue operations. Bell Plain College was no exception, however when the loans came due the lenders gave the college a few years to finish out the education of those in attendance on condition that they would not accept new students.”

“An extension that was further underlined by the Great Shift.” He figured, putting things together. “Though given how monsters roaming the wilds probably scared everyone off to the cities I doubt it bought the college much time.”

“It did not.” Ms. Fairweather nodded. “However, due to the circumstances the bank never returned to foreclose or collect anything of value from the plains. This means that anything of value was left in the college, possibly leaving a small treasure trove of- ” The entire wagon suddenly shuddered as Mr. Crawford let out a yell from the front, causing all of them to topple at the sudden stop.

“Mr. Crawford, what is the meaning of this?!” Ms. Fairweather cried, moving to the front of the wagon.

“Apologies ma’am, but I believe we’ve a bit of a problem up ahead.” Mr. Crawford explained. “Some trees are blocking the route. Which is particularly bad business.”

“With this many men in our company I’d think a few trees wouldn’t be much of a problem.” Ms. Fairweather argued.

“It wouldn’t be if those trees hadn’t been sawed down.” He noted, looking at the trees as he took a spot next to their benefactor. “There’s no stumps near the base either… Any towns or cities nearby?”

“Abilene is about half a day out, it’s actually the town that caused Belle Plain to shut down.” Ms. Sherfield told them.

“More than close enough to hold the place up.” He frowned looking around the forest.

“My thoughts exactly.” Mr. Crawford nodded, lighting up a cigar. “Don’t see anyone right now, but fully possible they had someone watching this spot while their camp is elsewhere. If there’s enough men, having them all here would just make them more likely to get caught.”

“Need to be close enough that they don’t miss their score when it comes by though.” He grinned wryly as he looked the whole thing over. “Given how many trees there are and how the nearby looks, we’ve got maybe half an hour to get them moved and get moving.”

“With a company our size that ain’t happening.” Mr. Crawford told him, killing any hopes he had of getting through this without violence.

“Y-you think there’s bandits here?” Ms. Sherfield shakily asked.

“Not yet, but they will be.” Mr. Crawford answered as he climbed out of his seat. “I’ll get the men to hold up a defensive, but we’re going to need some of them to get the trees moving, else they might realize something is up and none of us will get anything done.”

“I can get to work on that but I’m going to need some horses and rope to move trees of that size and we’ll probably be sitting ducks while we set it all up.” He offered, knowing that when the guns came out… his own value would be going down a fair bit.

“No, you are the least expendable of my men here.” Ms. Fairweather argued. “If you end up dead here, then the expedition’s chance of success is halved.”

He couldn’t help but balk at that. “Feel like you’re overestimating my worth by a fair bit there, ma’am. Besides I’m wearing a Tinker coat, as long as it hits my back or chest I’m a lot safer than anyone else here.” It’d still bruise, but at the very least he wouldn’t be at risk of dying like everyone else. (And that’s before counting that other thing…)

“It doesn’t matter too much, the trees are too big for one man to move and I sincerely doubt you can wrangle that many horses by yourself when you don’t even have one.” Mr. Crawford cut in.

“Horses are expensive in this economy!” He tried to defend.

“No, Ms. Fairweather is right. You might not be as important as she seems to think but you are more important than the other men we can put on this.” Mr. Crawford shut him down. “If you want to be helpful you can keep a watch for if and when the bandits show up. Or is that gun of yours just for show?”

“I… fine…” He sighed, hating the idea of letting someone else do the dangerous job when he could be the one doing it.

With that settled Mr. Crawford and Ms. Fairweather got to work rallying the men and getting them to work moving the trees, leaving him and Ms. Sherfield sitting in the wagon, her eyes watching the tree line with no small amount of anxiety while he did so more calmly. Far more used to having guard duty during his guard days. (Even if staying focused does give me a headache.)

“How much danger do you think we’re in?” She eventually asked him, when her stress reached a breaking point of sorts.

“About as much as you ever are on the frontier.” He admitted. “Though probably more than a group this size would usually face, but a lot less than someone on their lonesome would. If this weren’t clearly set up to rob caravans I’d think a group this size might even scare off whoever is behind this.”

“Meaning they’re probably ready to deal with a group this size if they want to.” Ms. Sherfield grimaced.

He shrugged. “Probably but I wouldn’t be too worried.”

“Why not?” Ms. Sherfield frowned, less in irritation and more in confusion.

“You forget that Ms. Fairweather and Mr. Crawford have built this caravan to tackle a Ghost Town, and while this is probably one of the softer ones out there, that ain’t a venture you take on without being ready to put up a fight.” He explained before stretching his leg out and kicking a bundle off to the side of the wagon, causing the tarp to fall just enough to see a couple of the gun barrels underneath. “While they might not trust all of the volunteers alone with them, they’ve got enough heavier guns and dynamite in these wagons to take on a small army.” (And that’s only a mild exaggeration.)

When he’d found the guns he was hoping they were born more of paranoid caution than expected necessity, and he was really hoping they weren’t going to do something stupidly violent like the last caravan he’d seen with this many arms.

“I’m not sure if the knowledge I’ve been sleeping while surrounded by weapons and explosives is all that reassuring.” Ms. Sherfield told him dryly, before giving him a wry grin. “Though I appreciate the attempt, regardless.”

“Had to try to-” (A tree branch snapped, and the distinct sound of a gun hammer cocking sounded through the air.)

Not hesitating he stood up while drawing his gun before pointing it towards the sounds only he had heard and firing it twice into a tree as a warning to both friend and foe.

All around him people jumped at the sudden thundering of the gunshot, the quicker on the draw spotting him before pulling their own guns and aiming it in the same direction as him.

(An intense pain rippled through the back of his head, filling it with cotton and fuzz before) he turned around and fired a second set of warning shots at the bandits that had circled round to the otherside of the caravan.

With the entire caravan now on alert, the bandits kept to their hiding spots, not willing to come out from cover with so many guns drawn from what was supposed to be their unsuspecting victims. Of course, the fact that they remained hidden meant that it was only a moment before the entirety of the caravan began to let their guard down, because unlike him they didn’t know that they were surrounded on both sides.

“Mr. Truman?” Ms. Sherfield asked cautiously, his sudden actions clearly having given her a fright.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Ms. Fairweather yelled with far less caution as she stormed towards him, Mr. Crawford not far behind though with his attention more on their surroundings.

“It seems the bandits managed to encircle us.” He informed them, raising his voice as his eyes drifted between the two places he shot. “Not sure how many there but there are definitely two behind those trees there.”

“You sure, because I’m not seeing anyone.” Mr. Crawford frowned, as he searched the treeline.

“So help me Mr. Truman if you’ve sent us into a panic over nothing…” Ms. Fairweather growled, her voice trailing off in warning.

“If you want we can send a few men to flush them out with their guns.” He shouted towards the tree line, hoping his voice would be enough to-

“Now, now. No need for that!” A smooth voice yelled from the forest. “We don’t mean you any trouble here! We were just passin’ through the forest and happened upon your caravan there!”

“Then why are you on both sides of our caravan? That seems awfully like a pincer movement to me.” Mr. Crawford called back.

“I have no idea what you mean sir, it’s just me and my boy out here!” The smooth voice answered, a hand waving a hat out from behind the tree. “Here give me just a moment and we’ll step out of cover and everything!”

From where he fired the first two shots he saw a man in a duster stepping out from behind the tree he’d shot while a second younger man stepped out from another tree. “See, just the two of us. Nowhere near enough to be any kind of threat to so many people here. If you’ll let us, we'll be right on our way, no trouble whatsoever!”

“What do you think we should do?” Ms. Fairweather asked Mr. Crawford, her voice low enough that only those near her could hear her. “If Mr. Truman was right about one side than odds are he was right about both.”

“Agreed.” Mr. Crawford nodded. “Unfortunately, if we let them go, odds are they’ll try again once we let our guards down or set up a second ambush further down this road. We need a way to flush them all out or else we’re just putting the problem off.”

Ms. Fairweather frowned. “Do you think the speaker is their actual leader?”

“Possibly, at the very least he’s their best fast talker.” Mr. Crawford shrugged.

“Alright…” Ms. Fairweather sighed before stepping forward. “If you’re no threat then you’ll have no problem coming closer so we can actually converse.”

Niel wasn’t sure if the others caught it, but the man’s face twitched, that clearly not being what he wanted to do even as the man slapped on a large smile and said, “Of course, I would love to converse with lovely young lady such as yourself! And it would do the boy some good to learn how to do the same.”

“What do you want us to do?” Mr. Crawford asked as they watched the pair come closer.

“You and Mr. Truman take a few of the men, not enough to be noticeable but enough to deal with any trouble you come across.” Ms. Fairweather ordered, her eyes darting between the two of them. “See if you can’t clear out whoever is surrounding us while me and Ms. Sherfield keep these two distracted. If they are the leaders of this, hopefully their men won’t act while they're surrounded by ours.”

“Risky, don’t like leaving you alone ma’am.” Mr. Crawford admitted. “Kind of thing your father would skin me for.”

“My father isn’t here, and even if you are sending him letters I’m the one currently paying you.” Ms. Fairweather pointed out testily. “Ms. Sherfield and I are more than competent enough to handle ourselves, isn’t that, right?”

The other woman of their group blinked, clearly not having expected to be dragged into this, and clearly not liking it based on her anxious expression. Still, despite this Ms. Sherfield put on a nervous smile and gave a nod. “R-right, I’m sure that, we’ll, we’ll be fine. I mean, Ms. Fairweather, you do have your gun, yes?”

“I do.” Ms. Fairweather assured her secretary quietly before more loudly telling him and Mr. Crawford, “Now the two of you get back to clearing the road. If we want to make Abilene by sundown we need those trees gone as soon as possible. And try not to be too distracting while I speak with our guests.”

“We won’t.” Mr. Crawford nodded, before grabbing his shoulder and giving Niel a gentle push even as the older man glared at the newcomers. “And you two don’t be afraid to holler if you need anything.”

“Is this really a good idea?” He frowned as he was dragged away from his employer and her assistant. “I don’t much like the idea of leaving an enemy in the camp.” (I’ve made that mistake before and I’d rather not make it again…)

Mr. Crawford let out a dry laugh. “I don’t much like it either, which is why we should clear the forest as fast as we can.”

“Right… If, if we’re going to do this quietly it’ll be better if I do it by myself… my side at least.” If he brought someone else odds are things would devolve into a more open gunfight and that was not something he wanted.

Mr. Crawford watched him for a moment before nodding. “If you think that’s for the best, but if things fall apart you’ll be on your own until we clear things out on my end.”

“I’m aware, but you’d be surprised how often the rule was ‘stay quiet, stay alive’ in the Guard. And if the worst comes to…” He drew his gun, a very obvious piece of Tinker work even if no one here knew what it did. “I’m better armed than any of your men. So, do you want the northside or the south?”

“True enough.” Mr. Crawford accepted. “Their leader came from the north, might be easier for you since that side is down two men and probably keeping twice an eye on him in case something happens. I’ll take a few of the boys and sweep the south.”The other man told him before walking off to find whoever he trusted to go with him.

He glanced over his shoulder at Ms. Sherfield and Ms. Fairweather, noticing even this far away how nervous the former looked even as the latter charmed the two probably outlaws.

Knowing that there was little he could do there, he shook his head before making a quick detour to the wagon he knew held the medical supplies. (Might as well see if I can’t make this easier for myself…)

“What do you want?” The guard Mr. Crawford had set for this wagon’s supplies asked upon seeing him.

“Oh, not much… Just need to borrow a bit of what an old doctor friend of mine called, ‘a soldier’s best friend during surgery’.” He answered, noting how the man was clearly on edge after the earlier gunshots. “It’s for something I’m helping Mr. Crawford with.”

The guard watched him for a moment, before nodding his head towards the wagon. Something Niel had been hoping for given how often he’d been seen around the two running this expedition.

It took a minute to find a bottle of the clear liquid, but once he had he dumped it into an old rag before toppering the bottle and putting the rest back.

“What do you need that for?” The guard frowned.

“Just hoping to make this next part as painless as possible for everyone involved.” He explained, before heading to the back of the caravan and sneaking off into the northern half of the forest.

Part of him was hoping -despite knowing otherwise- that the two in his camp were the only two on this side of things, especially since he knew how most ‘bandits’ were dealt with out here in the west. At the same time he also knew that with how harsh the lands were the law needed to be just as harsh to those who broke it to maintain what order it could.

The gun at his side felt heavier with each step he took.

He shook his head. (No, now’s not the time for regrets or wishful thinking. Need to find and deal with whoever those two had out here with them.)

Which is why rather than continuing on with his deeply regretted compromises between compassion and reality, he focused on his hearing as he moved through the forest. His steps borderline inaudible as he avoided stepping on any form of foliage as he made his way to where he found the first two bandits.

Eventually he heard, “-then what do you suggest!” Hissed quietly enough that most people wouldn’t have picked up on it over the natural sounds of the forest.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting the boss to just turn himself over like that.” A second admitted, sounding equally frustrated.

“Well I doubt he was expecting that one bastard to shoot next to his boy’s head. Can’t blame a man for wanting to protect his child.” A third pointed out. “Especially when this wagon train is at least three times the size of our usual hauls.”

“Yeah, going to be a shame to just let a haul this size go but rushing in while the boss is in the middle of everyone just ain’t smart.” The second voice agreed with the third. “Hopefully, he’ll talk his way out and have another plan for us when he gets back.”

(At the very least this proves those two were planning on robbing us…) He sighed to himself.

After a moment the first voice spoke up again, “For now we should pull away from the caravan in case they send anyone this way to investigate like they did the other side.”

There was a shifting sound and he took cover behind a tree on the side opposite of the voices. “You think those dumbasses are going to get themselves caught?”

“No telling, but it won’t do us any good to be caught either.” The third answered. “Especially if there’s a shootout and they decide to take the boss with them. Someone is going to need to break him and his boy out.”

“Shouldn’t we stick around in case they try to shoot the boss or something?” The first voice wondered.

“He’s in the middle of their camp, we can’t do much to help him when he’s got a dozen guns on him.” The third voice explained before there was the rustling of movement across the forest floor.

After a moment he peeked around the tree and spotted the men making their way away from the wagon train. Leaving him free to follow, and glad that he hadn’t been lying to Crawford when he’d told the man that the Internal Guard had a surprising amount of need for stealth in their operations. Largely when they were trying to keep something inhuman from finding and killing them, (but the principle is largely the same here.)

So moving swiftly and silently he made his way behind the straggler of the trio, and as he neared the man he drew his gun with one hand and the chemical soak clothed with the other.

(Okay, three men… Need to be quick and smart about this… can’t let a shot go off or I’ll put the other party-) The sound of a gunshot thundered through the air. (Oh, come on!)

“What was that?!” One of the trio stumbled, as they all looked up.

As more gunshots began to go off he rushed forward, using his heavier than normal gun to pistol whip the straggler with enough force to send the man toppling to the ground.

“The hell?!” Someone shouted as he rushed the second outlaw, tackling the man to the ground in a maneuver that would leave the man’s body between him and the last outlaw while also letting him cover the man’s face with the chloroform soaked cloth he’d brought.

He hooked a leg over the pinned man’s arm to keep him from getting away, and to leave his arm free to aim his gun at the final outlaw.

“Don’t even think about it!” He shouted, firing one round to the side of the man’s head.

The last man froze, his eyes drifting to his pinned friend attempting to break free by pulling at his arm and removing the cloth from his mouth. Unfortunately for both of them, it was also the one limb Niel had that would hold on even if you were to cut him off at the shoulder.

“Now, I’d really prefer we get through this without anyone here getting hurt so toss your gun to the side and get on the ground.” He ordered as the man in his arms slowly went limp, the anesthetic taking hold.

The bandit grit his teeth before reaching for his gun.

“Slower.” He growled, able to just see in the man’s movements what he was planning. “You don’t want your friend caught in the crossfire do you?”

The man’s eyes narrowed and Niel began pulling the trig- (innocent eyes stared up at him their life long since faded, and only became more nightmarish as the body’s hands reached for him. A stance matched by every other corpse in the yard.)

He threw the outlaw on top of him to one side and dove to the other as the one he hadn’t caught drew his gun and opened fire.

Scrambling to his feet, he watched where the barrel of the outlaw’s gun was aimed and raised his free hand towards it as more bullets pinged through the air.

Within two steps he had the barrel pushed to the side and his gun under the outlaw’s chin as the other man stared at him with wide and terrified eyes. “H-how?!”

“You know, I might’ve explained that if ya hadn’t tried to shoot me.” He frowned, before pulling his gun back and smashing its barrel across the man’s nose, breaking it as Niel knocked him unconscious.

He took a moment to catch his breath and make sure that the three were really down, before moving to take their guns and -upon seeing the rope they’d been carrying for reasons he’d rather not think about- bound them so that they wouldn’t be able to get away.

With the last of the outlaws knocked unconscious and restrained he started making his way back towards the wagon train, knowing that things had probably gone south with how much gunfire he was hearing. Whatsmore now that they had proof that there were more bandits with the father-son duo, as well as the fact that they no longer had said reinforcements, it would be far safer for everyone if Ms. Fairweather knew to restrain the pair.

A plan that proved a too little too late as by the time he got back to the wagon he found the pair slowly backing away from the camp with half a dozen guns pointed at them and their hostage of Ms. Sherfield.

It didn’t take him long to find Ms. Fairweather in the center of her men, the woman with her own gun pointed at the father and son holding her secretary hostage.

Knowing that he’d need to work with her to get Ms. Sherfield out of this in one piece he waved an arm through the air, catching the attention of one of the men towards the end of their little line up, who then went on to whisper something to the rest.

When Ms. Fairweather finally looked his way, he gestured towards himself and Ms. Sherfield’s captor -the father- before gesturing back towards her and the son. Figuring that between the father and son, it’d be better for everyone if he got the captive out of the crossfire.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

After a moment Ms. Fairweather locked her eyes onto the son and shifted her stance, making it clear which one she intended to go after. Something that was further underlined when she called out, “I think that’s far enough with Ms. Sherfield. Let her go now and no one here will shoot, don’t and we’ll gun your son down.”

“Now, now, Ms. Fairweather, don’t you care about your little assistant here? Don’t want to risk anything happening to her do you?” The father asked, even as the son’s stance switched to something much more nervous.

Ms. Fairweather glared at the man.“I don’t, but I’m not particularly worried about you at the moment.”

“And why not?”

He chose that as the best moment to move, rushing forward and grabbing the outlaws gun by the barrel and jerking it away from Ms. Sherfield.

A gunshot tore through the air as the outlaw still managed to pull the trigger on his gun, but given the lack of blood from Ms. Sherfield, he didn’t slow down as he kicked out the back of the outlaw’s leg, sending him to his knee before bashing him upside the skull and kicking him away.

The son yelled, “Pa!” before pointing his own gun at Ms. Sherfield. “All of you stop or I’ll shoot her!”

A threat that would’ve been significantly more threatening if he didn’t step between the young outlaw and Ms. Sherfield, hand raised towards the gun as he strode forward.

Not expecting any of this, the boy could do little more than panic, firing a shot that merely hit the ground, before Niel punched him hard enough to send him flying onto his back.

Feeling a slight sting to his knuckles, even through his gloves, he couldn’t help but shake his hand out. (Really should’ve punched him with the less squishy hand…)

“Good work, Mr. Truman.” Ms. Fairweather congratulated him as she made her way over. “Who knows what these two would’ve done to our dear Ms. Sherfield if you hadn’t stepped in.” The woman pointed her gun at the downed outlaws, clearly intent on giving them her own dose of frontier justice. “I’ll be sure to give you a bonus for this.”

“H-hold on!” He shouted, unable to let her pull the trigger. “We can’t, we can’t just execute them like this.”

“Why not? They quite clearly had no issue doing the same with Bl- Ms. Sherfield.” Ms. Fairweather growled, briefly catching herself on Ms. Sherfield’s name.

(Right, she’s… she’s just worried for her friend, this isn’t what she’s really like, which is why) “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t kill them. It’s exactly what they would do, and executing half a dozen men when we don’t have to, when Abilene is barely half a day away, that would make us little better than murderers like them. Wouldn’t it Ms. Fairweather?”

His employer glared at him harshly enough that for a brief moment he thought she might turn that gun on him, before her eyes shifted to something behind him and softened. A quick glance confirmed that something was a terrified Ms. Sherfield.

The blonde woman inhaled deeply, before exhaling and holstering her gun. “No it wouldn’t. But we may luck out and they’ll have a bounty or some such.” With that said, Ms. Fairweather turned to leave. “Come along Ms. Sherfield, we need to make sure those ruffians did you no harm. Mr. Truman, go make sure that Mr. Crawford has cleaned up his end of things.”

He let out a relieved sigh, glad that he wouldn’t have a hand in killing anyone else today given how the lack of gunfire told him whatever had happened with the other man would be settled by the time he got there.

---

That night the men decided to have a small ‘celebration’ about catching the small outlaw group, taking full advantage of the fact that their employers were too busy dealing with the nearby town to actually stop them. With Ms. Fairweather having apparently decided to stay in a hotel while they were so close to a city proper, but only after handing out a few bonuses to the men who had helped apprehend the outlaws. Bonuses that had quickly been spent on booze and bringing a few ‘friends’ back to camp.

Given the circumstances he wasn’t really in the mood to sit around and get drunk with everyone, which is why he instead found himself sitting in a field outside of camp looking up at the stars and thinking about things until he was too tired to actually think. The only state he could sleep most nights.

Well, that or being blackout drunk but… (If I joined them I’d basically be celebrating too… And I don’t feel like that.)

There were soft steps behind him as he watched the fireflies drift through the field in front of him, before they stopped and his guest stood there watching him.

“Surprised you didn’t stay in town with Ms. Fairweather.” He admitted.

“And I’m surprised you’re not enjoying the evening with everyone else in camp.” Ms. Sherfield confessed.

“I’m not one for partying, truth be told.” The closest he ever got was telling his tall tales in the hopes that someone else would pay to get him drunk enough to sleep. (Damn I’m gloomy tonight…) “Still a bit of a walk to come all this way to find me.”

“Y-yes, well… I, um, I just wanted to thank you for earlier today, when you stepped between me and that outlaw.” Ms. Sherfield explained.

He couldn’t help but grimace at that, twisting it into something that half way resembled a smile. “You didn’t have to go out of your way to do that.” (I really don’t deserve thanks for that kind of thing…)

“You saved my life, I’d think that was worth some kind of thanks.” Ms. Sherfield argued. “Especially when you risked your own to do so. That was, that was quite brave.”

“Not as brave as you think.” He chuckled, rolling up his sleeve to show her what was underneath. Something he’d usually avoid, but (I don’t deserve to be called brave or a hero…)

That was a misconception that he had to correct.

“You’re a Tin man?” Ms. Sherfield gasped, as the moonlight revealed his metal arm, a piece of Tinker Work that he typically hid given how most people viewed ‘Tin Men’. A view he didn’t think Ms. Sherfield shared, with what little he knew about her.

“It’s… just the arm, but I’ve gotten really good at knowing how to block bullets with it.” He explained. “Meaning I wasn’t really in any danger when I stepped between you and that bandit.”

Ms. Sherfield was quiet for a moment. “Maybe, maybe you don’t think you were brave but… it’s still something not many men would do, especially not for someone they’ve only known a few days.”

(Even knowing that I wasn’t in danger… She-she still thinks I’m some kind of hero…)

“You know I wasn’t always a coward.” He admitted to Ms. Sherfield, deciding that he couldn’t look her in the eye if she didn’t understand why he was a yellow bellied coward and should be treated as such. “When I was a kid I was too angry to really be scared of anything. ‘S part of the reason why I got this thing in the first place. Back when the shift first happened one of those monsters out there attacked the family farm… It, it hurt some people real badly and I went to hurt it back… I killed it, but it cost me my arm. Probably would’ve died if my brother hadn’t panicked and found out he was a Tinkerer.” (Life… life might’ve been kinder for him if he hadn’t done that…)

“When the Marshals passed through after everything in the farm, they decided to ‘draft’ me and my brother into the newly made Internal Guard. Him because he built this and me because I killed that… At first things were fairly good as we pushed back the monsters and saved folk where we could. Back then, I may’ve been the man you think I am.” He continued, a faint smile coming to his face as he remembered the days with his brother by his side. (When I thought we could take the whole world on together…)

“What, what changed?” Ms. Sherfield asked him, clearly not sure if she should. (But then I wouldn’t be telling this story if I didn’t want her to…)

“The death of Juillet happened.” He sighed, his mind flickering back to (corpses littered the streets, metal shards having torn through their skin as the Demon of Blades continued his wretched work.)

Ms. Sherfield gasped, recognizing the infamous Ghost Town where (one thousand, eight-hundred, and sixty-three souls were damned by the Demons born there…)

“It was our hometown and there, there was a Tinkerer in town, my brother’s mentor… He had a breakthrough with my brother’s help… He, he thought he could use it to save lives, and convinced the Guard to let us stay and work on it… Way they’d been running us before, I treated the whole thing like a vacation… trusted my brother to… didn’t realize that…” He inhaled before exhaling as he ran a hand down his face and took a moment to try and gather his thoughts.

“With my brother’s help the tinkerer improved his work… Only instead of helping people that, that bastard used it as a, a weapon!” He growled, the old rage at that betrayal still burning hot inside of him. “Said he was improving humanity and he, he…” A coldness filled him as he remembered (two glowing blues eyes staring at the carnage with a mad joy. Completely uncaring for the innocents dead or the feelings of the monsters once men.)

He rubbed at his eyes, before forcing himself to finish the story he’d told only twice in the last decade. “Everyone knows about the Deadshot Demon, but… but there was more than one ‘Demon’ born from that, that monstrous Tinkerer’s work… The Deadshot Demon was just the only one to… to survive the test of taking on an entire town… And only, only because I… I was too much of a coward to…”

A bitter chuckle escaped him as he pointed two fingers forward. “Two bullets and I could’ve killed both the Tinkerer and the Deadshot Demon… I could’ve avenged an entire town that I watched burn, people that I knew, but I… I couldn’t kill… Even if he was already…”

He shook his head with a bitter smile. “And the worst part is, like some kind of fucked up Necromancer, that bastard made it so that as long as one was alive the other could save them. Technically, he could save all of his monsters but the Deadshot was the only Demon he deigned to let live, because of… sentimentality.”

Ever since that day, that word always filled him with a special kind of hate whenever he heard it. One caused by a knife twisting in the heart.

“I… I’m not alive because I was brave, skilled, or heroic… I’m only alive because that bastard was feeling…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it again, and instead let out a scoffing laugh.

He was quiet for a moment, and when Ms. Sherfield didn’t say anything, he decided to give her some kind of closure on his story, even if he’d never gotten it, “The Guard showed up to clean everything up over the next few weeks, marked the place as a Forbidden Ghost Town… Publicly only… the Deadshot Demon got a bounty, but that’s only because the source of the ‘Plague of Blades’ was considered too dangerous to let Bounty Hunters go after and so instead he was Black Listed with a kill on sight order should the Guard cross him.”

Things didn’t actually play out that prettily, but he doubted she wanted to hear about how some of those lesser Demons still wandered the streets killing anyone stupid enough to enter into the old Ghost Town, or that the Guard failed to destroy the city when they found out it was all contagious. Or even how he’d tried pursuing both of those warrants only to fail time and time again to do anything that mattered. Which is why he let things lapse back into silence.

Neither of them said anything for a while after that, and he was honestly kind of surprised that Ms. Sherfield didn’t just leave him to wallow in his self-made misery.

Instead, she broke the silence, by telling him, “You, you do know that… you’re not a coward because you couldn’t kill your brother… don’t you?”

He gave her a sad grin, because while it was a nice thought, it didn’t change the truth. “Maybe you’re right but… I am responsible for every life the monster he’s become has taken since that day… a monster I’m pretty sure a younger him would’ve wanted me to kill. What’s worse, when I think of all the blood on my hands because of that and that day, I… I can’t pull the trigger if it means taking someone’s life… I… I’ve got too much blood and… if there’s even one more drop I… I think I’ll drown…”

It wasn’t something he’d known when he’d first started using bounty hunting to try and fund his search for what remained of his brother, even when he’d unconsciously been bringing people in alive with he justification that ‘the bounty is higher if they’re alive’ in the face of the extra work leaving him with dozens of new scars.

“I’m not a coward because I couldn’t kill my brother, I’m a coward because I can not and could not kill to save… anyone…”

That revelation hadn’t really settled until one of his hunts went wrong and an innocent child was killed because he just could not pull the trigger. Something their parents made sure he never forgot.

“I don’t… I don’t think that makes you a coward.” Ms. Sherfield told him after a moment. “Especially not out here where there are so many men just looking for a reason to shoot one and other. I mean, just look at those men you rounded up Mr. Crawford killed the men he was sent after but you, you managed to catch all the men on yours without hurting any of them. That-that takes a kind of courage that most men don’t have out here.”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure I did hurt a couple of them.” He smiled at her, not feeling it in the slightest but… (She’s going to keep pressing this…) “I know I at least cracked one of their skulls.”

“Well… as thick-skulled as those men were… I’m sure they could take it.” Mr. Sherfield assured him.

He gave her a huff of amusement at that, before leaning back to stare up at the moon. “Thank you Ms. Sherfield… you’re kinder than I deserve…”

“Blake.”

He blinked before glancing to his side, where Ms. Sherfield wasn’t quite looking at him.

“Blake. You saved my life, so I think it’s more than fair if you… call me by my name.”

He gave her another smile, this one a little more genuine. “Thank you… Blake.” (You really are kinder than I deserve…)

---

A few days later, they finally found themselves outside of Belle Plain where he found himself asking Mr. Crawford, “You did what I suggested right?”

“Yep, sent the men to run a few rings around the town without going inside, made sure they took a close look at both the blacksmith and the graveyard when they did so.” The other man nodded, lighting up a cigar.

“Mind if I ask why you were so insistent about checking those two locations, Mr. Truman?” Ms. Fairweather asked as the three of them plus Blake looked over the few wooden buildings that had withstood the time since the town had collapsed. “Especially when our location of interest is the college proper.”

“Because if the graveyard was dug up that would mean there was a Necromancer in the area, and if the blacksmith had seen recent use then that would mean a Tinkerer has set up shop nearby.” Mr. Crawford explained for him. “I know enough about Ghost Towns to be aware of those signs, but I would’ve waited to scout until we entered the town proper and dealt with it then.”

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” He pointed out. “Last thing you want is something like that catching you off guard. Did they see anything else of interest, remnants from when the town fell?”

“None that my men reported.” Mr. Crawford answered.

“I doubt there would be anything like that given how the town collapsed due to economic reasons and the population moved to other areas.” Ms. Fairweather elaborated for them.

“Maybe, but you are hoping that there is some kind of remnant left in the college.” He reminded his employer. “You don’t want to disregard something of value just because it’s not the thing you were looking for.”

“Which is why I brought so many men to clear out anything that may have been left behind.” Ms. Fairweather nodded before glancing off towards said men with a grimace. “Hopefully, they’ll prove as worth the money I’m spending on this expedition as you three are.”

“Been wondering about that honestly.” He admitted. “As quiet as this place is looking, you’ve definitely brought more men than you’ve needed.”

“Yes, well, like you said, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Still, there is no point in preparing anything if we aren’t going to actually do anything here.” Ms. Fairweather told him, before handing him a map of the town with three buildings circled. “I’ve already had Mr. Crawford perform some preliminary scouting, but there are four locations in the town that could possess something of value. The dorms -both male and female- the Belle Plain college, and a BPC military branch.”

“Like I said, there’s no warning signs of something being wrong outside of the buildings themselves, but I didn’t want anyone going into the buildings proper without one of us present.” Mr. Crawford explained. “We send too many at once and someone will either think they can swipe something valuable for themselves, or they might break something of value.”

“So we’re each bringing two or three of the men with us, and sweeping each building?” He checked, folding the map.

“Um, I… I’d prefer it if I didn’t have to sweep one by myself.” Blake confessed hesitantly.

(Right, I guess she’s still shaken by the thing with those outlaws…) He grimaced internally, once more forgetting that his tolerance for traumatic events was… significantly higher than most.

“Not something you need to worry about.” Mr. Crawford assured her before turning back to him. “This isn’t a military option and we’ve plenty of rations. We can take our time to thoroughly sweep each. Better to do this right than risk missing something because we were in a rush.”

“Then where do you want to start?” He asked.

“We’ll start with the main college and then the military branch, before sweeping the dorms. That way if we find anything that was too heavy for the college to clear before the town fell we can have the men load it up while we go over the dorms.” Ms. Fairweather answered before looking up at the sky. “Hmm, and I do believe we’ve enough time left in the day to at least walk the building before nightfall.”

“If that’s what you want to do ma’am.” Mr. Crawford nodded.

“Good, then as we discussed the four of us can perform the preliminary search of each building.” Ms. Fairweather nodded back. “I’m assuming you all have what you need, yes?”

(Um, when did we discuss that?) He frowned, despite seeing no reason to actually complain about the plan. (At the very least I won’t be jumping at all the noise the men would be making.)

No matter how quiet a Ghost Town was, they always left him on edge and paranoid until they were far enough behind him that he couldn’t see them over the horizon. An instinct he’d had ever since everything happened back in Juillet.

Like Crawford’s men reported the town itself was deserted, and aside from some returning growth or the signs of some basic animal nesting here and there, there wasn’t actually anything to make it all stand out as a Ghost Town. (Well, once you ignore how empty the streets are anyway.)

Regardless, none of the brick and wood buildings were giving him that instinctive sense of danger that had saved his life numerous times, so he didn’t feel the need to comment on any of it if no one else was going to do so.

That said, as they all stopped in front of the college proper he couldn’t help but note that, “I was kind of expecting all of this to be bigger.”

“You have much experience with college Mr. Truman?” Ms. Fairweather asked, just a touch of frustration to her tone. Whether because of his words or her own disappointment in the building’s size he could only guess.

“Nope, closest thing to proper schooling I ever got was my time in the Guard.” He admitted. “That said, I do have experience with Ghost Towns and this is… a two storey building, with maybe a dozen rooms. Hate to say it but I don’t think this will be where we find our payday in this town.”

“Th-there’s no need to be so pessimistic.” Blake frowned at him. “Given how there were Tinkerers present it’s still possible that they’ll have something of value here. I mean, Tinker works always end up being smaller than you’d expect, don't they?”

“Smaller or significantly bigger.” He conceded, remembering how big the King of Blades had gotten the last time he’d ran into him. (Though do organics really count?)

Ms. Fairweather gave the building another once over, her gaze notably more concerned as she did so. “Perhaps there’s a basement or some such for storage. If they were clearing the building out they probably left a number of things down there.”

“A fair bet, though it looks like it might be more of an attic given those windows up there.” He pointed out. “Which would make it a three storey building at least.”

“That’d be something I suppose…” Ms. Fairweather sighed.

“Whether they did or they didn’t, if there’s something here worth reclaiming we’re not going to find it just standing around.” Mr. Crawford reminded all of them.

“Right, let’s see what we can find.” Ms. Fairweather nodded, before being the first one through the front doors.

---

After a quick sweep of the building, he found himself standing next to Ms. Fairweather with her head in her hands.

“So… did you know what kind of college this was…?” He found himself asking as they stood in front of the only ‘treasure’ they’d managed to find in the building.

“No… I did not… otherwise I would’ve chosen something else to spend the entirety of my dowry on.” Ms. Fairweather sighed, too disappointed in everything to really bite back at him like she usually would.

“I-it’s not that bad Ms. Fairweather.” Blake tried to cheer their employer up as she and Mr. Crawford examined the ‘treasure’. “I’m sure we can make something up from these.”

“Blake, when we set out on this expedition I was expecting to find some revolutionary new piece of technology, something that would really make me stand out from the rest of my family and prove that I’m more than some girl to be married off.” Ms. Fairweather half laughed and half cried, being far more liberal with her words than she ever was around him. “Instead my grand expedition, my one chance at freedom, was to a college of music! If anything this just proves my father should whore me out to whoever he chooses to be the heir he always wanted.”

He glanced at Mr. Crawford and found that the other man looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. (Though given how he also works for her father it’s probably worse for him than it is for me…)

“Ms… Eliza, just because this isn’t what you were expecting doesn’t mean everything is over just yet.” Blake frowned with no small amount of sympathy. “There are at least a dozen pianos here, and this make and model… we can sell each for at least five hundred dollars and that’s before we get to all of the other instruments left here.”

“If they’re still playable after twenty years of disrepair.” Ms. Fairweather scoffed. “At best this will make back maybe half of what I spent on all of this.”

“Which, which means that we still have a chance to turn things around.” Blake tried once more. “It may not be much but it’s still something… and, and that’s before we search the military branch or the dorms. We may still be able to at least break even on all of this.”

Ms. Fairweather was quiet for a moment as she held her head in her hands before eventually shaking it. “Maybe but… Mr. Crawford, if you'd escort me back to my tent, I feel I’d quite like to drink until I pass out.”

The other man grimaced before nodding. “If that’s what you ma’am.”

Ms. Fairweather stood up from where she sat before patting him on his shoulder. “Mr. Truman, if you keep Ms. Sherfield from interrupting me I’d quite appreciate it.”

He couldn’t really find anything to say as he watched the two part with a forlorn Blake standing next to him. Once they were alone Blake lost whatever was keeping her standing and collapsed into the same wooden seat Ms. Fairweather had been sitting in.

“In… in all the years I’ve known Eliza, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that broken before…” Blake confessed after a moment.

“From the sound of it she had a lot riding on this expedition, and well… I can understand things not going to plan.” He admitted, while keeping the part about referencing his entire life to himself. “I can’t say I haven’t been where she is some nights.” (Or rather most nights…)

“I know, it’s just… Whenever something would go wrong I was always the one to breakdown crying while she was always the one to stand up against it, to rage until she got her way no matter who she had to fight to make it happen.” Blake explained.

“You two are close?” He’d already assumed as much, but it was sounding like they were closer than the two usually presented.

“We didn’t meet until we were already young women. My father owned a small business and was trying to make a deal with the Fairweather family to raise our station. He tended to bring me along in the hopes of finding a young man of higher class for me to court in case his business plans fell through. I… didn’t have much choice in that.” Blake told him, not really looking at him. “Eliza’s situation was… the opposite really. She didn’t care for the ‘upper class’ games that her family and others played, and at first she used me as a means of escaping from whoever her father sent courting her, knowing that they all had his approval due to one familial connection or another.”

“Even if it lowered my own chances at a husband of higher station, my father allowed it due to just how much sway the Fairweathers had in our region.” Blake gave him a sad smile. “When I told her as much, that my father was using me to play the games she despised so much, she told me ‘But you’re not playing the game or else you wouldn’t be telling me this. And that’s why you’re one of the few I truly call friend, Blake.’”

Blake looked away from him as she collected herself. “That… that always meant more to me than it probably should have. More so because of how much I… admired how little issue she had rebelling against her family, how hard she pursued finding her own path in life. Something I always wished I could do for myself. Enough so that… that when given the chance to follow her on that path… I finally made a choice for myself rather than letting my parents make it for me.”

He offered his handkerchief without really looking at her, deciding that it was more gentlemanly to not see the tears she couldn’t control.

Blake took it and wiped at her eyes, before continuing her story. “Unfortunately, a few months ago Eliza’s father, Mr. Fairweather told her that she needed to get married… that he’d found a second or third son willing to take their family name over his own. He told her that if she didn’t he was going to withdraw all of her funding and leave her destitute. Having expected this for years, she’d spent years hiding away money, allowances, and other such things in the hopes of one day funding her escape from her father.”

“No, that’s not quite right.” Blake sighed. “It wasn’t just about escaping her father, otherwise she had enough to live comfortably for a good decade, it was also about proving that she was worthy of being his heir in spite of what the man believed about her. That she was more than property to be ordered around… With how much she’s put into this… seeing it not work out…”

Another silence fell as Blake finished her, or rather Ms. Fairweather’s story, (though from what she’s said I guess it is her story too… Actually, it is her story too isn’t it?)

“You know what this means don’t you?” He asked, rolling his shoulders as he stood up from the wall he’d been leaning against.

“W-what?” Blake hiccuped, still wiping at her tears.

He gave her his most rugged grin. “If before now you were the one to break and she was the one to rebel, then that means if she’s the one breaking now then it’s your turn to be the rebel.”

“W-what?” Blake blinked.

“You’re friends right? Well, you don’t… When one of you falls you don’t give up… No, you pick each other up and you keep on.” He tried to explain, not sure how to get the sentiment across given how long it’d been since he’d last had a friend himself. “Look, we’ve… we’ve still got a few hours of sunlight left and… and we’ve still got a few more places we can search. So, why don’t we see if we can’t find a way to pick your friend up, okay?”

Blake stared at him for a moment, before wiping her eyes as she stood with a smile.

“Let’s.”

---

“So, this is the military branch… can’t really tell what the difference is between this and the main school.” He admitted as they walked through the halls, a small light emitting from his mechanical arm as the setting sun darkened the halls too much for just their eyes.

“Well, there’s a lot of military memorabilia.” Blake pointed out as they passed a case holding an old sword and gun. “Think these would be worth anything?”

“Depends on what war they were used in, if they were used at all.” He sighed, looking around the hall. “And unfortunately history isn’t my best… subject… Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Blake frowned, before following his gaze upwards.

After a moment a faint thumping was audible.

His eyes narrowed. “There’s something up there.”

“Do you think it’s someone hoping to find something before the expedition proper?” Blake asked him, looking something between concerned and irritated.

“Possibly, but it could also possibly be something nesting up there.” He warned her as he put a hand on his gun, having few issues shooting things that couldn’t speak. (Especially if they’re trying to kill me.)

“Would an animal nest on the second floor instead of the first?” Blake wondered, staying behind him as he started moving towards the stairs.

“Some, depends on what kind of animal it is and whether its home is in the trees or the dirt.” He answered, keeping track of the thudding. “Normally I would say birds or something are nesting up there, but they wouldn’t sound that heavy. Given how far out we are in the wilds, it’s fully possible it’s a Lost Beast of some kind.”

“A Lost Beast…” Blake shuddered, likely having grown up on horror stories about the foreign Beasts that invaded during the Great Shift.

“If it is, it would be worth a small ransom to the right professor type.” He pointed out.

He himself had never gotten into hunting the stranded beasts as the profession always seemed somewhat cruel to him, but given how they’d be clearing out the nest one way or another, (it’s better for someone who’s dealt with them to handle it rather than one of the other workers getting themselves killed thinking it a regular animal.)

“Wait, what’s that?” Blake asked him, pointing towards the windows.

He blinked before frowning as he caught sight of the thing he’d missed while focused on the noise above. (Cables…) “That is a problem.”

“They look like… cables… leading to the roof?” Blake elaborated in confusion.

“Well, on the bright side for Ms. Fairweather there’s likely some fancy tinker work on the roof that can gather electricity from the sun.” He’d never gotten the process himself, but he’d seen it often enough in the Guard to know that it was a common power source for Tinkerers when coal and oil were unavailable. “On the less bright side, our animal is probably a human.”

“A Tinkerer?” Blake realized with a gasp.

“Likely… Though one living in a Ghost Town rather than a town or city.” There was a decently sized red flag in that. “I’m thinking it might be best for you to head to camp and get Mr. Crawford.”

“Won’t we… won’t we come off as aggressive if we bring Mr. Crawford and his men?” Blake frowned, still following up the stairs rather than moving towards safety.

“Maybe but I’d rather you not-” A door slammed and he spun, aiming his gun at it.

“What if… what if whoever this is is just scared?” Blake asked him. “If they’re this far out from civilization they might be a Traveler, and you’re the one who said how bad they have it some places.”

“That’s a pretty big if.” He pointed out, really wishing she’d quit following him.

With his hand on the handle of the door that had just slammed shut -and taking note of the cables running underneath it- he turned back to Blake with a glare. “If whatever is behind this door can’t talk, I want you to run back to camp and get Mr. Crawford. I’ll hold it down, but I don’t know how long I’ll be able to.”

That was technically a lie, since he could handle whatever was on the other side as long as he had to, but he didn’t think Blake would leave him if she knew he was trying to get her to focus on her own safety.

Blake swallowed down her apprehensions before nodding. “A-alright.”

Having reached something resembling an agreement, he carefully pushed the door open and found an old college classroom illuminated by several sparking machines, their thrumming oddly quiet but still readily apparent. Along the walls were numerous diagrams of various quality as well as several machines covered in lights that he could make neither heads nor tails of. In the center of the room were several tables with oddly cut up creatures on them, less the work of a butcher carving up their meat and more a scientist dissecting an interesting specimen.

“What are these?” Blake asked, as her attention finally shifted from the room itself to the creatures on the tables.

At first glance he could easily tell what each of these creatures were, be they coyotes, rabbits, or old crows. It was the second and third looks that made them harder and harder to recognize as their details blurred into metal that seemed to weave itself into their very flesh.

(It… it can’t be… Why would he be here of all places?)

The sound of metal clattering echoed out from behind them and he spun aiming his gun at the source as his heart began to pound his chest, at first in panic but then in rage as he caught sight of an elderly man with thinning gray hair in faded and torn clothes.

“You…” He growled.

“No, no, no…” The elderly man whimpered, backing away from him as Niel marched forward.

“You’re still alive, Conroy?” He asked, half in disbelief as he pinned the man to the wall with his gun under the man’s chin. “And in the entire world, this little town is where you chose to die?”

Fearful eyes darted over him before slowly calming as they noticed the coat he was wearing. “Niel… I… I thought you were dead… I… I should’ve known he wouldn’t kill you…”

“You’re not answering my questions, Conroy… Meaning you’re giving me very few reasons not to pull this trigger.” Other than the fact that he’d been trying to will himself to do so from the moment his gun was aimed at the bastard in front of him.

The man noticeably calmer than he had been a few moments prior nodded. “Yes… I survived Juillet just like you Niel… as for this town, it was where my late wife was born. I’ve been traveling between Ghost Towns… half to hide and half to find… materials to finish my work.”

He glanced back at the animals, before glaring at the tinkerer in front of him the trigger of his gun beginning to twitch as he realized, “You’re replicating the Mechaniphage…”

“No!” Conroy yelled. “No. No… I would never recreate that-that nightmare…”

He was about to ask why not when the man before him created the first one, but a concerned, “Niel?” stopped him.

(Fuck…) He glanced back at a worried looking Blake.

“What’s this about…?”

He licked his lips, part of him wanting to lie and part of him wanting to be honest for once. Eventually he decided to ask her, “Do you remember what I told you about Juillet… about the Tinkerer my brother worked with… the one responsible for destroying my hometown.”

Blake’s eyes darted to Conroy, just a hint of confusion as she tried to reconcile the old man in front of him with the one she’d conjured up in her story. “He… he’s…”

“The one who turned my brother into a monster.” Niel nodded.

“Niel…” Conroy gave him a pitying look. “We both know despite what you want to believe your brother was a monster with or without me.”

“He wasn’t!” He shouted, once more struggling to pull the trigger on his gun. “You… you and your Mechaniphage… you twisted him into that monster!”

Conroy dared to gain a regretful look. “I gave him the tools to unleash the monster that he was but… I never wanted that day to happen. If you remember my wife died because you sho-”

“Your wife was dead the moment the Phage twisted her into a monster just like all of your other victims!” He screamed.

“We… we could’ve saved them…” Conroy argued with a shake of his head. “If… if I’d just had time I could’ve figured out what Nathan did to my work to… to turn it into that plague.”

“And if they’d gotten out of town, they would’ve spread the Phage!” He reminded the delusional old man.

Conroy narrowed his eyes. “Like you and Nathan?”

“He… he stabilized his strain of the Mechaniphage.” He explained, fully feeling his prosthetic arm. “He… He only infects the people he wants to and… and he won’t share that power with anyone else.”

Conroy frowned. “So you’re saying he created all of these creatures for what? His amusement?”

“What no! Nate would never infect someone without a purpose.”

“Then why have I been finding them all over the countryside! Doesn’t that just underline that he’s become a monster Niel?!” Conroy yelled, before panting. “I’ve accepted my part in what happened in Juillet, you need to accept what you and your brother did there. I know you’re the kind of person to want to make that right.”

He growled. “There is no making what any of us did that night right.”

“There is if I can find a cure to the plague!” Conroy told him, pointing towards his experiments. “If I hand it over to the Internal Guard… even if it means spending the rest of my life in prison… at the very least everyone will be safe from your brother!”

“And how will you do that?” He wondered, feeling a bit delirious as his mind and body continued to refuse his demands to pull the trigger. “By experimenting on these scraps Nate left… behind…”

A cold dread wrapped around his heart as he focused on the infected animals his brother had created. Not people, friends, soldiers, or anything of the like, but animals.

Once more thought, (Nate wouldn’t infect someone without purpose…)

“How long have you been here?” He asked breathlessly.

Conroy looked like he was about to yell before taking in Niel’s sudden change of expression. “A… a few months…”

He gave the animals another once over, this time noticing just how fresh they were. “And how far did you find the last of these?”

“Just outside of…” Conroy’s eyes went wide as he realized the same thing Niel had. “Oh, no…”

--- Nathaniel Truman ---

From atop his mount he stared at the Ghost Town his wayward mentor -the only other man to even begin to understand the Mechaniphage- had hidden himself in.

On the other side of the town he spotted the flickering lights of campfires, a wagon train having camped itself far too close to the Ghost Town for any sane person. At least if they weren’t interested in said Ghost Town and its possible inhabitants.

He climbed off of his mount and told it, “Find the dear Professor for me, and remember to play with your food, don’t eat it.”

While his pet tore off into town he straightened out his white Guard coat before starting towards the campfire. “I do believe it’s time to make some new friends.”

--- Niel Truman ---

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He cursed, letting Conroy go as he turned back to Blake. “We need to get out of here now!”

“W-what?” Blake blinked, looking more than a little frightened of everything that had happened thus far.

He grabbed her arm and started dragging her towards the door. “We, we need to go back to camp and leave this town!”

“N-Niel, you’re hurting me!” Blake gasped as she stumbled after him.

He winced letting her go. “S-sorry, but we… we need to leave. We need to get the entire expedition out of here now!”

“W-why?” Blake asked.

“Because Nathan is coming…” Conroy answered, looking like a dead man walking.

(Which he probably is.) He thought with absolutely no sympathy, far more focused on his companion. “If we’re still here by the time he gets here, he’s going to kill everyone in the expedition.”

Normally he’d have no issue confronting his brother, even if he already knew the outcome, but that didn’t mean he was willing to do so if it would get someone killed in the process.

“Not, not until you explain what’s happening Mr. Truman!” Blake shouted at him for possibly the first time. “I, I barely followed what you and this, Tinkerer were talking about! What, what is this this mechanical phage you’re talking about? Is, is it what turned these animals into these… things?”

“It… it is.” He grimaced, taking one last glance at the creatures. “Look we really don’t have time for this, we can talk once we get the camp moving, but right now is too dangerous.”

“You, you said this is the Tinkerer responsible for Juillet, shouldn’t, shouldn’t we take him with us?” Blake frowned, looking clearly overwhelmed.

He shook his head. “Not if my brother is after him. Nate will kill anyone that stands between him and what he wants, and this… bastard is not worth it. Not with what he’s done.”

“As if you’re any better…” Conroy scoffed, from where he’d fallen. “Their blood is as much on your hands as it is Nathans…”

“Just because he couldn’t pull the trigger on his brother and you does not mean anyone’s blood is on his hands!” Blake argued in his defense in spite of her continued confusion.

“He couldn’t pull the trigger!” Conroy laughed. “The problem is quite the opposite actually.”

Blake looked at him and he found he couldn’t meet her eye. “What… what do you mean?”

“I mean, he is-” Niel’s greatest secret and shame was made inaudible as a monstrous howl tore through the air.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! He’s here!” He realized before once more grabbing Blake’s arm, caring more about her long term health than her short term. “We need to leave now!”

(Pain and splinters slammed into his back as he was impaled by the shrapnel and debris thrown about by the destroyed wall.)

He pulled Blake into his arms and wrapped his coat around her as best he could, just barely giving her the most basic layer of protection as a massive beast of flesh and metal tore down the outer wall of the building before lunging with both fang and claw at Conroy.

The beast, so massive that only half of its body could fit through the now missing wall- grabbed the old man with surprisingly human hands before dragging him out and throwing him out onto the streets below.

Knowing that hesitation was death, he drew his gun and turned its limiter off before firing into the side of the beast’s skull, careful to avoid the metallic mane that otherwise protected its head from damage.

The beast flinched, before turning to him with a snarling glare, remembering him from their last conflict.

“Long time no see, King.” He greeted his brother’s pet.

The once lion roared at him with enough force to send him skidding back, before unleashing a dozen metallic tendrils from within its mane all lashing out with intent of impaling him as many times as possible.

He shoved Blake away from him, fully aware that after his numerous attempts to kill the beast and at least slow his brother down, that King loathed him more than anything else in existence.

Luckily, those many failed attempts had made him very good at actually fighting the metallic monster, each of its tendrils easily avoided with but the most minute of adjustments to his body. And those that couldn’t be avoided were simply shot back with a level of accuracy that was borderline inhuman, and doubly so when under such an assault.

All the while, he kept a steady flow of concentration on his metallic arm, doing his best to not let the limb be hit as he slowly made his way forward. Ducking and weaving between the lashing tendrils before using one for leverage to leap over one of King’s massive claws when the beast tried to simply crush him with its immense size.

Landing on King’s arm, he clenched the fist of his prosthetic twice causing its growing hum to shift as blue electricity began to crackle along the limb’s surface. Despite knowing how much this was going to hurt, his metal hand shot forward and latched onto King’s face before discharging all of the electricity he’d been storing for his next confrontation with the beast.

And while the beast gained the majority of the charge it did not prevent some of the electricity from conducting along his own metal and back into the organic meat that connected to it. Slowly, cooking his own flesh as electrocuted the beast that he just knew would survive this in spite of Niel’s best efforts.

Eventually the current came to be too much and found himself being launched away from King as the beast was forced off of the building it had latched onto.

He hit the ground in a tumble, before crashing into one of Conroy’s tables and sending its subject toppling on top of him. “Fuuuuck…”

“N-Niel!” Blake shouted as she rushed over to him before helping him get the infected animal carcass off of him. “W-what’s happening?”

“We’re too late…” He coughed, forcing himself to sit up. “My brother… Nate… he’s here for Conroy… and if he sees the camp… He’s going to…”

He bit down a howl as his shifting weight revealed the shoulder connecting to his prosthetic limb had been dislocated in his tumble.

“Your arm…” Blake gasped seeing how wrong it looked.

“Will be find in a second.” He assured her before putting the collar of his coat into his mouth and grabbing his shoulder with his flesh and blood hand.

Before he could let himself second guess he forced the shoulder back into socket, sure that the probably permanent damage would heal given enough time. (Don’t have time to worry about that…)

“We… we need to get to the camp… I need to… Need to stop Nate…” He tried to tell her as used the table to put himself back on shaky footing.

“Niel you, you’re in no condition to be moving let alone picking a fight with the Deadshot Demon.” Blake argued, trying to stop him.

“Good thing… I’m not fighting the Deadshot Demon…” He chuckled, because he’d long since learned to laugh through the pain. “Might… might be able to… to talk Nate down… Just… just need to get to him…”

“Niel you can barely… You can barely stand after that… that explosion!” Blake continued to argue.

“I’ll… I’ll walk it off.” (I’ve walked off worse after all.)

And true to his word, while his first few steps were a stumbling mess, the following ones were far more steady as he made his way to the hole King had put in the building. Something he doubted most folk could pull off. Of course that did nothing to fix the limpness in his metallic arm. (Don’t have time to fix it… Need to, need to find…)

“Damn it… Can’t see where King and Conroy went…” He grimaced, looking the empty town over before shaking his head. “Best bet is to go to camp and hope we can get everyone moving before they find us again.”

Following him as he left Conroys lab and made his way out of the college, Blake asked him if, “You really think you can talk your brother down? I mean, he’s the Deadshot Demon he… I know you said he wasn’t in his right mind, but… he still wiped out an entire town.”

“The, the Mechaniphage killed everyone and Conroy created that… abomination.” He corrected her, trying to rationalize everything to himself. “It, it turned them into monsters and… and if… if they weren’t put down they could’ve spread it to the rest of the country… Going by Guard protocols the… the rules were followed…”

Blake gave him a sad look as they stepped back out of the college. “Niel… You know… you know that none of that absolves him of what he did… right?”

He ran his good hand through his hair as he tried to force himself to remain calm. “I know…”

In fact he knew far better than most that, (there is no absolving what happened in Juillet…) “That… that doesn’t mean I can just give up…” (No matter how much I want to…)

Blake watched him for a moment before nodding. “No, no we can’t.”

Not willing to correct whatever misconception she’d developed, instead he silently started back towards the camp hoping she wouldn’t realize what he really meant.

The fact that he couldn’t hear any gunfire during the trip was either very good or very very bad. A sign that either his brother had decided the camp wasn’t worth his time or a sign that Nate had already visited the camp.

As they neared the camp, he couldn’t help but tense as he spotted several figures still in the camp, their bodies cast in shadows by both the dark of the night and campfire glowing between them. Something that may’ve even been relieving if he didn’t know exactly what his brother could do, and why them walking around might be even worse.

(Blood stained the streets as the corpses covered in metal continued to rush forward, seeking to kill that which did not bow to the phage, keeping them alive.)

Which is why he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer.

Blake frowned when she noticed he’d stopped. “Niel?”

“I-if Nate… I-if Conroy… i-if the company is infected…” He wasn’t sure he could handle it. (Not again…)

“How… how do you know if someone is infected?” Blake asked him, her eyes darting between him and the shadowy figures moving around the campfire.

“Their eyes glow… Metal begins to cut through the skin… Their minds slowly fading as the static grows louder and louder… If they can keep talking it’s only because Nathan wants to hear what they have to say… At which point they’re either already a slave or begging for death.” He rambled off his mind more in the past than the present.

She gave him one last look before continuing towards the campfire, heedless of the dangers.

“Blake!” He called, forcing himself to stumble forward in spite of his fear. “Get back here!”

The figures around the campfire shifted as they noticed Blake moving towards them and he found himself running to get between them and her. Grabbing her arm he pulled her behind him before quickly drawing his gun and-

“Whoa there!” The human man in front of them called, raising his hands and eyeing the gun in his hand carefully even as his compatriots began to reach for their own.

“S-sorry…” He apologized with a grimace as he returned his gun to his holster. “There was a… a Lost Beast in town, my head isn’t in the best place.”

“A Lost Beast?” The man blinked as his friends began to eye the horizon.

“Y-yeah, looked like some kind of gray lion.” He nodded, figuring that even if he obscured a few details about King it wouldn’t hurt to have everyone keep an eye out in case the beast or his brother started this way. “Definitely predatory, I uh, I need to talk to Crawford and Fairweather about it. Any idea where they are?”

“Huh, oh… could’ve sworn you already went over that way.” One of the men commented, unknowingly causing his heart to freeze. (Shit. Shit. Shit!)

“W-where did you see me go?” He asked, trying not to panic.

“Over towards the center of camp, where you lot usually set up.” The man answered looking confused.

“Thanks… keep your guard up in case you see anything strange. Tell the other men the Ghost Town’s troubles are starting.” He told the man hoping that if everyone was alert that, even if they were powerless to stop his brother or even hurt King it would be enough to keep at least some of them alive.

“Niel… how much does your brother look like you?” Blake asked, her face pale as she easily realized what he had.

“I wear glasses… he doesn’t.” He chuckled with more than a little fear.

“Niel…” Blake began slowly.

“Don’t.” He slapped his face and held his hand there for a moment. “I, I need to find my brother and you, you need to find Ms. Fairweather and Mr. Crawford… get as many people as you can out of here. I… I can distract him until he gets bored… hopefully now that he’s got Conroy he’ll leave… peacefully.”

He didn’t actually believe Nate would but he wasn’t going to spread his own dread around when it wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“If… if he went to the center of camp… then odds are he’s already with them.” Blake pointed out shakily.

“Fuck… you’re right…” He groaned.

“At- at least if he hasn’t hurt anyone that means… you were right and he’s open to talking?” Blake offered with a weak grin.

(Or when he found out I was here he decided to hold everyone hostage.) He thought, not that he was going to say that when he needed someone to be calmer than him.

Nearing the center of the camp he began to hear a slurred yelling.

“-shtay with Blake!” Ms. Fairweather’s voice echoed. “If anyting happens to ‘er I’m gonna see you drawn and quartered!”

“Please tell me Eliza isn’t yelling at the Deadshot Demon…” Blake whimpered.

“She’s not yelling at the Deadshot Demon.” He assured her feeling no less anxious.

With the wagons being the last line of defense between himself and the source of more than one nightmare, he found himself freezing once more.

This time Blake nudged him forward, unwilling to leave Ms. Fairweather alone and knowing that he was probably the only one who could save her life.

Stepping between the wagons he found a man with dirty blonde hair wearing a pale long coat with an amused grin as Eliza continued to drunkenly tear into him, a suspicious Crawford standing behind her.

The moment they were past the wagon the man with his face turned to him with a smile, his eyes briefly flashing an electric blue. “Ah, Niel… I heard you were here.”

“Niel…” Ms. Fairweather blinked before glancing between them. “Theresh two of ya?”

“We’re brothers, twins in fact.” Nathan explained. “When the men in your camp mistook me for him, I knew I just had to wait for him to return. Tell me, how long has it been brother? Four, five months since our last little run in?”

“One hundred and thirty-six days.” He answered, gently pushing Blake towards Ms. Fairweather and Mr. Crawford as he walked in the other hoping they at least had a chance to escape while Nate’s back was to them.

“Far too long for family to be apart.” Nathan nodded, giving Blake a brief glance before grinning at him in clear amusement, an amusement that seemed to double as he took note of Niel’s disabled arm. “You know King has so dearly missed you.”

“Saw him on my way here, practically had to beat him away from me.” He told his brother.

“What can I say, he’s an affectionate beast.” Nathan laughed. “I’m just glad he didn’t hurt you. Not that he could, if you were taking care of yourself.”

Nathan gave him a once over before looking over his shoulder where Blake was whispering to a startled Mr. Crawford and a confused Ms. Fairweather. “He’s so thin. Did you know he has this terrible habit of going days without eating?” His brother shook his head. “No matter how old he’s gotten he’s never understood he needs to eat more if he wants to grow big and strong.”

“I’m plenty strong enough as I am.” He frowned, knowing what his brother was really saying.

“No, you’re really not.” Nathan sighed. “You’re no stronger than that day back in Juillet.”

Mr. Crawford and Ms. Fairweather both froze at the mention of the infamous Ghost Town.

“In fact I think you might actually be weaker.” His brother admitted with a grin. “After all, you don’t really look like the Deadshot Demon… well beyond the bloodstained cloak anyway.”

“What…?” Blake asked in a voice that damn near broke his heart.

“Oh, the uniforms we wore for the Internal Guard -he always took such pride in being a member- they were white, and so difficult to keep clean out here on the frontier. At least until I made us our own custom coats, took me forever to create a material that could just flick the dirt and blood off.” Nathan explained showing off his own coat. “Of course I never expected him to cover the thing in the blood of half of Juillet. Even my work has its limits.”

Everyone stared at him, each with their own look of dawning horror as they realized that his coat really was the same one that his brother wore, just stained blood red…

He shakily inhaled before exhaling, forcing himself to ignore the looks from those he’d been growing to consider his friends.

“If you want I could very easily make you a new one brother.” Nate offered, taking a seat next to the campfire. “After all, I’ll always have an opening for you in my organization.”

Despite his overwhelming terror he couldn’t help but scoff. “That group of crazies you run around with? I don’t even know why you lot are working together, so why on earth would I work with those monsters!”

“Really, Niel, don’t resort to name calling. Especially not when half of the west calls you a monster yourself.” Nate scolded with a disappointed frown. “And I’d hope the fact that we’d be working together again would be reason enough brother.”

“Last time I worked with you, you infected Juillet with the Mechniphage!” He growled, clinging to righteous rage instead of his more painful panic. “You turned them into literal monsters!”

“True, but I could’ve turned them into something as great as us if you hadn’t killed all of them first.” His brother told him, reminding him of why he was just as guilty as Nathan and Conroy for what happened in his hometown.

“You… you couldn’t undo what you did to them.” He argued, not actually sure if that was true or not.

“Debatable, and even if it wasn’t why would they want me to?” Nathan asked as he walked over to one of the wagons with a smile. “I mean you know better than anyone else just how much greater my masterpiece can make people.”

“How much stronger it can make us…” Nate began to lift the wagon over his head in spite of its ominous creaking before throwing it a notable distance and gaining the attention of the rest of the camp, several of whom drew their guns.

“How much faster…” Nathan continued, throwing a hand out and causing cleaving the arms off of those who’d dared to aim a weapon at him.

“How much more durable…” Nathan smiled, spreading his arms wide as the remaining men drew their guns and unloaded them into his brother.

When the gunfire finally stopped Nathan began to laugh as bullets removed themselves from his flesh, before giving him a bloody grin as he caught sight of the looks of terror from the men before them. “You know, if you’d let me I could easily replace that arm of yours with something more… flesh and blood. I mean, there’d still be some metal on the bones but it wouldn’t be all that visible. You don’t even have to join my group either, after all I can’t just leave my brother with that kind of injury.”

“You can take your arm and go fuck yourself with it.” He spat as he aimed his gun at the head of the monster in front of him.

“Oh, right… I was hoping you were over whatever had you cutting your arm off when I gave it back to you in Juillet.” Nathan sighed with a shake of his head. “You know I really do worry about you brother. There’s clearly something very wrong with your head.”

“I said go fuck yourself.” He reiterated, trying to will his finger to pull back on the trigger.

Nate looked at the gun before letting out a huff of amusement. “Come now Neil, we both know you’re not going to shoot your own brother.”

“Maybe not but I can shoot a monster wearing his face.” He disagreed.

His brother gave him an unimpressed look. “If you really believe that then… How about I show you what a proper monster would do?”

Immediately realizing what his brother meant, he aimed his gun towards the others before pulling the trigger three times and shooting the knives his brother had thrown out of the air.

Nathan let out a whistle. “I know they called you it because you killed half of Juillet with a single bullet to the head, but you really are a deadshot brother.” The monster gave Niel a smile as more blades began to grow from the palms of its hands. “Let’s see if you can keep it up!”

The King of Blades gave a spinning flourish, and sent knives flying at every person in the camp.

Hating himself for it, he actively drew on the machinery inside of him and felt his entire nervous system come alight with lightning, and unlike the previous times when it had triggered on its own to keep him alive the world around him slowed down as the trajectory of every knife and every possible bullet ran through his mind.

Faster than any other gunslinger could manage he aimed and fired every bullet in his gun, setting off a chain reaction of ricochets that struck the dozens of knives in the air and disrupted the path of every single one with just a handful of bullets.

With his nervous system alight, his prosthetic arm responded to his commands as the bits of the Mechaniphage that had infected it as he bled upon the machine began to repair it, thus allowing him to flick both of his wrists.

In his organic hand, he launched the spent casings from his gun.

In his metallic hand, the quick loader in his forearm released its protective casing and entered his palm.

His hands came together and in not even a second flat he reloaded his gun before once more aiming it at his brother’s head.

“You do all of that and still think I cursed you?!” Nathan laughed with an excited edge. “Come on Niel, we’re clearly a step above everyone here!”

Panting as he began to feel the toll of using his brother’s ‘gift’ he said nothing.

Nathan rolled his eyes. “Ugh, this is because you’re not taking care of yourself, you know that? If you actually took what you needed to live a healthy life instead of bending to the rules of these ants you wouldn’t look ready to pass out after, what? Three seconds of using your power?”

As his brother shook his head, everyone around them stared in a mix of terror and awe, and he did everything he could to ignore those dehumanizing looks.

Suddenly, Nathan snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. If I want you to really appreciate the gift I gave you, I’ve got to show you what we can really do.”

All along Nathan’s body spikes began to grow, piercing through his coat as his brother slowly turned into the monster that had earned the name King of Blades. “I mean, I know I’ve shown you what we can do, but I’ve been working on so many fun things I want to show you! It’ll be just like when we were kids!”

Before him the being that was once his brother stood at twice the size of a man, with pale metal skiing covered in blades, and a long reptilian tail cutting through the air as he crouched down with two massive claws. “Let’s wrestle big brother!”

The King of Blades shot forward faster than he could react before grabbing him by the face and throwing him through the canvas covering of one of the wagons and back towards the Ghost Town of Belle Plains.

Reacting more on reflex and instinct than any comprehensible thought, he flexed his prosthetic arm and fired a thin cable into the dirt before using the motor in the back of his forearm to control the speed he flew at into something more survivable.

Not that that stopped the King of Blades from appearing in front of him the moment his feet touched the ground, razor sharp claws ready to rip him to shreds.

Switching the direction of the line motor, he was tugged forward, just barely avoiding slamming his own face into the dirt as he rolled underneath the massive claw that left several deep gouges in the earth.

With barely a thought, he released the line’s hold on the ground, retracting it back into his arm before aiming his gun at a turning King of Blades and unloading the shots into his hide, fully aware that they’d do next to nothing in the monster’s current state.

As demonstrated by the monster’s laugh. “Heh, that always tickles…”

The King of Blades’ tail wrapped around his waist before slamming him into the ground and dragging him face first across it, the continued impact knocking his gun out of his hand as he was sent tumbling away.

After an extremely painful stop against the wall of an abandoned building, he picked himself off of the ground, feeling the Mechaniphage piecing him back together far faster than normal. A side effect of his brother’s presence and desire to ‘play’ with him, allowing them to push their normal limits as they responded to their creator’s will over his own.

“What are you going to do without your little toy brother?” The King of Blade asked with no small amount of amusement.

He glared at the monster in front of him before firing his grappling line at some of the blades sticking out from its hide, and using them to rapidly reel himself into the King’s face.

The King of Blades attempted to grab him out of the air, and probably would’ve if the lightning in Niel’s veins didn’t allow him to move with inhuman speed to flip and run along the monster’s arm, using his cable to maintain balance.

He threw the cable around the monster’s throat, before once more drawing upon the battery in his bicep to flow electricity threw the wire as he attempted to choke the beast out.

Instead of being threatened, the King of Blades merely laughed, “You forget we’ve both lightning in our veins brother!”

Completely unbothered by the electricity crackling along his flesh, the monster grabbed him, before throwing him into the air and then throwing several massive blades after him.

Retracting his grappling cable, he fired it into a specific patch of dirt beneath him before reeling himself down, both to avoid the blades his brother shot at him as well as to pull himself towards his gun.

Cackling madly the King of Blades grew a dozen more blades before throwing them forward, spread in such a way that he had no hopes of avoiding any of them.

Tossing a bullet into the air, he caught it with his teeth as he dug his metallic hand into the dirt and flicked his organic wrist to remove the spent casings in his gun.

Spitting the bullet into his gun he ripped a rock from the ground before throwing it forward and firing the bullet at just the right angle to ricochet off one of the blades and into another, diverting them both just enough to buy him the space to slide between them as the second ricochet impacted the rock causing it to shatter into dust and fragments that went straight for the King of Blade’s eyes.

Once more firing his grappling cable at the monster, he zipped himself towards the King of Blades as it blindly swung, the unfocused strikes far easier to avoid as he slammed his foot into the monster’s face, cracking its nose beneath his boot.

Moving quickly he loaded one more bullet into his gun, before shoving the barrel into the monster’s snarling maw.

Just as he moved to pull the trigger, he caught sight of his brother(/mother)’s eyes and froze.

(Come on… One bullet… just one bullet and… and he’s gone…)

He couldn’t pull the trigger.

The sides of the monster’s mouth twitched before it reached up and simply threw him back onto the ground.

He moved to get up once more before a massive clawed foot stomped on his chest, pinning him down.

“You almost had me there…” The King of Blades admitted with a chuckle. “Still, I’m always glad to see you actually use the Gifts I’ve given you.”

Needless to say that happiness was nowhere near enough to prevent the monster from applying pressure to his cracking ribs.

“Hmm, you know brother I just realized something…” The King of Blades commented after a moment. “I missed our last birthday. I didn’t get you anything, and while I know you didn’t get me anything either, well… you know how generous I am.”

There wasn’t enough air in his lungs to argue.

“So, given how hard you’re clearly fighting to save these people, and in spite of the fact that I’m sure they’ll cast you out or try to kill you to collect your bounty, I’ll still go ahead and spare them. My gift to you.” Nathan lifted his foot off of Niel’s chest. “You know I’m sentimental like that. Hopefully, you’ll appreciate it enough to actually be reasonable next time we speak.”

The last thing he saw was his brother’s boot coming down on his face, before the welcoming embrace of darkness took him.

---

He wasn’t sure how long he was out for, he just knew that -not for the first time- his brother had knocked him out and left him lying where he fell.

Which is why he was a bit surprised to find that instead of picking himself off the ground, he found himself lying on a cot in the middle of a wall formed by the wagons. A defensive pattern that Mr. Crawford had enforced upon the wagon train every night they settled down to put a protective wall of separation between Ms. Fairweather, Ms. Sherfield and the men they’d hired.

“About time you woke up.” A gruff voice told him, drawing his attention to Mr. Crawford smoking a cigar and watching him with a gun in his hand.

He froze, eyes locked onto the gun and fully aware that his wasn’t anywhere in reach.

“You know, you are not what one would expect from the highest bounty in the west.” Mr. Crawford informed him. “At least when you’re not fighting…”

He couldn’t help but grimace.

“I… I couldn’t let anyone else die…” He tried to explain.

Mr. Crawford nodded before looking up. “You know, I’ve worked for Eliza’s father for almost her entire life, and I’ve been her bodyguard for almost as long. Never had a daughter myself but… she grew on me over the years… As did Blake when they became friends.”

He… wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, especially not when Mr. Crawford put his gun away and sat an envelope in the chair he stood up from.

“This is your pay for this project of the little Ms. Your coat and your gun are in this bag over here. Your bounty is high enough that killing you would give Eliza enough money to do anything she wants.” Mr. Crawford informed him. “You saved our lives so as thanks I didn’t shoot you in your sleep, but if this expedition doesn’t turn a profit I won’t give the same courtesy twice. For her sake.”

Mr. Crawford paused as he stood at the exit to the tent, seeming considering something.

“You’re a dangerous man Mr. Truman, and if there’s no danger around dangerous men tend to create that danger.” Mr. Crawford told him, before walking out.

---

Having understood the meaning of Crawford’s speech -(and fully agreeing with it)- it didn’t take him long to get moving, at least once he was sure that Nate hadn’t left any last minute surprises for the company.

With next to no effort given the state of things, he found it far easier than it should be to sneak away from the Camp without anyone seeing him, because as much as he wished to say goodbye, he knew it wasn’t a politeness he deserved to share. Just like he didn’t deserve the pay he’d been given for this whole mess, instead leaving behind due to the fact that (me being here just got more of them killed…)

If it hadn’t been for him, they’d probably have taken longer to get to town, or spent more time scouting it all out. (Either way they would’ve gotten here after Nate came for Conroy.)

He’d been tempted to also hand back the bonus Ms. Fairweather had given him for helping with the outlaws, but unfortunately he was pretty sure he was going to need that money to at least replace the bullets he’d spent on his latest clash with his brother and King.

And so with his pack on his back he started off in the direction Nate had fled in, knowing that even though he'd probably lose the trail due to the modifications his brother had done to himself, he had to at least try to set things right.

Unfortunately, someone stopped him before he could do that. (Guess I wasn’t quite as sneaky as I’d been hoping…)

In front of him stood a panting Ms. Sherfield, the bespectacled woman having clearly run all this way to catch up to him before he could leave.

“Mr. Truman… Niel… You…” Ms. Sherfield took a deep breath before letting it out. “You are not responsible for your brother.”

He inhaled before exhaling, feeling his red stained coat dragging in the wind. “Maybe not but, I am responsible for what I’ve done and the only way to even try to make that right is to put a stop to what he’s doing.”

Ms. Sherfield gave him a heartbroken expression. “You, you aren’t responsible for that… Juillet… Juillet was your brother’s doing, not yours. He’s the Demon, not you… You, you just did what you had to survive the hell he unleashed.”

“I could’ve stopped him. I had multiple chances. I didn’t take one of them.” He refuted, knowing the truth no matter how much he wished her kind lie was it, but sadly the truth was, “Those people are dead because of both of us, and I’m just as much of a Demon as he is.”

“No, you’re not!” Ms. Sherfield tried to argue. “You’re, you’re a good, kind, brave man, who is wasting his life for something that isn’t his fault!”

They were both silent for a moment as her yell echoed between them only to be cared away by the wind.

“You know, with everything he’s done to me, I’m not sure how human I still am.” He eventually admitted. “All I know is whatever part of me is still human, says I have to stop him. If don’t then… the Demon is all that would be left of me. I’m sorry… Ms. Sherfield.”

With his piece said, he once more started on his path not knowing where it would end.

“Blake.” Ms. Sherfield told him as he passed her.

He once more stopped.

“My name is Blake.” She repeated from behind him. “I want you to call me that when you talk to me.”

“Ms. Sherfield…”

“And… and if you really want me to let you go Niel, then… then I want you to promise me something…” She continued, unconcerned for what he had to say. “Before… before you told me that when you stopped your brother it was going to take you two bullets… One for the tinkerer and one… one for the Deadshot Demon… I… I want you to promise me that if that time comes… you won’t use more than one bullet.”

“You really are kinder than I deserve Blake…” He couldn’t help the soft smile that made its way onto his face even as he started walking again, because the sad truth was there wasn’t actually anything she could do to stop him from continuing on towards his brother. His shadow and his gun, the only ones beside him as he made his way towards the setting sun.