 
Gauntlet

Matthew C. Gill

Published By: Matthew C. Gill at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Matthew C. Gill

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For my father; the man, who has given me a lifelong love of westerns, taught me the value of a kept word, a good gun, a sharp knife and the courage to always do what is right. You have always been my hero Dad, even when I was too blind to see it. Thank you.
Table of Contents

Episode 1 – The Thunder Rail Titan Train

Episode 2 – Enter the Bull-Boys

Episode 3 – Late Birds Loot Little

Episode 4 – This Is Your Stop, Now State Your Business Stranger

Episode 5 – Redemption, a Fitting Name

Episode 6 – The Memories Make the Man

Episode 7 – Greetings from Grandma

Episode 8 – The Mayor, Demure

Episode 9 – When Good Men Can Do Nothing

Episode 10 – A Gauntlet Is Thrown Down

Episode 11 – First Breaks, Tough Breaks

Episode 12 – Laughter Is Lethal

Episode 13 – The Illusion of Law

Episode 14 – A Tight Leash

Episode 15 – Boom-Boom, Batter Up

Episode 16 – An Explosive Emergency

Episode 17 – She's going to Blow

Episode 18 – Freeze You Fire Bombing Freak

Episode 19 – The Reaction of Redemption

Episode 20 – Combine and Conquer

Episode 21 – Word Always Travels Past the Warden

Episode 22 – The Digger Doll

Episode 23 – Spurred Bulls and Bullies

Episode 24 – A Charging Bull is a Blind Bull

Episode 25 – Beware a Burnt Backside

Episode 26 – Flee You Fleas

Episode 27 – A Gun-Bunny Hops Again

Episode 28 – The Deputy Delivers

Episode 29 – A Grim Gauntlet

Episode 30 – Tarnished Badges

Episode 31 – New Sheriff, New Plan

Episode 32 – Red Bull Rage

About the author

Gauntlet

Episode 1 – The Thunder Rail Titan Train

The World of Newport was about as hard a place as they come. From the very moment the first explorers arrived to investigate the freshly discovered world they found awaiting them an unforgiving landscape. While it was rich with valuable minerals and natural resources it was quickly proven to be just as reluctant to yield them to just anyone. Vast mountain ranges of ageless stone rippled throughout the endless sweeping lands. Only the occasional scattered seas of sweeping dust or cracked and crag-riddled bordering badlands offered any variety of view.

Travel across Newport was immediately the first major concern among the initial colonists as they found traversing its expansive environment difficult to say the least. The very rocky and mountainous terrain that promised a wealth of riches also came to be synonymous with the cursed claim; "foolish to fly." Its skies were soon declared to be suicidal to navigate due to unpredictably violent storms and an unreliable impact the dense terrain could have on an aircrafts guidance systems.

At first early settlers and pioneers alike were forced to be content with a crawling pace as they struggled to carve their way around the treacherous terrain. Small sparsely populated outposts gradually began to form, each one dependant on the delicate chain that tethered it to the next in hopes of ensuring its survival. Over time minerals and other valuables began to flow to make their way back in a tedious trickle that frustrated the appetite of everyone longing for its riches.

And then there came the Thunder Rail and the salvation of the Titan Train. With funding from the New Republic itself a small local industrial businessman promised to ensure a steady stream of harvested riches. Riding along arcing currents of raw power that roared through the aptly named rails the Titan Trains proved themselves in short order. Little more than enormous engines that acted as potent power plants the Titan Trains carried with them massive loads of people and provisions alike. New faces flocked to Newport in surges to seek their fortune, the chance at a new life or simply the challenge of exploring its environment. All thanks to the single simple solution that the Thunder Rail provided.

Even now as Marshall Lawson looked out his window to survey the brutally beautiful landscape he felt a sort of awe at the accomplishments made here on Newport. It wasn't even midday yet and already the bright sun had risen to ride high in the sky to cast the passing peaks in its bright beams. Cascades of color shimmered in sunlight that was at once marvelous as they were menacing. As gorgeous as the growing ground was you couldn't help but look on at it and be reminded of how defiant it was to those who sought to dominate it.

And yet, here he was riding along in a mighty machine that cut across the distance to connect what once had been thought impossible. Marshall reflexively reached up to brush aside a few falling strands of amber from his forehead before replacing his hat. It was an old habit he had never been able to shake even as he often recalled when his hair wasn't even long enough to require it. Everybody has their habits he could easily admit, without such traits people would be rather dull by all accounts.

Even for such an expeditious mode of transit as the Titan Train was it was still a rear-tiring experience in his opinion. But then as far as backsides go, Marshall had never been blessed with a well-padded one. The notion prompted him to once more reposition himself as it crossed his mind to irritatingly remind him. If he had to remain planted in one of these seats much longer he feared the threatening tingle in his toes would spread to lay siege to his lower limbs. He would much prefer to be up and moving but according to his fellow passengers who were more familiar with the trip he had been advised it more prudent to stay sitting until they stopped.

Desperate to take his mind off his numbing nether Marshall returned his gaze to the passing scenery. Eyes of warm walnut washed over the swiftly sweeping skyline and scanned about as he tried to lose himself in the landscape again. But a peculiar passing presence was caught in his peripheral vision that teased his eye to turn it towards the train's rear. Marshall had to shield his eyes from the sun at first before he could make out just what it was that seemed to be approaching the rear of the robust rail rider.

By his estimation it looked to be some manner of squat and crude roller driven transport since it looked to be leaving a growing cloud of dust in its wake. But for what reason would anyone dare to try to chase a Titan Train in something of that sort? Before he could puzzle over the possible answer a fellow passenger took interest in his examination and promptly provided an explanation.

"Don't tell me you bought your ticket without being told what to expect," a particularly toothless old miner mentioned. "Just prior to reaching town train's always have to start to slow. And about as regular you get some of the lawless locals who take the opportunity to try and thieve what treasures as they can." While Marshall watched on he noticed true enough a slowing pace to their speed that was quickly matched by their pursuing pirates.

"Just keep your nose down lad, and mind what they strutting say," the elderly excavator advised. "They just pick over what easy coin they can and then soon enough we'll find ourselves finishing our journey." A thousand and one questions surged to fill Marshall's mind about the matter. He couldn't fathom how anyone could simply accept the fact that as routine as the Titan Train traveled back and forth likewise was it regularly robbed.

"What about the local law," Marshall asked dryly, his eyes still firmly focused on the vehicle that was now pulling alongside them. "Outside the town's limits," the old man explained further. "It'd be suicide for him to try and enforce anything out this far. Right here is what you call a claimless country. Only thing considered worth protecting is the mines and the miners working them mostly. Those with interests see to it they stay secure but out here in the empty it's anything goes. So nobody bothers with the in-between, you just learn to look at the lost coin as something like a traveling tax and go on with your day."

"Please, mister," a young mother pleaded in the hushed whisper of someone used to talking around little ears. "Nobody wants any trouble, just hand them anything of value they ask for and we'll all be on our way. Questions and the like will only earn their ire." Despite all the requests to ignore the matter and respond like the rest of the cattle, Marshall couldn't dismiss the feeling of a repulsive bitter taste rising in the back of his mouth. This was wrong. These people were being preyed upon like sheep and they were just going to allow it.

Suddenly a sharp sound signaled a message from the crew came from overhead to silence everyone. "Ladies and gentlemen," the emotionless voice began as it greeted their waiting attention. "We ask for your patience and cooperation as some folks are inspecting the train. Kindly comply with their requests and they assure us that once their business is concluded we will be allowed to be safely on our way. Thank you."

"Unbelievable," Marshall managed to mutter through tightly gritted teeth trying to keep the comment concealed under his breath. As he looked around everyone else seemed to regard the news as commonplace as being told to look for the town drunk at the nearest bar. "Trust me," his aged advisor added with a wink. "Be over before you know it."

Episode 2 – Enter the Bull-Boys

"Come on, let's hurry this thing along, I could use a drink," Wynt declared as he impatiently entered the rail car. His ruffled hair was still speckled with windblown dust that lent him the look of a spooked critter fresh from its hole in the ground. Arriving just behind him was a well muscled man, obviously athletic with refined ripped arms that could easily be classified as cannons. "You always need one, you're a drunk," Briscole reminded harshly.

As the two thugs moved forward to take their positions a third gracefully appeared with practiced ease. He moved with the casual dignity of an experienced performer and bore the smiling mask of a manipulating master. Many a man had cursed that face, and even more women cooed at the promised charm. This could be none other than the bloody bachelor himself; Dyzon Naez.

With a cold calculating care Dyzon raised a small commlink with his right hand and keyed the transmitter. "We've landed Caess; you know the drill, make for the engine and ensure they don't get any ideas." Still parked behind the controls of their rolling ride the short slate-skinned Kry-Santhian signaled his understanding with a quick grunt. His sharp ruby eyes keenly kept their focus on maintaining the moving orbit alongside the loud locomotive. Caess had to concentrate on the tedious task not merely because of its potential peril, but for his own personal problems. He often found the distraction demanded by such devices too tempting for his curiosity, like most of his race he suffered from a certain obsessive compulsion with regards to gadgets and things technological. Coupled with the inevitable gawking glares of its passengers peering out to examine his ruby studded stone-like skin was almost more than he could handle. No matter how many times he had managed to meet the challenge it always tested him.

Dyzon watched on as his cunning cohort pulled ahead as instructed and then once satisfied proceeded with his plan. There was a certain familiar thrill that he always enjoyed that came with the experience. "Greetings boys and girls," Dyzon began with a warm welcoming smile. "We're the Bull-Boys; no doubt you're familiar with our well-known exploits. So I'm not going to waste anyone's time on the usual warnings, or the nasty business of making my point perfectly perceived. Just provide my associates with any valuables you happen to have and you'll be around to swap stories at supper."

Every eye seemed fixed on the dramatic figure as he spoke in a perfectly measured tone and moved forward like he was commanding a stage. Before him both Wynt and Briscole were already passing about as they picked over each passenger. They moved forward in a crude circuit that made sure not to miss a single seat or the potential pilfering therein. In short order they cleared each car before moving to the next and at each opportunity Dyzon gave the same little speech.

No one moved to stop the bandits nor did anyone refuse their right to rob the rail riders. In fact several young ladies and a few married ones begged to be taken along with their purses by the notorious bloody bachelor. By the time the bold bandits were about to enter Marshall's car he found himself almost beyond restraint. Impulsively he reached beneath his jacket only to curse his carefulness. He had safely stored his weapons before boarding to avoid any unwanted attention while he traveled. While he had had no reason to expect any need for them or any reason to fear any official issues with carrying them he preferred to avoid the matter either way. Now he wished he hadn't been so cautious, not to mention naïve enough to think the ride would be uneventful.

Without anything to hand Marshall looked around him at all the other passengers. If he attempted any form of action with only his bare hands it was all too likely that any one of them could pay the price. And that was something he refused to risk. He swallowed the unpleasant idea of allowing these predators to prey upon the passive passengers with a slight shiver and lowered his head.

"Keep your head down," that is what the old-timer had told him to do. If Marshall couldn't stand up and stop these thugs, he certainly wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of another coward added to the crowd. Let them pick over the rest with a grin as they watched them take their treasures from them. He wasn't about to reward them with another fear filled face.

"Hey, wake up you, didn't you hear me," Wynt probed with the pointed tip of his gun to poke at Marshall's shoulder. "It looks like it's your turn friend; cough up your coin empty ears." Without any hurry Marshall slowly raised his head to look up at the demanding desperado. His brown eyes barely peeked out from beneath the brim of his hat to question the un-intimidating figure before him. "First of all, I am not your friend or the friend of anyone who is obviously as rude as yourself," Marshall responded rapidly. "Secondly, as I understood your well-spoken superior's speech you're only interested in items of worth; which I for one am woefully without. So if you don't mind I am going to return to my business and leave you to complete yours."

While Wynt blinked in response to the brash bluff of bravado Briscole begged from behind for him to hurry himself up. "What is taking you so long booze brain," the mountain sized man complained as he stuffed a fresh handful of things into a bag. "Oh be quiet you has-been heavyweight," Wynt answered angrily. Disappointed and somewhat dazed by the unusual reaction Wynt decided to spit at this strangers feet before he leaned in to reply. "No worries mister, I am sure we will catch you around sooner or later and catch up," he promised. As the looting lot all turned to exit Marshall welcomed the relief from the bandit's bottle breath with wordless thanks. The strong stench alone was near enough to make him recoil but he had been determined not to be the first one to blink.

Again as Marshall looked on at the nefarious near-do-wells backs he longed to do something to stop them. But all three of them he easily enough noted were all armed and he sadly was not. Still stewing over the fact Marshall managed to catch Dyzon's final flourish and the two locked eyes briefly. "Well it has been rewarding for us and hopefully entertaining for you as well," the theatrical thief mused. "Until we meet once more let me simply say; safe travels to us all."

Still smiling Dyzon bid his farewell with a tip of his hat towards Marshall and winked. "Always a pleasure to meet a man with spirit and steel, something tells me we shall see each other again." Admittedly Marshall relished the idea of getting the opportunity to cross paths with these Bull-Boys under different conditions. "Who knows, it's a big broad world out there," he replied resolutely.

"Shepherds and Stalkers," Dyzon suddenly stated squarely. "They both stick close to sheep stranger. And while this world may be massive, there are only so many sheep to be found. Yeah, I'd wager that we will meet again." Before he could complete his exit a second speeding shape came into view in the distance racing towards the Titan Train.

As Marshall watched on out his window a single thought filled him. "Alright, now what," he asked himself silently. Obviously routine was anything but what a trip by Titan Train was on Newport.

Episode 3 – Late Birds Loot Little

Perched at the promising portal Dyzon stood poised with his commlink firmly in hand, its transmitter keyed active. A deep chuckle was already building from inside him to fill the car's cabin with its mirth as the Bloody Bachelor began to laugh loudly. "My apologies," he sarcastically spat with a soft sneer. "But a late bird loots little my losing lady. The pickings albeit slim are presently picked clean. Better luck next time, though!"

A string of strong speech exploded from the small speaker and managed to be nearly audible enough for everyone onboard to clearly decipher. Anything but cordial the angry answer was dripping with violent venom. "Horns will have you for this," the vengeful voice vowed. "That was our task for the taking and you know it! Mark my words; nobody continually cheats Eris Clanless without paying a price. There will come a day when your debt will come due and Dizcords Daemons will be the ones collecting!"

"Wishful thinking to be sure," Dyzon declared with a giggle. With a wave of his hand he further added to his implied insults before stepping off the train to land skillfully into an empty seat beside Caess. The dutiful diminutive driver took only a glance to ensure everyone was once more back onboard before he directed the trusty transport to pull clear from the Titan Train. In a trailing cloud of dust the bold bandits disappeared once more into the distance. Taking with them what treasures they had thieved and leaving only terrorized travelers.

Marshall turned his attention back to the second curious conveyance as it now circled in a slow circuit. If he had overheard everything correctly and these were rival renegade rogues then he figured they had a decision to make presently. Either they were going to try their luck at locating any left-over loot before the Titan Train reached town, or they could turn tail. Some might assume there was a chance that the thwarted thieves would chase after the bandits who seemingly bested them. But there was something in what he had heard that hinted to Marshall that it wasn't altogether likely to expect.

This Eris person had claimed for whatever reason that robbing the Titan Train was somehow assigned to them. And while no two criminals can be considered to act alike, Marshall knew enough to know that they also didn't typically permit competition among themselves either. So either something strange was going on here between these two bickering bands of bandits or he just walked into a ridiculous rivalry. Possibly even both; he wasn't going to rule anything out. He was about to be new in town after all.

The Titan Train slowly returned to a more appropriate pace and as it did the reluctant would-be robbers retreated back the way they came. "We'll be on back to town soon enough," the old man said softly. The sudden sound tugged at Marshall's attention like a leash until he spun around in his seat to face the elderly excavator. "How regular are little experiences like this," Marshall asked, careful to keep the harsh edge dulled from his tone.

"Those two have been at each other for months now," he explained. "See, one will pull something or other off and then next the other has to. We got ourselves a visit from the Bull-Boys today, odds are now we'll see something out of them Dizcords Daemons lot soon enough. That Eris isn't exactly the most forgiving or friendly of sorts. Word is she may be on this side of civilized, or as close as an Uraor can be but she is still one of them savage sociopaths.

Before long I'd wager they'd both be at each others throats like two packs of dusk hounds. You ever seen some dusk hounds tear into something? Well it isn't exactly a pleasant sight, mind. But I gather someone not exactly familiar with the ways out here isn't liable to understand the matter. Out here the New Republic don't rightly reach far enough to have a say in much. As long as they keep getting fed the shipments they seek they aren't about to nose in on any local disputes."

"Wait a tick," Marshall interrupted quickly. "You said the local law, he don't come out here into this area to enforce anything. So if he can't be bothered to keep the peace for anyone on their way to or from town, then how much safety is there for anyone who lives there?"

The old miner licked at his dry lips and then squinted to regard Marshall with a serious stare. His expression was as firm as granite and wisdom pooled itself in his marble eyes. "You're starting to catch on pup. Out here on Newport nobody comes expecting an easy life or a safe one. You work for every scrap you can and make do with whatever this world will let you keep. It's as simple as that. I've been robbed more times then I care to keep a count on and have had my share of hardships. But I still got my life and the drive to dig my way back in and cast my lot again. Who knows, I may strike it rich or I may find myself a final home in the dirt but as long as I have the ability to keep moving forward I am going to. Most folks who come to Newport all have that in common. Especially those who decide to make a try out of the town. That's why they named it what they did; Redemption. You'll either find it out here through your own sweat or you won't. But ain't nobody never found it for themselves by worrying over who was going to look after them."

While the toothless traveler's words lingered with Marshall the Titan Train finally began to come to its rightful stop. A sharp signal marked the massive mechanical beast's ended journey, at least until its next trip back. And as it did the passengers all began to shuffle their way to depart. But Marshall found himself oddly distant as he moved through his own motions. Automatically he reclaimed his stored baggage and ensured all his belongings still securely strapped together. His mind was still hung on the old man's words and how they had reached into him.

They had named this town Redemption, and people had been flocking to it for one reason or another to try and find it. He figured for most that meant finally finding a worthwhile life after making it to Newport. But so far all he had seen was people still looking for their dream. Maybe things would be different once he had a look around town. "Yeah, how much does one old miner know anyways," Marshall decided before stepping out the door.

Episode 4 – This Is Your Stop, Now State Your Business Stranger

The frontier town of Redemption greeted Marshall as he left the Titan Train and it's crackling Thunder Rail. Carved from the rising ridges that rose to become the reaching mountains Redemption sat at the feet of the rocky range. Surrounding it was a sweeping sea of salt flats that shimmered in the sun. The arcing expanse of stretched steel snaked its way back behind him as it ran up alongside to skirt the edge of town before doubling back on itself. This was the end of the line; people either settled in Redemption or took their chances going any further on their own.

Most of the other passengers had already disembarked save for Marshall and a handful of others. One of whom caught at his attention with a shout as she struggled with a crewman over a small bag. "But I paid for my ticket," the weary widow objected weakly. "Not my problem," the man mentioned as he ripped the property free from her grip. Already Marshall could see the woman was falling to tears and he decided he had seen enough sorrow visited upon others for one day.

"Release that lady's luggage at once," Marshall demanded as he snatched a firm hold of the man's arm. "Mind telling me what is going on here or do I need to inform the Sheriff that we have a man mugging the elderly?" The crewman shot Marshall a furious glare and clutched a steady hold at the bag. "This is none of your concern stranger. Every passenger is responsible for his or her passage, and this lady only paid for part of hers up front. The remainder of her ticket was purchased en-route but that money was stolen. It's simply rail policy that she forfeits her belongings to cover the remainder of what she owes. We are not responsible for lost or stolen valuables that occur in transit."

"But I already paid!" The widow wept as her strength began to fail her in the face of loosing what little seemed left to her. Reaching deep into a vest pocket Marshall fished out his last remaining Regal and tossed the coin at the waiting crewman. "That should more than cover her expenses now release her property before I decide to change my mind and remove it from your possession personally."

Catching the coin easily with his other hand the belligerent bag-man's eyes widened at the sight. A whole Regal was more than enough to pay for the woman's trip ten times over and he wasn't about to offer to make change even though they both knew he couldn't. "Sure thing mister," he offered as he released the bag to fall to the dirt. Marshall immediately retrieved the luggage for the lady and carefully dusted it off before handing it back to her still shaking hand.

"Th-Thank you," she gratefully whispered with a sniffle. "Don't mention it, ma'am," Marshall added with a slight tip of his hat before turning to bid her farewell. Doing a good deed always left him feeling better inside and planted a grin on his face. Even if it had cost him his last coin, no lady deserved to be treated that way.

"Greetings, traveler," a smooth level voice called to Marshall the moment he had turned back around. Leaning back on a slab of stone was a broad shouldered man with the weathered features of someone at home in the rough environment. A bright badge of silver gleamed on his breast and Marshall didn't need to read it to guess that it said Sheriff in scrawling script.

"Good day to you, Sheriff," he politely returned the salutation with a slight nod and started to walk towards town. Before he could move a full two steps a quick gesture called for him to stop. "Not so fast friend," the Sheriff interrupted. "I like to make it a point to officially meet every new face that finds its way to our little town. And seeing as how you are another one of those fresh faces I think we should have a little talk. Why don't we start by you telling me who you are what business you have here in Redemption?"

Already Marshall was finding this local lawman irritatingly annoying. What nerve did he have asking him who he was when he obviously didn't care about his sworn duty enough to put a stop to these train robberies? And what about the attempted strong-armed mugging that nearly occurred to that poor woman only moments ago? No, he was well past the mood to play nice.

"I'd like to report a crime or two Sheriff," Marshall mentioned with a veiled hint of sarcasm. He tossed out the claim like a baited lure and waited to reel it in to see what manner of man he might catch behind the badge. A raised eyebrow and crooked grin looked back at him as if there was some humor in the sentiment of a reported crime.

"Alright, stranger, let's hear it; why don't you open my eyes for me. Go ahead and reveal to me what breeches to the law I ought to be crusading after. Do be so kind as to let me know before we get started if I'll need to write any of this down." The Sheriff made it a point to cross his arms and focus himself fully on Marshall.

"First of all, Sheriff, there was a robbery that took place on the train ride here," Marshall recalled holding a finger up to mark the matter. "Secondly, there is no way you missed that unfortunate woman nearly taken advantage of. She was almost mugged, man!" As he spoke Marshall tried to keep his head lowered slightly to keep his growing frustration shrouded from view. Making a display as a disappointed drifter was one thing but outright disrespecting the local authority was bound to earn him an overnight stay in a prison cell. Already he had begun to fear his mouth might have outpaced his self-restraint.

With a Yawn the Sheriff paused for a moment to patiently ensure all complaints had had their chance to be brought before him. "You heard the man mister, that woman was responsible for her debt same as you. If it is the policy of the Thunder Rail to not cover anything lost then that is the way it is. That is as simple as a customer-relations problem as I see it. And as for anything that occurs outside of the town well it isn't under my mandated authority. Now unless you have further issues to bring before me, my name is Pierce Arbiter and you can find my office in town. It's the one with the words 'Sheriff' hanging above it."

"Thank you kindly for your time then Sheriff Arbiter," Marshall remarked as he once more moved to make his way towards town. "Hey," Arbiter called from behind him. "You never answered my questions. Who are you and what are doing here in my town?" This time though Marshall didn't stop to turn back around before he answered.

"I'm just passing through, Sheriff," Marshall replied. "And your name," the Sheriff demanded again. "Oh, nobody of any account," was the only explanation Marshall offered before another booming bellow erupted from the Titan Train. Arbiter watched as this newcomer continued on towards town and scratched at the stubble sprouting on his chin. "Well, we'll soon see about that then won't we," he remarked to himself. "Welcome to Redemption friend."

Episode 5 – Redemption, a Fitting Name

Marshall roamed about the dirt pounded paths that served as the streets of Redemption as he considered what to do next. His original plan upon arrival was to secure himself a place to stay and set himself up while he settled into the new town. But now that wasn't exactly a viable option. As he looked around him he noted only a handful of other people shuffling about town. A few merchants and shop-tenders peered out from their windows to watch him walking down the street. And a handful of townsfolk mulled about in hushed whispers scattered about.

Marshall had the distinct impression that the town of Redemption had perhaps grown too used to being robbed, mugged and terrorized on a regular basis. Nobody deserved to live in constant fear. And if the Sheriff wasn't about to do something about it then he would. It's part of the reason he had come all the way out here, a big part of why he was even on this little rock.

Redemption; it truly was a bit of irony that the town had been named so. He had made the choice to redeem himself and gone looking for the perfect place. A place where a hero was needed, somewhere he could make a difference. Here in Redemption all he saw was the need for someone to make a stand. This was as perfect a town to throw down a defiant challenge against those who would prey upon the weak or helpless as ever there could be. And the name alone was a fitting sign. He would make his start here and begin his career as a crime fighter. What better place to do that then a town ripe with criminals and in need of some hope?

Thoughts of the faces he had already encountered on the Titan Train drifted back to his mind every time he closed his eyes, even for a moment. They held the sorrowful emptiness of cattle in a way, void of a life that didn't know helplessness. How had the people here lived this way for any time at all? And then Marshall pictured the old widow who nearly lost her only piece of luggage as a crewman attempted to recoup the lost ticket revenue taken by the robbers. This truly was a depressing place.

People still moved about up and down the street around him but no one approached or hailed him with greeting. Aside from the seemingly polite encounter with the Sheriff upon exiting the Titan Train he wondered if there was a single hospitable soul left here in Redemption. He couldn't blame them though, if he was visited by violent villains on a regular basis he might be a bit over-cautious himself. Still, there had to be some kind hearted decent person somewhere in this town. Didn't there?

Lost in contemplating the matter Marshall found himself absent-mindedly still wandering about the streets of Redemption. His thoughts drifting back and forth from present events to some older encounters he tried to push back down and out of mind. Looking to distract himself from such matters he once more began to scan his surroundings for someone who might be able to provide his some manner of charitable advice or insight. His eyes immediately settled on a single young lady exiting an establishment.

The placard above the door was a simple enough sign that he didn't need to be spelled out to explain the type of business it dealt in. All anyone needed to see was the unmistakable image of a box and shovel to understand that this could only be the office of the local undertaker. What reasons this lady might have to visit such a merchant of morbid matters was beyond Marshall but something told him that perhaps he might have luck asking her for advice.

There was a sort of mysterious quality to this maiden, moving in slow precise movements with a relaxed and refined care. She was dressed smartly in a neat charcoal pinstriped top and trousers that was accented by a crisp black vest. A coal color topper sat tipped slightly askew upon her head with a flawless braided bun of russet resting to the rear. Everything down to the pristine knee-length buckle-top boots spoke of an almost obsessive attention to detail. If anyone might be able to point him in the appropriate direction it had to be this meticulous maiden.

"Lovely day, isn't it Miss?" Marshall called to her before removing his hat to approach her with his head bowed slightly. "My name is Marshall Lawson and I find myself at the mercy of being new to Redemption. If you could be so kind as to remedy my ignorance and point in the direction of a charitable place where I might find shelter I would be ever so grateful."

A pair of amethyst eyes answered Marshall by analyzing him with a scrutinizing stare in response to the request. The ladies lips pursed before pulling to the left in a curious expression that he couldn't tell was meant to mean disdain at being interrupted or simply caught off guard. Considering where she had just left he hoped he hadn't caught her at an unpleasant time.

"Apologies stranger, but were you addressing me by chance," she asked awkwardly. There was a pleasant undertone of cheer in her voice that made Marshall smile briefly before he realized he should answer. "Yes, ma'am," he confirmed with a nod. Something about his answer seemed to prompt a half-puzzled grin to form upon her face only to be shaken off with a muffled giggle.

"Well then," she began and recomposed herself. "If that is the case then it would be quite unforgivably rude of me not to avail you of my familiarity with Redemption, or at the very least try to provide some manner of response. As the matter stands the best advice that I can offer is for you to make your way over to see Grandma Grael over at the General Good. You can find her down the street and around the bend. Just make sure to inform her that Miss Donovaen sends her regards. I am sure that will be more than sufficient to provide you enough to secure her attention and your foot safely in the door. But let me just say it'll be up to you to convince her to let you stay for any length. Likely Grandma is about the best bet for a new name come to town seeking hospitality."

"You have my gratitude then," Marshall offered before replacing his hat. "Best of luck to you Mr. Lawson, I must take my leave now. I have other matters to see to." Respectfully Marshall made sure to wait for the lady to leave first before he himself went about finding this Grandma Grael. With any luck perhaps he would be fortunate enough to find himself a bed for a night or so while he got a better feel for the situation here in Redemption.

Episode 6 – The Memories Make the Man

The walk down the street wasn't exactly a long harrowing affair nor was it what you would call a scenic experience either. But the short jaunt did give Marshall a few moments for his mind to wander about. And for better or worse he found his memories once more drifting back on matters that he tried not to think about all too often. They were things that had undoubtedly shaped him and led him to this particular point in his life. Even though they weren't times he particularly treasured.

Growing up he had spent his days playing games like heroes and villains where he always had to be the good guy. It was a simple childhood fantasy to be sure, but he always relished those innocent clear renderings of right and wrong that seemed so intrinsic to a kid's view of reality. He savored every story about how special people were out there fighting against those who broke the law or sought to hurt others. It was a keystone in the foundation of everything he held dear about the world.

But with time and age came a new understanding. As he grew up more and more he began to look for some evidence of those courageous champions of society. Marshall would look around every corner for some sign of a savior stopping some source of sin or slight. Yet the older he became the more he realized there simply was no superhero standing sentry to safeguard them. By the time he had already grown into a young man he had all but given up hope for heroes that he had always held in his heart.

And then he heard the stories about the stoic soldiers who served the New Republic valiantly. Perhaps there was still some among those ranks who fought the good fight for the safety and security of all. So without a second thought Marshall rushed out to sign up for service. It was a proud day for him; one he thought was going to be the proudest day of his life.

Instead it was a defining decision that brought with it a dark depressive depth to his already shattered dreams. For once he joined and entered into the recruit program he found a pervasive poison of profound misconduct. At first he felt compelled to report every misdeed or breech of behavior. He charged like some crusading champion to demand justice be done to those who sullied the name of every soldier to bear the banner of the New Republic.

But, much to his dismay only blind eyes and deaf ears awaited him. Before long he found himself earning only irritation and reprimand for repeatedly bringing such reports to his superiors for actions they deemed as expected offenses. It didn't take long for his peers to take note of his criticism or how often he vanished to seek out an officer. And it took them even less time to decide amongst themselves that the little do-gooder had to be taught a lesson in minding his own business.

Eventually Marshall found himself painfully paying for every thought of doing his duty to uphold the ideals he had signed on to protect. By the time he had graduated from the training program he had completely removed all notions of appropriate conduct from his mind. Instead he simply focused his full attention towards obeying orders and with any luck he might find himself assigned somewhere where he could make a difference fighting to keep people safe. At least perhaps then he could rest with some relief that he had managed to live up to his own reasons for joining in the first place.

He could even recall one of his first assignments; it was a small civilian settlement where some harmless incident had been reported. But it had managed to catch the notice of some superior or politician somewhere who had decided to send a small detachment in to investigate. They had been order to ease or alleviate any fears and deal with the matter using their best judgment. In retrospect Marshall should have taken that as his first clue that something was bound to go wrong. He should have anticipated it but instead he had just assumed things would be different than back when they were just recruits in training.

Everything had happened so expectedly at first, the whole deployment had been completely by the numbers. And then he and his partner had been ordered to check out a few buildings at the end of the street. Nothing of any importance had even occurred at all so far, not even a single firefight or conflict of any kind. The whole trip had been completely one routine review of their training program. So Marshall had relaxed his guard a bit and figured after this final check they would be done and on their way back to base.

His partner had entered into the last building to take a quick check of the place and Marshall had stayed in position out front to stand guard. All in all he figured they were just going through the final motions before declaring their mission complete. But after awhile when his partner hadn't returned he began to get curious. He couldn't just abandon his post or else he risked being written up and odds were it was just nothing anyways.

Eventually there was a commotion inside that prompted Marshall to reconsider his decision about investigating followed shortly by his partner reappearing in the doorway grinning and slightly disheveled. "What happened," he remembered asking. Those words were the last clear memory he had that he could recall. What happened next had become a matter of official record that according to his trial claimed he had brutally pummeled another soldier until he had to be restrained by force. No motive was mentioned, and only a few vague references to a victimized young woman any indication of a possible reason for the violent reaction.

It was his first and last time wearing the uniform in the name of the New Republic as one of its armed forces. After that he had found himself sentenced to a prison cell with only the knowledge that he could have prevented what had happened. Instead of waiting or looking for some hero if he had just went in as well he could have acted. Even if he had simply checked in on his partner instead of waiting outside obediently he might have been rewarded with the consolation his conscience desperately demanded. Instead he was tormented inside far more than any bars or walls could have ever punished him.

The anguish of his past still pained him as it replayed itself in his head. But he didn't want to dwell on it now; he had come to Redemption to move past it. With some effort he called up his will and pushed the images back down out of his thoughts. He needed to find a place called 'General Good' or some such and ask for Grandma. Composing himself with a deep breath Marshall closed his eyes and focused on the task he had set for himself.

"Good day Grandma Grael, My name is Marshall Lawson and Miss Donovaen mentioned the possibility that you might be a woman of some mercy," he practiced aloud. Content that it sounded sufficiently sympathetic Marshall sighed once more and then made the turn around the corner. All he had to do now was find this place, talk a little old lady into a place to stay and hope no questions about his past came up. Seemed like a simple enough plan, but he knew better than to expect anything going according to plan. Nothing ever truthfully did in his opinion.

Episode 7 – Greetings from Grandma

A weather-worn placard hung on the wall by an old wooden doorway reading _General Good_. It almost looked like some space on the time-tormented title had forgotten a letter or two but Marshall had no way to know for sure. As far as he could tell it could have just been the aged look to the old shop's sign.

Standing outside the store was a small shopkeeper who looked to be barely 5 feet tall, all things told, and older than Marshall was willing to reckon. The grey haired granny moved with strength of purpose as she swept off the outside of her store with experienced ease. There was not even a slight hint of weakness or inability present in the miniature merchant as she carried herself without any pretext of poise. Something silently spoke from her like a slumbering air of simple truth; this little lady was all business and looked to handle the matter masterfully.

She would have to, Marshall thought to himself. Anyone who had survived out here to be as old as this working wonder would have to be about as resilient as those regal ridges surrounding the town. Especially while running something like a business in a town besieged by bandits. While Marshall mused about this mysteriously miniature merchant with mettle he found himself strangely taking a liking to her. Although he made a mental note that it might be wise not to make a mention of her small stature.

"Well, you coming or do you plan on sitting out here in the sun all the day long?" The sudden query registered right upside Marshall's head like he had just been slapped by a school-teacher for daydreaming in class. How had she even known that he had been standing there? He hadn't even noticed her look over at him, not even once.

"No doubt you're new in town and likely have found yourself without coin needing a place to bunk for a bit." Marshall got the distinct impression that this wasn't the first time someone had come to Grandma Grael looking for such hospitality. He also realized quite unmistakably that she wasn't asking why he was here nor had she directed him to seek his sanctuary elsewhere.

"I, uh," Marshall began somewhat shaken by her reaction. "I mean to say that Miss Donovaen told me to..." At the mention of the name, Marshall noticed that what the well-dressed woman had said had been proven true. Instantly a pair of sharp cobalt-blue eyes shot up to level themselves squarely upon him. As soon as they did so Marshall could feel a lump form in his throat and his heart skipped a beat.

He started to curiously contemplate how this small shop-keeper could have such an impact on him with nothing more than a directed glance. But then he realized he had completely forgotten to introduce himself as well. There goes my practiced polite presentation he thought to himself and hoped it wouldn't hurt his chances to earn her good graces.

"Terra told you to come see me did she," Grandma casually commented before turning to head back inside. "Now that is something then, come on. And unless you're in the habit of waiting about to make an old lady have to ask you for your name I would suggest you offer one up. Otherwise you might find yourself sorely discovering my disdain for abiding any rude behavior."

"Yes ma'am," Marshall tried to find the words to form an apology but instead decided it best to skip straight passed the matter. "My name is Marshall Lawson," he declared quickly as he moved to follow her inside. "And to be frank, ma'am I wouldn't have even found myself requiring your charity presently but I used the last of my funds to right a matter of some moral inequity. Otherwise I would have happily paid my due for a room."

Suddenly spinning on her heels Grandma Grael shot back another stare that might as well have been a gunshot for how it disarmed him. "So you're a man who lets your heart have the reins instead of your head then?" Grandma Grael once more held the tone of someone explaining a matter more so than anyone asking a question. She also wasn't about to resist speaking further about exactly what she was thinking on the matter.

"Out here it isn't wise for any man to ignore his wits and allow his actions to be driven solely by his feelings. Just because you find yourself feeling guilty for another doesn't mean you need to hand over all that you have to change the matter. While it might be admirable to lend your hand to another who finds theirs empty you have to remember that by doing so you end up allowing your own to become likewise. Now you are yourself dependant on another for a helping hand are you not? And what then if there is no other willing hand to lend to you in aid?"

"With all due respect ma'am," Marshall tried to interrupt, to defend his actions, only to be cut off coldly before he could even try. "Don't you dare even try to 'with all due respect me' pup," Grandma Grael advised. "My point is made, and you would do well to make it a permanent addition to your memory. Now unless you'd like to talk me out of being hospitable then I would recommend you keep your mouth shut and your ears open."

Obediently Marshall silenced all the rushing words that wanted to find their way out in explanation. If this might be his best odds for finding a place to put his head for the night he didn't dare ruin his chances any further. Something told him that while he could perhaps find some place to shut his eyes out on the streets overnight that the Sheriff might not think twice about relocating any such drifters to a barred bunk. And he had had his fill of such sights to last him the remainder of his days.

"Here is how it is going to be, so don't go thinking for a minute that you're taking advantage of my own charitable nature or going to get a free stay. Most folk manage to make it to Redemption and often enough is the case find their way here ending without funds. So in exchange for a room and some meals you're going to be in my service for any odd jobs or occasional tasks that need seeing to. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes ma'am," Marshall agreed, grateful to accept the merciful token of hospitality. "Good then," Grandma Grael acknowledged and handed him the broom from her hand. "You can put your things in the room at the top of the stairs on the left and then see to sweeping up outside. It tends to stay fairly dusty around here and afterwards I'm sure I'll have a few other matters for you to tend to."

Marshall couldn't argue as he had already planned on offering to earn his keep even if she hadn't insisted on it. But he couldn't help but admit that as charitable as Grandma Grael was there was little doubt that she was just as shrewd. No wonder the merciful merchant had managed to stay in business all these years. He also made a mental note to never ever find himself on the receiving end of her discontentment. Marshall wouldn't think twice to wager that for those who managed to do so; that they would find themselves facing something likely fearsome enough that it was best left slumbering.

Episode 8 – The Mayor, Demure

Marshall had barely finished making one complete circuit outside the shop before he noticed the tale-tell signs of a growing layer of fresh dust draped along the walkway. This had to be one of the most infuriating examples of futile functions anyone had ever had the displeasure of having to perform. Even as tedious and trying as it was to his nerves he also had to admit that it could be infinitely worse.

"If you're quite finished for the time being why don't bring yourself in here for a moment and see to this list I have for you." Grandma Grael's voice carried out from behind a crudely crafted counter to bring with it an air of authority. It was something Marshall had decided he would have to get used to sooner or later. He was accustomed to the booming commands and trumpeted threats of drill sergeants; such a soft spoken superior was somewhat strange still.

Happy to turn to another task Marshall returned inside to see just what manner of duties the merciful merchant had waiting for him now. With him barely through the door good, the clear hum of a purring hover-hauler slid to a halt behind him. The clear hiss of released air as it settled to sit upon the ground snared Marshall easy enough, but something about the grim look it elicited from Grandma made him curious.

Who could, or for that matter would be cruising around town in one of those notoriously needy machines? He would have thought that anybody out here wouldn't have the foolishness to try and keep something like that maintained. Besides, it wouldn't take very long for a hover-hauler to leave you completely stranded if you tried to take it very far outside of town. They had never been known for handling rugged terrain or conditions very well.

The first figure to emerge from the quieting contraption was a short and slender girl dressed in feminine fashion in a form fitting suit that was blacker than a moonless night. Matching mirrored shades masked her eyes from view as she immediately took up a position by the door and began patiently patrolling the perimeter by panning her head back and forth. There was almost an eager cat like tension to the woman as if she eagerly awaited a single twitch that might allow her to spring into action.

After a few long moments and a couple of briefly blustering breezes a second woman appeared this one with an almost regal bearing. Every movement held the hallmark of a choreographed and practiced routine. On another world she might have had another life, a high class model perhaps. But Marshall couldn't see there being much call for a model on Newport. Even as qualified for the job as this lady looked.

She was easily as tall as Marshall, if maybe a hair taller but that could have been helped by the shinning steel tipped heels that accented her feet. Long loose hair hung like a curtain that fell to cascade over her shoulders as it burned brightly in the sunlight. The light of day seemed to add a subtle shade of red where there otherwise might not have been any to her golden hair. Hugging her ample curves was a brilliant dress of royal blue that managed to keep luring Marshall's eyes back to re-examine it.

By the time she had crossed the distance to the doorway Marshall had only just realized his rudeness and had to quickly remove his hat. But instead of noticing his nearly missed act of etiquette, an icy entrance devoid of introduction brushed past him as if he was some invisible fixture attached to the floor. "Greeting's ma'am," Marshall told the silently suited associate as she shadowed behind her fashionable friend. An empty sneer was the only reply he received in return for his remark.

"Official business I am afraid," the well dressed woman commented coldly as she came to a stop before Grandma Grael. "We're dealing with a dispute and I thought it might alleviate some animosity by bringing some provisions with me. It is a Mayor's duty to see after the people of the town after all."

"Don't you mean take advantage of any opportunity to secure more loyal voters to your continual campaign?" Grandma Grael's alternate explanation was met by a brief polite smile that neatly hid a lack of humor found in the statement. "Either way it matters little about motives, you know full well that if folks are in need I will do my part to aid them. Just spare us the sauntering sally routine Demure, we both know you don't do anything without making sure it benefits you in some manner."

"I do appreciate how I can always count on you to be of service to this fine community," Demure declared as she produced a small list to place upon the counter. "Always a pleasure, and do make sure to have that order ready when my secretary returns later for it. I would hate to think anyone might have to suffer even a minute longer when we could relieve their burden."

"You should just stick to smiling and swaying those hips, leave the caring to those of us who still has a heart," Grandma Grael advised as she watched the Mayor make her way back out the door. "Marshall, let me give you some free advice; never trust a two-faced politician. And trust even less a snake like her who barely bothers to hide her scales."

"Pardon me," Marshall apologized for his own ignorance. "But do you mean that she is the Mayor?" He might have guessed that she was the Mayor's wife or even his secretary but never the Mayor herself. And knowing that she was he couldn't believe that Grandma Grael had just spoken to her like that.

"She has been a spoiled little brat with a pretty face ever since she could toddle about town," she explained. "As a young lady she was unfortunate enough to catch the eye of some thieves that were passing through the area robbing every establishment they could get into. They decided to take her with them as an insurance policy and lucky enough for her eventually they messed up good enough some lawmen managed to rescue her.

Using the press from her ordeal and the public's sympathy she decided to run for office and easily enough found herself a spot as the Assistant Mayor. Eventually the Mayor died while in office and Demure there took over for him. Now she runs the town like it's her personal popularity contest. But as long as she keeps everything running smooth enough to keep the majority happy nobody bothers much about it."

Grandma slid the list towards Marshall and let a big grin rise on her face. "So it looks like you best be getting busy if you're going to fill this order right away." She giggled to herself as she disappeared back into the rear of the store, leaving Marshall alone with the list. Half cursing to himself he then realized he hadn't any idea where any of this stuff even was in the store. "Better get to it then I guess," he decided.

As he set himself to seeing to his job Grandma Grael watched from around the corner still smiling. She liked this young man; he had a good feeling about him. But she would have to wait and see how well he handled finding some of the things on that list. Not everyone could make sense of her organizational methods. The thought prompted another hushed giggle before she went about seeing to some other things herself.

Episode 9 – When Good Men Can Do Nothing

Running alongside the _General Good_ and tucking neatly behind it was a small alleyway that lead to where Grandma Grael kept her waste bins and the like. It was also where folks like Jeb and Cut-throat Charlie liked to meet to do a quick spot of business. "You remember to bring your coin this time Chuck," Jeb joked as he rubbed at the scruffy stubble that littered his chin. "Long as you made sure to not forget to bring with you what I might need it for," Cut-throat countered before spitting at the ground.

Jeb grinned eagerly from ear to ear as he eyed the potential purchase and awaited the show of money to seal the deal. But instead of reaching inside his jacket's front as usual, he marked Cut-throat's hand slowly going for the back of his pants. "Hey, what's this you're trying to pull now," Jeb demanded as he immediately tried to draw a weapon himself. Neither back alley dealer managed to be faster than their opposite as both heard the sound of slapped leather as guns quickly lent themselves to hand.

"You done been cheating me for too long," Cut-throat challenged, careful to keep his pocket-sized pistol trained on Jeb. "It's just business," Jeb said with a shrug as he managed to keep his own weapon locked on his would be mark. Both men watched the other with growing irritation as their trigger fingers itched along with their impatience. That is until a third voice called from the street to draw at least a measure of their attention.

The slight slender shape of a man moved from the sunlit street back to investigate the shadow shrouded landscape of the alleyway. Standing just less than 5 feet tall Deputy Rook had never been known to strike any real notion of terror let alone invoke any measure of authority into those who he came across. As a Gael-Noir he had come to find himself an awkward sight here on Newport and even more so out here in Redemption.

He often wondered if it was the pale purple-grey tone of his skin or the deep iridescent violet of his eyes that made everyone look at him the way they did. But over the years he had come to find it even simpler than that. The fact that he was small, thin and often referred to as 'that twisted child looking thing' had come to lend more than enough understanding on the matter.

Despite the feelings others had on the matter he still refused to let that interfere with his job. As the Deputy it was his duty to see to the upkeep of law and order here in Redemption. Even if his authority was vastly limited when compared to the Sheriff's, he still felt obligated to do all he could. So with a short sigh he relaxed his mind and let a rippling calm slip through him as he entered the alleyway to examine the sudden sound that disturbed his ears as he walked by.

"If anyone is back this way, I would highly recommend they declare themselves. This is Deputy Rook, state your name and business," said the Sheriff's substitute. Warily Rook kept his hand on the holstered weapon that hung at his hip as his eyes scanned about in the dim light searching for the source of the sound. He could almost feel it on the air around him that something or someone was back here in the alley. The same instinct also lent him the insight that while he wasn't authorized to engage in open force on the streets he might be about to walk into a situation where he would have to.

♦♦♦

"Would you be so kind as to take this bundle out back to spare an old lady the strain on her shoulders?" Grandma Grael asked as she pointed down at a small parcel that sat next to a few broken remains of what might have once been a broom handle. Judging that he had managed to gather everything to satisfy the Mayor's order and only required a second pass to ensure the matter, Marshall nodded his agreement.

"Just point me as to where they need putting and I will see to it," he acknowledged. Grandma rested her hands on her hips and puffed out a petite sigh before jerking her head towards a rear hallway. "Right through there and out the back door is where you'll find the bins. Mind you, it's best to be careful; sometimes folks rummage about back there."

"Don't worry none, I'll take this stuff out and be right back to finish my work," Marshall promised. He claimed the bundled bag in one hand and the busted broom handle in the other before heading down the hall. As his hand reached for the door knob he could hear the clear command for anyone to identify themselves, sparking in him a sense of alarm.

Tightening his grip on the handle in his hand, Marshall eased the door open cautiously at first and let his eyes survey the situation. What they found waiting to be witnessed was a grizzly pair locked in a standoff with weapons drawn on each other. Whoever had called from around the corner for everyone to announce themselves had sounded distinctly like an officer. They also, it looked well enough like it, were about to walk into a messy situation outnumbered.

There didn't seem to be much of a decision about the matter as Marshall seized on the element of surprise to take action. With a grunt he heaved the bundle like a bullet to slam into the figure on his right, knocking him off balance by the blow. Following up the garbage gambit, Marshall rushed in to deliver a swing directing the broken broom to bash the other man's gun up and away. The brutal blow sent the firearm flying free from the grip that guided the gun to skid away back down the alley.

Reading the registered shock on his victim's face Marshall continued his crusade and returned his attention towards the other armed assailant. Already spinning to shake off the stun, the bag battered bully was raising his weapon for a shot in retaliation. Reflexes reacted automatically from within Marshall to send the ruined remains in his hand sailing on a collision course with the man's middle that ended with a groan that emptied him of air. Not wanting to wait for the other suspicious stranger's shock to wear off, Marshall brought his right up in a savage uppercut to send him toppling to the ground. For good measure he granted the gasping gunman a quick jab or two as well before pulling the two to lie limply together.

"Hold it right there," Rook declared as Marshall retrieved both of the men's weapons. He ignored the order and simply handed both guns out handles first to offer them to the officer. Confused by the gesture, Rook puzzled over the sight of the pummeled pair upon the ground and then looked back at Marshall hoping to find an explanation. The two of them locked eyes, warm walnut staring back into vibrant violet.

Both men measured the other in the unspoken moment and found for themselves a feeling for one another. Of the two, Marshall was the first to break the silence by speaking. "Apologies officer," he began respectfully. "But you were about to walk into a nasty bit of luck. Both of these men had weapons drawn on one another and if not for myself might have done harm to you or one another."

"Appreciated, and you are," Rook asked inquisitively, a slight shimmer in his eye. "My name is Marshall Lawson," Marshall admitted and offered his hand. As Rook accepted the polite gesture Marshall continued. "I'm new in town and currently at the mercy of Mrs. Grael's charitable disposition."

Deputy Rook nodded as he accepted the offered explanation but then his face turned somewhat sour. "Like I said I am grateful for the assistance, truthfully I am. However I am afraid that I have to strongly advise you to refrain from any further such actions. Technically speaking by engaging in open violence on the streets of Redemption I am obligated to see you arrested. But, seeing as how you spared me a potentially permanent end to my duties I am willing to overlook the matter.

Be that as it may, if the Sheriff hears of this he is liable to force the issue and demand you be placed behind bars. Now, I'll do what I can to try and keep this between us but it would be wise to steer clear of anymore heroics. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand," Marshall replied. "But just tell me this though; what would you have done if I hadn't been around to ambush these two?" Deputy Rook had to consider the question for a moment before he ventured an answer. A wry grin crawled up one side of his face when he found the only possible action he could have chosen. "I would have done my duty as the Deputy of Redemption."

Marshall never let his eyes leave the deputies as he answered the question. There wasn't a single waver or sign of weakness in their depths, and he was certain that the deputy would have undoubtedly tried. Fortunately though, Marshall reminded himself with a chuckle he had been around to take out the trash. "I best be getting back to my work," he excused himself and started back for the door. "Likewise," said Rook as he held up a hand in parting before turning to gather up the groaning men still on the ground. And then both men returned to their tasks with a fresh friendly grin upon their face.

Episode 10 – A Gauntlet Is Thrown Down

When Marshall arrived back inside he couldn't hold back the memories anymore. They came to him in rapid-fire bursts to explode in his mind like barrel after barrel of buckshot barrages. He halted a handful of times to catch himself with a hand reaching for the support of the wall as he made his way for his room.

Waiting for him like a silently patient old friend was his patched and frayed bag laid at the foot of the bed. Moving in automatic empty motions he began to open a series of makeshift straps and buckles along its weathered exterior to unleash its contents. Within a scarce few breaths he had already began unrolling cloth packages that smelled sweetly with the familiar scent of well-maintained machined metal.

As Marshall examined each one in a systematic series of visual inspections he found them all appearing just as satisfactory as when he had packed them. But even the rewarding routine of reviewing his gear couldn't push the painful punishments from his mind. He could see every angry face and hear every cruelly hurled taunt as the past poured back into him. The torment alone wasn't what still hurt; it was the burden of being beaten for trying to do what was right.

Their preferred penalty was a gruesome and grizzly affair they pulled straight out of the historical archives. They called it 'the gauntlet' and it always managed to bring out the most barbaric behavior from his peers. He would be forced to run between two tightly lined rows of recruits as they repeatedly assaulted him until he managed to reach the other end. It wasn't the kind of thing easily forgotten, nor was it the sort of thing many ever endured more than once.

"I am happy to see that you were able to lend a hand, Mr. Heart-Helmed," Grandma Grael declared from the doorway. Without waiting to be invited in the miniature maiden marched straight into the room to stand beside Marshall as he still looked on at the arrangement upon his bed. "You know I haven't seen one of those in ages," she confessed as she pointed at a particularly peculiar piece.

It was an aged antique, to be sure, quite unlike anything still in modern use almost anywhere. A pair of barrels, one atop the other were met at their rear by a revolving cylinder that ended with a sawed off stock that held a lever along its bottom. Most men had moved past making use of any such weapon to opt for a more modern one considering such a relic to be quite simply a foolish firearm. But even Grandma Grael could appreciate the simple truth that the trusted and true design of guns like this would never jam on you. Nor would it require external power sources. All you had to do was feed it bullets, crank the lever and pull the trigger. It was the kind of technology that was built to last; simple and dependable.

"You mean my 'Hole-Maker'," Marshall found himself asking as confusion mingled with curiosity at the remark. "I'd say it is," Grandma giggled and Marshall whipped his head around to face her. "Hold the horse here, wasn't it you who explained that it was foolish to be governed to action by your feelings out here?"

Without any damage to her demeanor, Grandma Grael prepared herself to correct him and licked her lips. "If you will well recollect; what I said was that it wasn't wise. I never said it wasn't right. Which is often enough the case, the right road is typically the one that is the most difficult. Now, tell me pup; how in all the heavens did you lay hands on a pristine pair of old Tamel's?"

She punctuated her question by pointing down at two handguns coupled together before her. They were anything but new as well, revolvers too but perhaps not quite as old. Both of them held the blued steel smooth shimmer of a cared for creation with almost no sign of the wearing age or mishandling could bring. Seeing such sights brought back her own memories as well forcing Grandma Grael to redirect her thoughts back to those presently appropriate.

"Never mind that now," she interrupted while waiving her hand as if clearing away old cob webs. "We can talk more about such tales another time. Tell me, pup, what is it that you aim to be setting yourself to? Or do you have any plan at all?"

Still distant as a man adrift within a dream Marshall reached down and picked up the handle of a heavy edged blade that ended abruptly, broken off a couple feet from the hilt. "There is an old saying; 'to throw down a gauntlet,'" Marshall recited. He didn't have to look back at her to understand that undoubtedly she was familiar with the expression but he continued to explain anyway for his own benefit. "It means to declare a formal challenge – like two warriors tossing down an armored glove to dare the other to face them. I aim to be that gauntlet and cast myself against those who plague this town."

"Well, I figure Gauntlet is as good a name as any," Grandma Grael confessed. "But boy, you might want to speed up a step or three if you plan on making a difference. While you was out back old Mr. Mitchum called to warn me to steer clear of going out for a bit. It seems that he spotted that Dizcord's lot heading into town in some fierce manner of hurry and likewise disposition."

"The Sheriff isn't about to make any move the stop them is he?" Marshall asked the question aloud already confirming what he had suspected since coming to town. Something about Arbiter burned at him inside; what kind of man could wear a badge and swear to an oath only to turn a blind eye? He locked away his thoughts of the past behind a wall he had made out of a simple promise. All those who had dared to try to punish him with pain for seeking to demand justice had only helped him to understand that nobody could give it to you. You had to make things right for yourself and stand against such people. Which is exactly what he planned to do; he was going to bring the gauntlet to them and see how they liked having to run for a change.

Episode 11 – First Breaks, Tough Breaks

The vehicle violently shuddered to a halt as it found itself resisted by the ruined remains of an exterior wall. Inside, Eris cursed at herself for having known better than to ever listen to her dangerous driver. Crash, as they had aptly named him long ago, was one of a trio of Type II's that for all intents and purposes were best described as robotic brothers. However if you asker her, the whole lot of them were little more than never-ending nuisances. And now this scrap-for-brains had just managed to ram them through the wall of the bank they were going to rob.

"Crash, you blundering bag of bolts," Eris exclaimed. "Get this mess free from this debris and fast, we'll see to that vault." The unusual Uraor stepped towards the door, her rust colored form already met by sunlight as she ducked her head to clear the portal. A growl grew from deep within her gut; it rolled its way upwards until it made the short tusks that only just protruded out from her lips tremble and quake. Every muscle in her fearsome frame flexed and rippled as what little of what had been a plan escaped her.

"I'll rip those two defective dimwits to pieces! What do they think they are doing?" Eris realized as she stepped out into the bank's lobby that Crash's steel skinned siblings were both missing. As she ranted with rage another member of their roster of rogues approached her from behind. Standing at seven feet tall it was rare that Eris had to look up when anyone spoke to her, but Trapper was definitely an exception. The eternally unhappy Ursian maintained almost a full foot in height on Eris, and stayed in as sullen a mood as anyone she had ever met.

Typically it was well-known that Ursian's were fairly friendly and somewhat passive folk by their nature. But something had happened to Trapper long ago to mold her into the melancholy marauder she had become. Even though marked by a large furry form, often people misjudged Trapper's small eyes and rounded ears as a reminder of a childhood cuddle-cub. And she was anything but.

"I'd offer to let you guess," Trapper commented coarsely. "But we both already know, don't we?" Eris couldn't resist the thought that, as usual, Trapper was just a ray of sunshine. "Smash will be trying to apply his less than capable mental faculties to the vault, and Bash will be looking for a fight or making one."

True to form, as Eris rushed out into the bank she found Smash hard at work ramming his head repeatedly into the vault, attempting to breach it with brute force. And just as predictable Bash had a security guard's limp body in one hand while his other was busy pounding his prey with punches. "Told you," Trapper confirmed as she followed Eris away from the vehicle.

"Alright, nobody is going to move," Eris snarled. "No pretty words or fancy nonsense, just know that if you don't do as I say Bash and Smash here are going to give you a personal demonstration of how they were named. And that is only if you're lucky enough that we don't get our hands on you!" She could hear Trapper huff a little in irritation at the notion beside her, probably already bored with the job at hand.

"Trapper, see if you can't spare Smash a bit and tinker with those vault controls." "Yeah, yeah," Trapper complained with a groan. "Bash, drop that sorry sack and keep your eyes peeled for any trouble makers. What did he do anyways, try to stop you?" The body dropped down to the floor with a thud, still without so much as a twitch. "Asleep," Bash admitted automatically and as Eris scanned the room she found herself unable to question the fact.

Nobody moved a muscle. Every single helpless soul still inside the building was frozen in fear. In fact, Eris wasn't even sure anyone had even heard her little threatening tirade. It was enough to aggravate an Altain – which to be fair didn't truly take all that much she had to confess. But still, Dyzon probably didn't have to deal with this kind of headache. Just the thought of that man was maddening.

Taurus himself had sent word for her crew to handle that Titan Train this time, Bloody Bachelor or no, he was playing with fire. But this little job ought to even out the score. Let them have the slim pickings of those passengers, she would lay hands on the bigger prize stored here in town. Rumor was the next scheduled shipment back off-world had been delayed by a storm surge. Which meant that Redemption's share would be stashed here in the vault before it could be sent out. Nobody was willing to risk sending their share back down the line to wait where they couldn't keep an eye on it. Anything might happen to it. Including it being stolen or accidentally added to someone else's yield.

It was precisely the kind of thing people figured couldn't happen if they locked it up safely in the town's bank. Eris had to chuckle at that, the idea that anything was safe from them. "How is it coming Trap," she asked, still feeling more than a little angry about everything.

"Hammer head here triggered a code recalibration so it'll take another minute to crack the combination," Trapper explained. "Or we could just blow the thing if you're in a hurry." Eris wasn't about to waste time standing around thinking about it; she wanted some loot in hand and to be clear of this headache. "Blow it then," she answered.

"Been nice knowing you folks," Trapper told those trembling faces nearest to her. Reaching into her pack she paused only briefly to ask one thing. "So how much of what is in there do you want to still be there?" Yup, Eris decided, she is just one big ball of happy. And somehow she had been cursed with this whole crazy crew. It was no wonder they kept getting shown up by the Bull-Boys.

Episode 12 – Laughter Is Lethal

Marshall sprinted at full speed down the street; heading in the direction Grandma Grael had pointed him. His first time out he just hoped he made it there in time to make a difference. He did regret having to leave the Hole-Maker and his Scavenger's Shard, but there simply hadn't been time to grab all his gear. Besides, he was in a hurry and when you have to deploy rapidly you only grab what is absolutely necessary.

His feet slammed into a rhythm pounding along the compressed dirt road while he felt the reassuringly familiar presence of some of his gear. Firmly positioned along his hips, with handles pointed outwards were both of his Tamel's. He had practiced with them countless times, honed and perfected their use to the point of nearly surgical precision. Having their weight at his sides was like an old friend there, at once comforting as it was encouraging.

The hilts of heavy gauge blades brushed at his thighs as they reminded him of their presence as well. 'Claw Breakers,' he liked to call them, and the humor of the name always made him smile. Their blades were nearly a foot long with handles that were almost half that. He had been told they were actually hand-forged, unlike most of the automated manufactured garbage most people called a good blade these days. But what had sold him on these little gems was the thickness of the tetrasteel blades themselves. They were easily over half an inch thick and easily capable of cleaving through wood like an axe or turning aside a swung blade. And to think, you could find them in a survivalist shop that catered to explorers and colonists.

Rounding the street corner, the sight of a wheeled transport still clinging to a ruined rubble wall redirected Marshall's mind in a flash. It was time to focus; it was time for him to get serious and go to work. He tried to take everything in all at once as he assessed the situation. With his back pressed against a small portion of stone that somehow was still standing, Marshall carefully peered inside.

There were several hostages littered along the ground, most of them unmoving save for the subtle signs of their shallow breathing or the trembling touch of fear. No where to be seen was a guard or security officer that he could tell, but there were plenty of robbers to deal with. By his count there were at least four in the bank and a fifth moving about in the crashed vehicle. Not the best odds, but then again he didn't expect to be facing anything remotely resembling a fair contest.

Marshall closed his eyes and took a deep breath before reaching up to tug the brim of his hat down. You only get one chance at an introduction and if this was it, well, he wanted it to be as perfect as possible. "This is going to be your one and only warning," he stated as solemnly as he could. He kept his tone as firm and final as he issued his ultimatum. "Disarm and surrender yourselves peacefully or else."

"Is this some kind of sick joke," Eris asked in spite of herself. She had heard the demands from outside but for the life of her she couldn't think of anyone foolish enough to make them. "Do you know who you're dealing with here? Huh, who do you think you are to try and threaten me? Why don't you just show yourself and explain to me just what you mean by 'or else.' Crash, you get out here too, let's all have a see at what should terrify us so to make us give up this lawless life."

Marshall cleared his thoughts and emptied himself to keep his senses sharp. Relaxed he let both his arms fall to rest across his waist, each one only just brushing a handle's grip. Reserved to let the chips fall where they may he decided to test his luck and stepped clear of the clutter to address his foes face to face. "It's simple, really," Marshall explained every word a challenge that dared them to test him. "Either you give yourselves up, or you take your chances with me.

So what will it be? You want to give up, or face a Gauntlet that leads to an early grave?" Marshall was hoping to make the most of the dramatic moment and find his foes caught off-guard, perhaps even manage to bluff them down. But instead the reaction awaiting him was somewhat unsettling to his pride. For instead of fear or even serious consideration he found only a chorus of cackles and lively laughter.

"Crash, Bash, Smash; kindly remove our foolish and funny friend here before he makes my sides hurt," Eris ordered in between howls of humor. All three bot-brothers moved obediently in unison towards Marshall still snickering. He had to consciously push his wounded pride aside to keep it from distracting him. All it would do was strip him of the edge he needed to deal with things, but he couldn't completely rein it in. It resisted him until he realized it had slipped free from his grasp to demand he respond.

"I warned you," he declared with deadly determination. And all at once both his hands seized a hold of patient pistol grips and swung out to take aim in a flash of movement. His Tamel's trained themselves on the trio treading towards him as the first two shots leapt like lightening from the drawn duo he held at his sides. Both blasts barked to life to barrage one of the bots in the chest before he sighted down to send a second series into another.

In quick succession all three thieves were pierced and punctured by Marshall's projectiles until they fell to the ground. With them went the chuckles and giggles as well. Eris stared in shock as she barely registered that this stranger had just drawn and dealt with three members of her crew in a blink. Who was this Gauntlet character?

"Trap, charge; we need to get clear of this crusading chump," Eris ordered in a panic. "But I thought you said that badge-bearer promised no resistance," Trapper asked as she triggered the explosive she had been preparing for the vault. She hadn't even had the time to wire in more than just a partial charge but it should be enough she figured. "Just do it," Eris added agitated and Trapper chucked the demolition device.

Marshall barely had time to react, in the split second he watched the devious duo duck into a dive heading for the door. There wasn't any time to contemplate or consider what to do, so instead of laying chase he rolled his back and angled himself to try and shield the closest civilian. The bomb erupted just overhead with a thunderous concussion that rattled his teeth and threatened to force the air from his lungs. For a few moments all he could feel was a sickening pressure in his belly as if he had been run over by a heavy-hauler.

Once he found his feet again he shook the dust from his hat and tried to look around. As far as he could tell it looked like the blast had only managed to stun most of the people still inside. Only a few folks were still not moving and as his eyes fell on a blood stained uniform he marked one of them who regretfully never would again. Someone had only begun to pay.

Episode 13 – The Illusion of Law

Marshall returned his revolvers back into their holstered homes. His empty hands echoed the hollow of his heart. Here an innocent man lay slain, violently, and for what? He had arrived to help, to stop such a thing from happening and somehow he hadn't made it soon enough. It was a small consolation that he had saved the lives of the other people, or the vault itself.

His thoughts turned back to the fact that he was still standing at the scene of a crime, and the Deputy had already warned him about what might await him if he was caught openly engaging anyone in public. He had to get clear from here before anyone else arrived. The thought of finding himself behind bars again was intolerable. Besides it wasn't like this was a low profile situation, somebody would have to have reported the explosion, let alone the vehicle crashing through a wall.

"Wait a tick," Marshall muttered to himself deep in the spinning workings of his mind's mechanical motion. "Why aren't the authorities already here," he mused. With his thoughts tumbling away from him his feet began to move of their own accord. They started to carry him back through the ruined rubble, out to the streets and into a briskly paced jaunt. A phrase came back to him, something that one of the robbers had said.

"The badge-bearer promised no resistance," Marshall parroted. So far he had only come across two people in this town who wore a badge, and of the two only one seemed like the kind of man who held the authority to even be capable of making such a deal. There was only one worthless weasel in Marshall's eyes who could possibly be content with only providing merely the illusion of law.

A man was dead at the bank, a man whose only job had been to keep the bank itself safe. And while Marshall had no such responsibility to spur him into action; he had done so to protect others, to save lives. Even now he felt torn between the decision to track down the two that had escaped him and confronting Arbiter directly. Already the trail was growing cold; the wind would have masked any remaining trail with a fresh layer of desert dust making his hunt that much harder.

"What am I doing," Marshall snapped at himself, struggling to reason out what to do. How much good had he even accomplished, how much could he even hope to do if he was just one man? He could hear the voice of his old drill instructor hollering at him in his head; almost taste the pounding rain that made the ground slick with mud from memory. "Just who do you think you are, boy? Huh," the screaming superior spat.

"Do you think you're some kind of playtime hero, some silly storied saint sent to save everyone? Well this is your wake up call son – grow up! The time for such childish nonsense is dead and gone; nobody wants some goody-two-boots poking their nose into their business. Give it up or I'll give you back to the gauntlet until they run you into the grave. There is no place here for little boys playing at hero!"

Those words had shaken him to the core, even now it was a notion he couldn't quite fathom nor accept. The idea that heroes were no longer needed of unwanted was like a kick in the teeth. But the memory leapfrogged straight into another; as such precarious thoughts of the past are often want to do. The self-same sergeant had made it a point to visit him in prison, if only to further mock him. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he had prodded. "I guess this isn't exactly the reward you thought you'd get, 'eh crusader? But I figure this is more than ironic, you were always trying to be the good guy and now you're just another piece of the trash, left to rot in here."

It had lit a fuse inside him back then, that notion that it satisfied men like those he served with to see someone who stood up get torn down. They relished watching someone good being pulled down to what they thought was their level. Marshall refused then and there to ever become like them, to ever let them win. If he gave up now he would be doing just that.

Had he not arrived when he did nobody would have stopped that bank robbery and who knows what might have happened. He had taken out at least three of those bandits, and while he might not have the other two in custody that would have to be enough for now. Instead he decided it was time he paid that Sheriff a visit and confronted him. If Arbiter was as dirty as he expected he wanted to know for sure, and if so deal with the matter. It was time someone called him out as either a coward or corrupt.

"Time to make an office visit," Marshall told himself as his eyes began to scan the streets for any sign that read 'Sheriff.' "Sure hope I don't need an appointment," he remarked as an afterthought before realizing that it honestly didn't matter. It still burned at him to let those two go but if Arbiter was involved at all, even by allowing it to happen in the first place, then he deserved to be held accountable. Not even that little silver shield would save him from Gauntlet, when the armored fist of justice came knocking.

Episode 14 – A Tight Leash

The wind whipped and swirled lingering wisps of dust about around him as Marshall silently stood outside of the Sheriff's office. Just as Arbiter had claimed; the word ' _Sheriff_ " was scrawled above it on a sign that swayed back and forth lazily over the door. Without the simple marker you might not have known it was anything other than just another one of the town's little shops or merchant stalls. A wooden walkway of plank boards ran in front of it covered by a crude overhanging awning that did little to shelter the structure from to bright sunlight.

The lumber lamented his booted presence with a groan as Marshall stepped up to approach the door and the sleepily swinging sign squeaked. Through a sun shielding screen of glass he could make out the still burning brilliance of a lit light. Somebody was indeed still at the office after all. He let his closed fist declare his arrival in a rhythmic series of raps that paralleled his pounding pulse. Unable to restrain himself, Marshall opted to forgo the customary courtesy and instead decided to charge inside.

"Alright Arbiter," Marshall growled. "We are going to have ourselves a little chat!" Like walking into a hurled bucket of ice-water Marshall found himself suddenly standing in shock. He had been expecting to lock horns with the Sheriff, to have his chance to pin him down and confront him once and for all. Instead all he found was his Deputy, Rook, looking up at him, calmly seated behind a stack of papers.

"Can I be of service to you, Mr. Lawson; the Sheriff is not in presently," Rook offered. Despite himself, Marshall stumbled for a moment before recovering to stoke the fire once more that burned inside him. He had lost a measure of the momentum that had carried him here but he wasn't ready to let it go completely just yet. All he had to do was remind himself of his reasons for coming to see the Sheriff in the first place and just like that he could feel himself warming again.

"Where is he Rook, where is your boss," Marshall heard himself demand. Riding on his rising rage he slammed forward in a surge to lean on the desk, his brown eyes no longer holding a warm welcome. "I want Arbiter," he roared ruthlessly. Rook only blinked in response, his eerily iridescent eyes remaining calm against Marshall's confrontation. "And I said that the Sheriff isn't here right now," replied Rook.

"I don't know what this is about, Mr. Lawson, but if you would kindly calm down and explain the matter maybe I can be of assistance." As the deputy spoke his eyes caught sight of the weapons that now hung at Marshall's sides. "I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to surrender those guns though, it isn't permitted to carry a weapon within town."

Turn in his guns; was this some kind of sick joke? Marshall couldn't believe what he was hearing and this from the same man he had just helped avoid an alleyway accident. "He must keep you on a tight leash, 'eh Rook?" Furious Marshall let loose his tongue upon the dutiful Deputy. "How can you sit there and ask me to remain helpless while people suffer and the lawless go unopposed? The bank was almost just robbed, a man is dead and the only thing that stood between them and the people of Redemption was me. What are you, some whipped dog or a deputy sworn to uphold the law?"

Marshall could mark each barb as it hit home with every intended measure of contempt. And while the Gael-Noir was a notoriously difficult race to read, he thought he could spot a subtle shift in the deep violet eyes that hinted at the fact he might be reaching him. But other than that simple clue, he couldn't be sure. Every other aspect of the Deputy remained just as relaxed and unchanged as before. It was infuriating, and Marshall readied himself to unleash another violent verbal volley.

"What can I do," Rook intercepted him in a hushed and somber whisper. "I am just a Deputy; I don't have the authority to actively combat anyone without the Sheriff's approval. He establishes the official policy, and he is the one who is directly responsible for enforcing the law. I only work for him, and after that little incident in the alley he told me to stay here and work on this paperwork. I'm on probationary restrictions; no patrolling or anything. He thinks I am going to start some kind of trouble if I keep acting like that and maybe he's right."

Marshall remembered when once he himself had just tried to follow orders and patiently stand aside when something happened that he could have stopped. And as he stared into Rook's eyes he decided he was not about to let another man willingly suffer the same pain. His hand rose from the desk, and its backside cracked against the Deputy's cheek with a snap to send him clear of the chair.

"Are you, or are you not a sworn officer of the law for the town of Redemption," Marshall challenged. Rook rubbed at his face before picking himself back up off the floor as he considered his answer. "Ye-yeah, I am," he admitted awkwardly. "Well then shut up and start acting like it. It is your job to keep people safe, period. Quit making excuses, you're not 'just a deputy,' or only 'under orders.' You are an acting agent of the law, if you keep letting your hands stay tied then it is the people of Redemption who suffer. Because to them, you are the law and right now that is something they desperately need."

"You may be right," Rook confessed. "But, wait, what do you mean – why did you come here looking for the Sheriff anyways?" "Because of something one of the robbers said," Marshall reported. "And since you two are the only ones who wear the badge in this town, I can safely rule you out as the corrupt lawman. So that only leaves the Sheriff as the soiled shield."

"What will you do," Rook asked, only a lingering tremble in his tone. In answer he found Marshall systematically reloading his revolvers one caseless round at a time. There was an unspoken intention in every practiced motion. It was like watching an act of poetry without the words, one that ended as Marshall holstered his side arms and raised his head to look once more towards Rook.

"No plans, no promises," he declared with deadly determination. "Gauntlet is going to give him the chance to face his guilt before he goes to the grave." "I'm not sure I can agree to vigilante violence," Rook objected as he watched Marshall start to leave. "You don't have to agree with anything, just don't try to stop me," warned the out-of-town outlaw. And without another word on the matter Marshall disappeared out the door, leaving a deputy to consider the nature of his duty.

Episode 15 – Boom-Boom, Batter Up

Arbiter knew better than to expect to find Demure actually parked behind her desk like any other mayor might be, lost in never ending paperwork. Instead, when he entered the room he made it a point to forgo even paying her ornamental office fixture any mind and simply scanned around the space. And, just as he had anticipated; the maiden Mayor was predictably absent from the soft seat.

"What can I do for you today," Demure purred as she prowled about the room's perimeter. "Ever the treat as your visits are, Pierce, they are hardly without reason. So, do spare me the needless waiting and indulge me; why are you here this time?" The question was casually put to flight like a flung arrow, a slight tilt of her head trailing her hair over her shoulder. A subtle shift in her stance already told him she knew that she hadn't missed the mark. It was enough to make Arbiter desperately want to curse; even if he was in the presence of a lady.

"We have a problem," Arbiter announced. "There is a vigilante on the loose and I believe it may be this new drifter come to town. He's dangerous, I met him as he stepped off the Titan Train and the man is just too idealistic for his own good. If we don't do something soon, before he establishes himself, he is liable to start trying to shake things up and become a thorn in our side."

"So let me get this straight," Demure mournfully mused. "One man arrives in town and you are worried by him; but he simply sounds naïve to me. Such concerns are beneath me and are a waste of my time. I have a town to run; worrying about every dirt dusted drifter is not something in my job description. However, I suppose if in your infinite wisdom you feel that it is more prudent to be proactive in this matter I can spare my secretary to handle the issue."

Demure stopped pacing about and placed her hands on her hips as she called for her secretary. "Oh, Miss Velix, would you come in here for a moment please?" Before she had even barely finished the request her platinum haired subordinate strolled into the room dutifully. "Yes, you summoned me Madam Mayor," Miss Velix answered with a formal bow.

"It seems our dear Sheriff has a matter of some concern troubling him, I would like you to see to the problem and deal with it for me." Arbiter noticed that as she spoke to her submissive assistant her tone was friendly, gentle even. It was a far cry from the detached and measured manner in which she always addressed him. He had to admit it was somewhat irritating, but he knew better than to take issue with it.

Ashes Velix had earned herself a most fitting nickname over her young career; she was still regarded in hushed conversations with fear and dread. Many a criminal whispered about the infamous 'Boom-Boom,' so named because her targets always met some manner of fiery end. Some believed her to be a ruthless Altain psychopath, others a rogue experimental test subject. But, Arbiter knew the truth and it was far more terrifying; Boom-Boom was little more than just a girl who enjoyed nothing more than blowing up and bashing things. She was little more than a well dressed attack dog who loved her job, intimately.

He had seen her deal with entire crews of hired mercenaries and cut-throat thugs without a flicker of hesitation. For that matter he had helped put out the fires and deal with the damage to the town after the fact as well. There was little doubt in his mind that she could deal with a single stranger; he just hoped the collateral damage would be kept down to only a building or two.

"I would be happy to," Boom-Boom admitted without even a trace of a grin. "A message just came for you as well, Madam Mayor. It seems Dizcords Daemon's decided to try and rob the bank just a little while ago. Only trouble was a man ambushed them, someone overly melodramatic and calling their self 'Gauntlet.'"

A soft bubbling giggle slipped free from Demure at the news before she could regain her composure. "So we have a man playing at being a hero and out here in Redemption no less! How utterly quaint, if not to mention undeniably foolish; what manner of man could be blind enough to think they could survive such a solo crusade?"

"I can think of one easy enough," Arbiter added. "Well then, let's be sure to make a thorough example of him then, shall we Miss Velix? We don't want him going to the next world ignorant of his short-comings, do we," Demure asked with the patient air of a school teacher lecturing. Boom-Boom merely bowed once more and politely declared; "Yes, Madam Mayor."

"Do try to stay clear and out of her way on this one Pierce," Demure advised the sullen Sheriff. "No worries there," he confessed. "The last place anyone with half a mind left wants to be is anywhere around Boom-Boom when she decides to let loose." Both ladies leveled their lethal stares his way and Arbiter found himself regretting his lack of forethought or word choice. It made him want to steer clear all the more.

Episode 16 – An Explosive Emergency

"This should do nicely," Boom-Boom remarked as she surveyed the building around her. It was an old pioneer shelter, erected back in the town's earlier days for settlers before they struck out to establish homes of their own. Sturdy tetrasteel beams ran throughout the structure providing it more than enough strength to weather the ravages of time. But where time's heeled step had failed to falter the firm foundation, Boom-Boom was certain she could succeed.

Her heart soared with the rushing thrill of her work as she threw herself into placing several charges about the building's support beams. With each wired connection she rode the rising wave of glee until the temptation to torment her target grew to be too much. Surrendering to her sadistic side she reached into her satchel of supplies and rummaged about only to withdraw a shinning oval of polished chrome.

Responding to her touch the device registered her unique signature and sparked to life, displaying its holographic interface. A short series of gestures with her thumb and index finger navigated her way through the shimmering screen to call up the precise information she desired. "Active transmission, full security encryption, one way broadcast," Boom-Boom verbally commanded the diminutive device.

The words ' _Connection received_ ' floated in the air like threads of gossamer and Boom-Boom relished the thought of someone on the receiving end answering the curious call. "Unless you want to see Sundown Sanctuary turned into a collection of kindling and ashes come there straight away. Better hurry, if even a single soul tries to leave or you make me wait too long; I will not hesitate to blow this building to bits. Happy hunting, hero," she said sarcastically and then closed the connection with a wave of her hand.

Feeling quite pleased at how everything was going so far, Boom-Boom allowed herself a brief moment to imagine being on the other end of her call. She tried to picture her own hand reaching to answer the incoming transmission from some unknown source, only to hear a distorted digital voice. Surely an endless series of puzzling thoughts must be pouring forth to harass this self-styled hero. By now Boom-Boom was certain the soft-hearted sap was worrying over the fate of strangers and wrestling with what to do to save them. It was all hilariously thrilling to think about.

As she returned to her preparations she started to wonder at just how this drifting do-gooder would try to sneak past her to save everyone. It was the only logical response she could fathom anyone would risk. Perhaps he would try to make use of the rooftop to rescue them, or scale his way up an exterior wall. No matter what he tried she would be ready she reminded herself. Boom-Boom had the detonator for her devices of demolition, and just for fun she always brought with her some bash-batons. Just the thought of blowing the place or breaking some bones made her horribly happy. She couldn't wait to see which way things worked out; with any luck maybe she would get the chance for both.

♦♦♦

"Well, I don't know who that was and frankly I don't give a dusk hound's hide who it is – there are some good folks who call Sundown Sanctuary home," Grandma Grael exclaimed. "There isn't a question about it; you're going to have to do something. You best get over there and handle the situation, before somebody gets hurt. I hope you have a plan, Mr. Hero."

Marshall snatched up a handful of small things and slid them into his pockets before considering any other gear. What he needed was some options this time, but his eyes kept going back to some of his grenades. It defied every sound strategy known to him to go marching into a situation that involved explosives while packing even more. Odds were all he would manage to accomplish that way would be to make matters worse or to set off whatever bombs were already in place.

But he wanted options, needed them in fact, and by his own figuring having even a grenade would definitely fit in the optional category. So he grabbed up a pack, shoved an assorted few inside and secured it to some clips along his lower back. Satisfied he was as prepared as he might ever be without wasting even more time he decided to share his brilliant plan with Grandma Grael.

"If those folks' fates are resting squarely on my shoulders, then I don't see how I can do anything but give this person exactly what they want; me." Grandma regarded Marshall carefully for a moment before shaking her head with disapproval. "That is a terrible plan, horrible in fact – are you just going to walk right in there and say here I am," she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Actually," Marshall added as he tried to resist a quick chuckle. "I thought I would just knock and ask ever so nicely if anybody was home." The bit of humor immediately brought a warm laugh out of Grandma. "I like it," she admitted, "good luck."

Episode 17 – She's going to Blow

Patience had never been Miss Velix's strong suit; she often told herself that it was her dangerously short fused temper, not her fondness for explosives that earned her the infamous nickname. But either way, for her it was a mark of pride to hear people whisper about her out of fear. It was good to be taken seriously she thought, no matter the reasons. She terribly hated all this waiting though.

The urge to walk away and trigger the detonator for all the wired charges clinging around her to the building was terribly tempting. Even if her primary objective had been to clearly deal with this drifting do-good. What kind of loony loser was this guy anyways she thought to herself as she double-checked a series of sensors strategically placed near some windows. She was determined to catch this self-appointed champion by surprise when he tried to out fox her. The look of shock on his face would be precious payment enough when he tried to slip inside only to discover that he had triggered everything himself.

The sound of booted feet lightly treading upon the dirt outside gently raised an alarm at the back of her mind. While her mind began to ask the subconscious question of what it could be, her hands were already reaching down to grip brutal batons. The weight of them in her grasp sent a surge of sweet adrenaline awake inside her that she welcomed as a relief from the waiting.

"Knock, knock," the stranger spoke from behind her, just outside the open doorway. "Somebody call for pest control?" Boom-Boom turned around, already eager to bash the wise-cracks right from this man's brains. As he entered through the doorways she noticed a soft smile still in place upon his face and not a single weapon in his hand. This was unbelievable, had he really just walked right in here without even drawing a weapon? Oh, she was really going to enjoy this!

"You have been meddling, Mr. Man," Boom-Boom said menacingly. "I'm here to educate you about the error of your actions. It's nothing personal, just business – you understand."

How typical, Marshall thought to himself; it's never just business to these types, it is always personal. Their reputation was almost more important to them than breathing and any perceived threat couldn't be tolerated. Already he had challenged the criminal control of Redemption, so obviously he was expected to simply be about to be 'dealt with.' It was still quite humorous to him that this lethal lady didn't at least seem concerned about the potential of being unable to beat him. But then again as he scanned the room he had to admit that with a building wired to blow she did have a strong hand to play.

"Apologies, never been much good at minding my own business; I guess you might say it isn't one of my most redeeming qualities." This girl was good though, Marshall decided, while he engaged in witty banter he studied her body language. She had managed to keep her face expressionless – an empty mask that didn't seem to register any response to his remark. Even her hands, hands that held barbaric bars well suited to breaking bones denied his attempts to deduce how she might react.

It was her feet and hips that betrayed her though. Always is something, and what they told him was; she was itching to rush him. Her heels rocked rhythmically up and down as she kept shifting her stance. A slight cock to her waist that favored her left gave him the hinted clue she might lead off with that particular side. And her impulsive fidgeting was growing more frantic by the second, he was about to run out of time to think about his options.

Acting on his own instincts, the sound of drawn steel sung on the air as he drew forth weapons of his own. His conscience counseled him about the inherent danger in a misplaced shot in a room full of combustible components. Quickly though, Marshall told the part of his mind that still demanded for time to think to kindly silence itself. In a flash he found a surprisingly nimble foe flying at him with a blurring barrage of blows aimed his way.

While one sinister strike swung for his skull, its sibling angled its way towards his ribs. Only raw reflex resisted both as they rang against the robust backside of his blades. It was close-range chaos as the two moved back and forth in a deadly dance of exchanged attacks. Both combatants struggled against the other looking for some measure of edge or exploitable opening. And as they did a clanging chorus of metallic melody sang on the air like a steel storm.

When it came, Marshall made full use of the opportunity. The brutal belle brought both her clubs crashing down simultaneously seeking their way to shatter his shoulders. In a desperate thrust, Marshall drove his Claw Breakers straight up and inside to parry the pair. As they grated against the potential producers of pain he jerked up with his thrown momentum and brought his knee into range, riding it right into her soft middle.

The maverick maneuver managed to produce a groan as Boom-Boom crumpled backwards in reluctant retreat. He had hurt her; somehow this man had actually caused her pain. It was simply unacceptable to Boom-Boom, nobody had ever done that and she wasn't about to allow him another chance to do so again. Or be around to speak of the matter.

"Alright, hero, while I can't say it's been a blast – it sure is about to be!" With a ragged gasp she produced a small silver tab from her pocket, her thumb wavering just above its lone button. "Time to say your goodbyes," Boom-Boom spat as a sadistic grin spread over her face. "Because to the people here in Redemption you are about to be nothing but just another nameless face for them to forget who was only passing through."

Episode 18 – Freeze You Fire Bombing Freak

Deputy Rook rose from his desk and discovered his thoughts rushing away from him like a river. The words Marshall had spoke to him still crashed against his conscience, reminding him as they did of how right he had been. His hands had never truly been tied, not literally in any case. Instead he had only ever allowed himself to blindly follow in the Sheriff's footsteps; to meekly obey orders. Arbiter had made a mockery of what the law was supposed to stand for, and the whole while Rook had watched him do it. He had known things were a far cry from right, but never had taken a stand to change it.

Well, he decided, it was high time that those days were over. Arbiter could fall down a mine shaft for all he cared; he was done turning a blind eye to his duty as the town's deputy. Rook reached over to the wall, lifting an old black plastic handle hanging from a u-shaped piece of metal and pressed it to his ear. It might not have been as fancy as any of the more modern commlinks in use, but it still worked well enough to place a call.

The auto-dialer never had worked on the thing, so Rook manually punched in the number for the General Good and waited. "He isn't here, Rook," Grandma Grael answered immediately, before Rook could even register if he had heard a single ring. Stunned by her statement, and the implication that she had expected his call, Rook stumbled for a response. "Someone is holed up over at Sundown Sanctuary and making threats. He's already headed that way to try and see if he might defuse the situation but I think sparks are going to fly either way. You best get over there and quit hiding under Pierce's coat-tail," Grandma Grael advised.

Unable to argue, Rook merely replied with a rushed 'ye ma'am,' and closed the call. "How did she," he began to ask himself before deciding it was best to focus on more important things and pushed the question aside. With a conscious effort he reached inside and quieted his mind, calling up a slumbering reserve of power he rarely used. It was the birthright of his race, a harmonious bond between the mind and the soul; it fed them, nourished them. And while he had never refined the gifts he had been taught as a child, he still found them waiting for him.

As he touched on the small measure of psionic power, he concentrated on his immediate need for haste and shaped it with his desire. It was a simple enough task for him, or should be, but he was long out of practice. He had only ever been taught how to shape the power for little things; to replenish him like a night's rest might, to sustain him for a period without food or water or to even lessen pain to a degree. Quickening his step wasn't all too difficult but as he marked his feet feeling lighter he reminded himself that it might be prudent to practice a little more often.

Rook raced out the door as swiftly as his sprinting feet could carry him and rushed his way towards Sundown Sanctuary. Luckily it wasn't an overly long run as he covered the handful of streets between it and the Sheriff's office quickly. Even with calling on his wellspring of willpower, Rook found his stamina almost spent as he slowed and reminded himself to slow his breathing. He was definitely going to have to spend a little more time on staying in shape as well.

Cautiously he drew his sidearm and approached the doorway to investigate the situation. The Mayor's assistant stood at one end of the lobby, holding a small device of some kind; while Marshall was a few steps away wielding a pair of blades. Packages had been placed about the room and were visibly connected by series of wires adding credence to the claim the building was rigged to blow.

"Nobody move!" Rook commanded as he trained his gun between the two. "Aren't you supposed to tell us to freeze or something," Marshall quipped back. But then the joke gave him an idea. "That's it," he thought to himself suddenly and grabbed a grenade from his pack.

"Freeze you fire bombing freak," Marshall roared as he seized on the distraction provided by Deputy Rook's appearance. He triggered the device with a quick press of his thumb and hurled it at the lethal lady. With her attention turned towards Rook, Boom-Boom didn't have time to react as the grenade landed at her feet. It exploded in a cascade of compressed liquid nitrogen turning the very air about her into a mist of blue-white. In a matter of seconds a prison of ice had formed to cover her, coating her in a cold that refused to allow her to move.

"Would you look at that? She actually listened to me," Marshall remarked as he regarded his handiwork. "I do suppose it is for the best that I removed that secondary charge from the grenade though. Otherwise we'd be looking at a shattered secretary." Rook kept his gun aimed at the immobile assistant as he approached for answers.

"What do you mean," he asked curiously. "Well," Marshall explained as he gestured towards the ice-slick ground. "Those grenades were originally intended to clear a room – they quick freeze like that but a secondary charge is what makes them nasty. The secondary is what sends a swarm of metallic balls in every direction to shatter anything before it can thaw. Trust me; you don't ever want to see what that kind of thing can do to somebody."

"Yeah, you're right," Rook admitted, a slight shudder visible. "I would rather not have seen that, thanks. So what do we do now, we still have all these bombs in place and she isn't going to stay frozen forever I'd wager. You have a plan to handle this?"

"Nope," Marshall exclaimed before falling silent for a minute. When finally he spoke once more it was in the measured and level tones of someone trying to restrain others from panicking. "Just kind of making this up as I go, but don't worry; we have the valiant Deputy of Redemption here to help handle this hazardous situation. I am sure as the only official representative acting on behalf of this fair town he has everything well in control. And since I am just a simple stranger in these parts I will have to defer to his professional opinion on the matter.

Well – Deputy Rook; what is your assessment of this emergency?" Rook had been expecting some kind of brilliant solution or insight from this gun slinging hero. Instead, what he got was some witty banter and the passed reins of responsibility. "Cute, real cute Mr. Lawson," Rook pointed out sarcastically.

"Please tell me you at least have some idea as to how to defuse a bomb or how much time we have before little miss demolition here is going to find her fingers unfrozen enough to blast us all to oblivion." As Rook glanced around him he started to take note of explosives placed carefully around doors and windows – clearly she had set traps that they might set off if they tried to gain access to the upper levels where the residents lived.

"We are going to have to do something, Mister, and since you elected to play at hero then you are going to have to fill those shoes." Marshall couldn't resist a little grin despite himself as he listened to the Deputy, who only a short time before seemed so defeated and unsure of himself. Now he seemed downright aflame with conviction and dedicated to his duty.

"Just trying to ease the tension," Marshall said. "Not enough time to sort out how she's wired this whole mess to blow, but we should have enough time before she starts to melt too much to clear a main door at least. The way I figure it, we'll be lucky to disarm any more than that and still manage to get anyone out safely."

"And you have done this before, right," Rook hesitantly asked as Marshall moved towards the biggest set of doors. "Yeah, sure," he answered back over his shoulder confidently. "I know the basics; it isn't the sort of thing you easily forget." Rook prayed this was just another one of his attempts at being funny. Otherwise, they were in real trouble.

Episode 19 – The Reaction of Redemption

"You know, this does go a lot easier without an extra pair of eyes staring over your shoulder. There is enough to worry over without the added aggravation, and I don't think either of us wants to accidentally set anything off." Marshall could feel a bead of sweat as it trickled down from his temple to land on his collar. He was already feeling his frustration growing with every heartbeat. Was it a series or parallel circuit that you could interrupt by removing something from it? Why did he have to go and jinx himself by saying something? Marshall thrice cursed his big mouth under his breath and wiped at the growing moisture upon his brow.

"Rook," Marshall said as politely as he could manage, a slight edge present in his tone. "You could keep an eye on our frigid friend; make sure she hasn't dazzled us by defrosting herself somehow. I really need to concentrate here." The idea of accidentally choosing the wrong wire worried at him, he wanted nothing more than to simply rip every single one of those irritating things out all at once.

Deputy Rook made some subtle sound of agreement before returning to examine their cold-clad captive. The makeshift prison of improvised ice still seemed to have her held solidly enough, but a quickening drip heralded that it was not promising to last much longer. "She appears to be thawing," Rook relayed.

"Well, looks like we are out of time for being careful," Marshall told himself. He grabbed a handful of wires with either hand and mumbled to himself. "Here goes nothing," he said and in a desperate jerk gave them a quick yank. The sudden sound of wires snapping brought Rook's head spinning back around, but shock stole the words right out of his mouth. It took Marshall a split second at first, surrounded by silence, before he could remind himself to open his eyes and breathe – they were still there. "Come on, let's get everybody out of here and fast!" Together the two of them rushed to throw open the door and begin the business of emptying everybody away from the emergency. All the while the remaining explosives were still ever present in their minds and more motivating than a driver's whip.

♦♦♦

By dawn the majority of Redemption's residents had gathered together near the center of town, a common look of mixed confusion and fear present on their faces. Both Mayor Demure and Sheriff Arbiter stood poised on a small platform calling for quiet. "We all, no doubt, are aware by now of the unfortunate events that have happened," Mayor Demure announced as the shuffling crowd grew silent.

"No one can say that living out here on the edge isn't without its dangers. Mines collapse, fires can take our homes, and even wild beasts have to be contended with from time to time." Demure carried herself with a casual grace as she spoke, careful to convey an image of concern and authority. She hadn't secured her seat behind the Mayor's desk without perfecting the performance that went along with the public's expectations of the persona.

"But I think we can all agree that we have been doing fairly well all things considered for some time now. Redemption has managed to carve for itself and its citizens a relatively respectful place out here on the edge. We have learned to live with the occasional petty problems of bandits, and even managed to get by without the support of our so-called supportive government.

However, a new issue has arisen that threatens our town. Sundown Sanctuary was burned to the grown last night and the whereabouts of my own secretary have yet to be discovered. According to the reports that we have been able to piece together; we have a vigilante on the loose who has taken it upon himself to interfere when the Sheriff should have been called. Now, we have a treasured landmark and part of our town's history lost to us because of a drifter. Obviously, he must have thought he was helping somehow, but instead this 'Gauntlet' character's actions directly resulted in a fiery explosion that could have spread to harm untold townsfolk.

The Sheriff has even informed me that this reckless renegade has been confirmed to have engaged in gunfights on our streets. He has even gone so far as to gun down three individuals who as far as we know may have simply been involved in a vehicular accident at the bank. Can we honestly allow a man, a stranger to run about our town and violently take action as he pleases? Is not the job of maintaining law and order that of our Sheriff?"

A growing murmur rippled through the gathered crowd of townsfolk as they began to consider the Mayor's questions. For those who had witnessed this Gauntlet firsthand, he had seemed like someone honestly trying to help protect them. To others he sounded like another fever-brained fool who was only going to cause more trouble. As the conversations continued the volume of the puzzled public grew.

"As the Sheriff of Redemption, I hereby call for a vote of its citizens on the grounds of public-safety," Arbiter announced over the rising roar of debate. "We can either allow such outlaw justice to run wild through our town or we can declare here and now that it will not be tolerated and condemn anyone so engaged as an enemy of the law."

Once more the massed people of Redemption ceased their chatter. "I have sworn to keep the peace and I aim to do just that. So either way I will serve the will of the town. Which is it going to be? Do we allow this Gauntlet to keep doing as he pleases until he destroys more of Redemption, or do we brand him an outlaw and vigilante?"

Solemnly Mayor Demure lowered her head and pursed her lips before she called for the vote herself. "All those agreed that such reckless actions are more harm than good for our beloved town, please raise your hand." Slowly a majority of those gathered began to raise their hands. Some shakily at first, others hesitated as they looked around them. A lengthening measure of moments soon confirmed that there weren't enough hands left lowered to challenge the issue. The people of Redemption had spoken, and they had declared this Gauntlet an enemy of the public.

Marshall watched on as the people of Redemption condemned the one man who had dedicated himself to the cause of being their champion. Inside a part of him was pained by the turn of events. But as his eyes regarded the two figures at the heart of the gathered group his pain was paled by his determination. He would not rest until he removed both of them from office, and from town. They could blame him all they liked, but at least he knew the truth of who was a plague upon the town. And he would see it purged, no matter what.

Episode 20 – Combine and Conquer

"You know, you really have a knack for stepping into the biggest messes," Marshall quietly told himself as he slipped back away from view. "Now you have two separate crews of criminals to deal with, both of the most prominent town officials appear to be dirty to boot and have just declared you a public enemy. Right about now would be a real great time to pull a rabbit out of your hat – if you had any tricks left that is."

Marshall continued to distance himself from the bulk of Redemption's residents while he tried to think things through. "Great," he casually commented, "and now you're talking to yourself." Things were really off to a wonderful start. This was far from anything like the stories he loved as a child – at least in them the town didn't turn on the hero. Or did they, he didn't recall any like that but then again a lot had happened since he was a kid. Not to mention he'd slept since then too.

"So, what's the plan, man," Marshall found himself asking aloud. Oddly enough the inquiry prompted him to respond reflexively, it was important to not be rude. Even if you were the one talking – to yourself. "Good question; wish I knew." Strategically speaking he wasn't in the strongest of positions; he was outnumbered, public opinion wasn't on his side and to be honest he still felt guilty about not being able to disable those explosives.

"This is where I guess I am supposed to rally myself behind the notion of divide and conquer. But right now I think it is a safe bet that getting caught in any manner of crossfire might be hazardous to my health. No, not with the way my luck keeps playing out. What I wouldn't give to have them all in one spot just long enough..."

Something in that thought jarred his gears loose and sent his mind stampeding forward. It was the craziest thing, a potentially tactical nightmare; he was going to combine and conquer. Separately it was all too easy for one crew to catch him engaged with the other and try to off them both. He was just one man after all; how hard would it be to shoot him in the back while he was busy in a shootout with your rivals? Too easy, that was for sure.

No, if either the Bull-Boys or Dizcords Daemons didn't put him into the ground then the Sheriff was going to have him lynched by a town mob. None of which was his idea of good time or a fitting reward, Marshall decided. But if he could make himself into just enough of a nuisance he might be able to nudge them into grouping up to eliminate him as a common problem. And if that was the case, just maybe, he could capitalize on their less than harmonious dispositions.

Perhaps it wasn't the most brilliant plan to ever be hatched, Marshall considered. Maybe it was even just a tad bit insane – alright full-blown crazy. But right now, crazy seemed to be the best option he had, if not the only option. "Now, if I wanted to really annoy a whole mess of thieving low-lives'; what would I do?"

And now he was back to square one; another question he wasn't sure how to answer. "Boy, you best get in here; you have work to see to," Grandma Grael called at him from her store front. "Don't think for a second you're going to keep wandering off and avoiding your jobs!" Had he really just walked back to the General Good without realizing it?

"Yes, Ma'am," Marshall answered the agitated glare leveled his way and headed inside. "Why aren't you gathered with everyone else," he asked as he passed her. "For the same reason as you, I have never been a fan of empty words or pointless political performances. We both know it's all just a song and dance show. Arbiter and Demure both are going to do whatever they want to do whether anybody approves or not. So I don't see any sense in wasting my valuable time with their foolishness."

As Marshall sat himself to work on his tasks Grandma Grael quietly appeared behind him. "Never you mind though; if anyone asks you've been hard at it in the back. I've had my eyes on you the whole time, not that anyone would question my word on the matter."

Episode 21 – Word Always Travels Past the Warden

Buried deep underground, like an unpleasant memory was the primary prison of Newport. It had never been given an official name, at least not on any of the recorded documents. But when you were told you were heading to 'The Graveyard,' you knew you were being given a one way ticket underground. Nobody ever returned from The Graveyard, and typically only the most dangerous individuals were sentenced to spend the rest of their days without even the comfort of sunlight. It was a harsh place reserved for the hardest of criminals.

Born out of necessity, The Graveyard was originally little more than an abandoned mining operation. Located a few miles down from the surface diggers struck some of the densest stone they had ever encountered. As they hollowed their way out they discovered that the resilient rock surrounded them completely, leaving only the pocket space they had cleared. The whole operation ended up going under in the endeavor and the mine was closed off.

Unwilling to waste precious resources to ferry prisoner's off-world, the New Republic soon decided a facility located on Newport itself was needed. And with the rights to any land defaulted on reverting back to the New Republic they could further cut back on their costs to construct a suitable confinement center. It was a match made in heaven; a low-cost local site to try and lock away the worst threats to an unbalanced bottom line.

And of all the men and women ever sent down to its abysmal depths; Adrian Taurus was perhaps the most perfectly placed prisoner. It was an undisputed truth among the underworld that Taurus was at its top. He had earned for himself a ruthless reputation that nearly rivaled his massive frame. Many a man had met a grizzly end by running afoul of Taurus' infamous temper. At least locked away in the dark it was assumed that the Red Bull himself and his rage couldn't harm anyone again. Or at least, that was the general idea anyway.

Adrian always enjoyed the poetic irony prison provided though. Here he was, buried beneath all of Newport to make everyone above him rest easier. The truth of the matter though was that it was he who was beyond reach down here. Down in The Graveyard nobody could blame anything on the notorious Red Bull himself. He was beyond suspicion; free to run his nefarious network without any annoying irritations – like staying out of jail. In fact the only others down here with him were all loyal underlings; servants one might say, all willingly imprisoned to maintain the illusion of a fully functioning facility.

Honestly, Adrian found the whole deal hilarious. The fools had made it all so easy for him to plant his own people everywhere he needed. It was just one of those same people that he now was waiting on, and Adrian Taurus despised having to wait for anything. Patience had never agreed with him, perhaps it was something about his nature but he found the exercise of trying to do so infuriating. The need made it worse pushed his restraint to its limits – five minutes past the scheduled delivery time was unacceptable.

Already Adrian could feel his last dose of Red Blood becoming dangerously close to wearing off. Any sign of weakness could not be tolerated, and that meant that nobody could discover his addiction. Was that a tremor trying to terrorize its way up his arm Adrian wondered? A grunt became a growl as the strange symptom was silenced by his fist slamming violently into what might have been a cot at some previous point.

"Sorry boss," spoke a hushed voice from behind him marked by the fear of seeing Taurus's massive might mangling, well, anything. "Here is your care package sir; the delivery guy had to work around some guards. Seems they were too busy swapping news about some business going on in Redemption and he had a terrible time getting this by them without getting caught."

"What news would that be then," Adrian asked as he accepted his delivery with every ounce of willpower he could muster to not immediately tear into it. "Oh, yeah, that; it's just some fresh fool who has showed up trying to play hero. Apparently the word is that he even gunned down the Bot Brothers."

That got Adrian's attention, and provided him just enough distraction to take his mind off having to wait – almost. "I don't care who this joker thinks he is or what Arbiter has to say on the matter; send word to Dyzon that this guy is gone. As in instant extinction; I will not tolerate even a single fly to provide us with a possible problem. Crush him," Adrian ordered.

"Oh, and one more thing before you go; get rid of the delivery guy. I will not forgive tardiness, no matter the reason." The emphasis in his tone made the meek minion quickly relocate to less hazardous environments. Once he was alone again Adrian rushed to remove a fresh vial of scarlet shaded liquid. The small tube rolled about in his fingertips and the feel of its promised pleasure made his digits dance.

There was a simple click as the crimson cylinder snapped into place in the injector. Automatically he went through the familiar motions to check that everything was in order and then pressed the device to his throat. The rush was like riding a wave of raw thunder as it arced its way through his nerves. Red once more colored his vision as the drug took hold and a torrent of synthetic adrenaline coursed through his veins.

If Eris had already lost all three Bot Brothers then she had come up short with this nameless man. No matter, Dyzon would probably relish the chance to show her up anyhow, Adrian knew. And if he didn't dispose of this drifter then he could easily arrange for his disappointments to be relocated down here with him. There was a good reason nobody ever made it back out of The Graveyard.

Episode 22 – The Digger Doll

After the majority of Redemption's residents had gathered together in town for a little song and dance, courtesy of their selfless public servants, the store became a hub of commerce. Apparently everybody seemed to have the same idea; while they were already here in town anyways, why not do a little shopping. Everyone eased their nerves or placated their fears in their own way and for many that meant turning their focus elsewhere. The whole situation did little to comfort Marshall's unsettled nerves at present, however. All these swarming shoppers; who only a short while ago were deciding to denounce the actions of Gauntlet made him more than a little concerned. And any one of them could spot a glimpse of him in the back, one accidental view and he might as well stick his own neck in the noose.

In hindsight it might have been a little wiser to have concealed his identity, Marshall concluded. He hadn't really thought about it before; everyone adored a champion of justice – at least in the stories anyways. Now all it would take was one person who recognized him from the bank or the bombed building and his goose was as good as cooked. At least in both those situations there was the distraction of danger that might have limited people's attention to his face.

When Marshall next redirected his gaze from the crates of goods he was sorting in the back a startling sight awaited him. It was almost as if he had blinked and missed someone yelling a warning about a bomb. The General Good was suddenly devoid of patrons, save one lone lady. Standing just inside the doorway and looking quite oblivious to the absence of everyone who had just recently shared the space was the familiar form of Miss Donovaen.

Sharply dressed, as always in a flattering three piece suit the mysterious maven silently stepped inside the shop and then greeted Grandma Grael. She removed her topper and bowed slightly. "Lovely weather we are having today isn't it," she offered politely. "Business, it seems, is on the rise so I just need to restock on a few things."

"Certainly dear," Grandma Grail replied as she accepted a neatly written note detailing everything needed. "My, this is quite a list then; isn't it? Well, no worries – we'll see to getting that filled and you back to your waiting workload. Let me just get my extra pair of hands; Marshall, come over here please."

Marshall's curiosity welcomed the request as he still found it puzzling how quickly everyone had vanished. He also admittedly wondered at just what exactly it was Miss Donovaen even did for a living. One look at her shopping list didn't really seem to provide any answers either. It almost seemed like she was building something, but to look at this well-dressed woman he couldn't begin to imagine her laboring over much of anything.

"Always a pleasure to be of assistance," Marshall offered with a soft smile. "If it isn't overly forward, do you mind if I ask what you're working on? I might be able to lend a hand some if Grandma Grael can spare me on occasion." Something in his words clearly amused both ladies as a ripple of muffled giggles erupted.

"What," he asked somewhat embarrassed. "Care to let me in on the joke, ladies?" After a second round of laughter both ladies managed to regain their composure before addressing him with an answer. "Terra here is the town's resident undertaker," Grandma Grael explained. "Hence the immediate vacant vicinity that accompanies my presence," Miss Donovaen added.

"Wait, you mean you're..." Marshall found the idea strangely hard to swallow. "It's your job to deal with the dead, but – well, no offense ma'am, you're a lady. Even taking your profession into consideration, how can anyone as charming as yourself be lacking with regards to social matters?"

Terra was hard pressed to resist a burgeoning blush that already started to show in her cheeks. "Would that more of the people of Redemption shared your thoughts on the matter," Terra confessed. "Thank you for the kind words, but unfortunately those in my chosen career isn't exactly the type to invoke a comfortable atmosphere. People accept that such a job is a necessary one but out here it is more visible and therefore less savory of a subject.

I imagine that by avoiding my presence in public they figure they might also keep my morbid occupation out of thought." Marshall honestly couldn't argue with that one, but he still couldn't see anyone turning away from those amazing amethyst eyes. "Do you need a hand packing these items back to your shop," he asked her still smiling. "If you'd prefer I can deliver them for you next time. Something tells me you're going to be getting some steady work for a while yet."

"Perhaps," Terra agreed as she returned a brief grin herself. "However, I will do you the small kindness of excusing you from your offer to assist me. I will, though accept your help in escorting me back with these supplies." Turning back towards Grandma Grael she nodded a friendly farewell. "You know you really are getting to be a full service shop here!" The comment prompted another chuckle from Grandma Grael as she admitted in reply; "we do aim to be of service."

Episode 23 – Spurred Bulls and Bullies

The reinforced safe house door rang with a resounding echo, a sharp series of knocks effectively announcing an urgent demand for attention. Lost, adrift in a rather pleasant daydream, Dyzon's feet fell from their perch as he returned rather roughly back to reality. Another round of rapped poundings came while he struggled to clear the fog of confusion that clung to his distracted mind.

"Someone is at the door," Caess pointed out without bothering to look up from whatever tinkering project currently laid before him. "Thanks for the update," Dyzon countered, not even attempting to hide the agitated edge in his tone. "Don't worry though Caess, I will get the door, I'd hate to tear you away from anything important."

Oblivious to any intended insult Caess simply kept working, his attention completely lost on anything else. "Appreciated," he added automatically. Dyzon grunted as he rose from his comfortable spot, resenting the interruption of what had become a fun dream and headed for the door. Before he could even answer the blasted thing a third pattern of pounds erupted.

"Yeah, yeah; keep your pants on," Dyzon told the closed door. A keypad beside the door beeped in a steady rhythm as he punched in the access code that allowed it to open. He didn't see any reason to bother checking who was outside; the only people who might even show up at this location were him and the Bull-Boys themselves or a handful of others loyal to Taurus himself.

"What is it," Dyzon demanded before the door had barely finished opening with a hushed hiss. "What is so important that it has you beating on our door like your rear is ablaze?" Looking back at him was a frantic young face, belonging to a boy barely old enough to have hair on his chin. Whether urgent or otherwise, Dyzon had no doubt to this kid the delivery of his message had to be the most important thing he had ever been asked to do. If he was lucky the boy would remember to breathe.

"I have word from the Red Bull, sir," the boy began and didn't seem to be about to wait long enough for anyone to acknowledge his claim. "He says he wants the man calling himself Gauntlet eliminated immediately. Mr. Taurus says that he doesn't want him causing any more trouble like he did for Eris at the bank. Crush him and anyone else who even considers standing against Mr. Taurus's interests – his words."

"Whoa, rein that horse in speedy," Dyzon exclaimed as he rubbed at his forehead trying to let everything sink in. "Run that bit by me again about Eris and a bank; am I missing something or are you implying that she tried to rob the bank? And by the sound of it she managed to find herself running into some opposition? Details boy, fill in the blanks here."

The young messenger's eyes began to dart about as he was decidedly unprepared to have to provide more than just the recited message. "Uh, well – yeah, Dizcord's Daemons tried to rob the bank," he stumbled to explain. "Some drifter showed up and shot down all three of the Bot Brothers before running them off. They say the town has called the man an outlaw and an enemy of the public. Probably already dead or skipped town some say. My Uncle Reamus says he must be some kind of freak fighter to take out three bandits by himself!"

"Run along then runt," Dyzon ordered before clicking for the door to close, anything to cut off this chatterbox kid. "Caess, where are the rest of the boys at, looks likes we get to make some trouble in town." The ruby eyed Krysanthian barely paused before he relayed their location. It took him a split second to overcome his compelling curiosity. "Wynt is having a drink as usual and Briscole is probably practicing his pummeling. They're both off in the back somewhere; want me to get them in here for you?"

"Yeah, make it quick too," Dyzon advised with a sadistic smile. "If old Eris is off licking her wounds with her tail tucked, I want to make the most of the moment and show her how you handle a troublemaker. Its high time Taurus saw just how worthless that whole lot is and just how valuable we really are. We got us some hero hunting to see to; some guy going by the name 'Gauntlet. Word is he trashed all three Bot Brothers."

"How you going to find this Gauntlet guy anyways," Caess asked as he was about to leave the room. "If this fellow fancies himself the hero then we will just have to tear the town up a bit to draw him out. Why hunt him down when he'll come to us all on his own?"

Caess considered the fact that this man had supposedly taken out three of Eris's crew single-handedly. Even with Dyzon's low estimation of the Daemons, he had to admit that perhaps a small measure of caution was in order. Although, whatever the fool was thinking that made him even remotely consider attacking a whole crew of robbers, he couldn't imagine. Well, perhaps this guy was just dumb enough to actually make it easy on them. If not just maybe he was smart enough to already have cleared out of town. Either way a trip to town was a welcome thing; he could use some new parts for his tinkering.

Episode 24 – A Charging Bull is a Blind Bull

The sign over Terra's shop was still visible enough to make out the original writing that marked it as 'Decently Departed.' Although a layer of graffiti overlaid it with various less respectful claims. One did catch Marshall's eye that he had to admit was somewhat cute. It was just two words written in a crude scrawl; Digger Doll. For the life of him he wasn't sure how he had missed it before.

As for the shop itself, it was perhaps the most well ordered and professional looking establishment Marshall had ever seen. It was both warm and inviting; the whole décor had a friendly welcome feeling to it. There was not even a single hint of the morbid expectations most assumed to be found inside a business devoted to dealing with the dead. In fact, Marshall felt a little embarrassed by his obvious nervous nature at first after entering the shop.

"Well, I believe I can handle everything from here," Terra said softly. "I would like to thank you again for the help, I'm grateful. It's quite refreshing to meet someone who isn't too scared to speak to me." A grin gingerly hinted at forming on Terra's face, and was quickly answered in kind by Marshall. "You should probably start heading back, it'll be getting dark before long and the dusk hounds can be dangerous this time of day."

"Don't worry about me, I think I've had my fill of warm welcomes from the locals," Marshall jokingly replied. "No matter how many legs they have; I'll be careful." Terra's smile widened at the clever comment and she laughed once more. The sound was musical and full of wonder to him, like listening to a trickling stream in spring as it overcomes winters chill. "Much obliged for the advice though, ma'am," he added with a bow and tip of his hat.

"I have every confidence that you'll be hard pressed to find anything around these parts that will be able to dent that armored exterior you have. Even so, do take care; I will be looking forward to deliveries that have a friendly face behind them." Marshall felt his cheeks flush a little as he took his leave, his step noticeably lighter as well. Miss Donovaen had been right though, he noticed as he looked up to the sky. The bright yellow orb above had already dropped low in the sky and shifted into a deepening shade of orange. Quickly it would barely be just a pink glow on the horizon as it vanished for the night.

He really should be getting back but his recent encounter had left him in higher spirits, and he'd rather enjoy the feeling for a few moments longer. There were things to consider, matters he still had yet to contemplate. What he really needed was to clear his head and be alone with his thoughts. Given the general disdain for this area and the time of day, Marshall had to admit there might not be a better chance to find some time to think.

His feet led him to the edge of town where Terra's warning proved true enough to halt his wandering. A small pack of dusk hounds had managed to corner some unlucky beast along the town's border. Normally Marshall might not have given the creatures much thought and written the whole thing off as squarely within the domain of the natural order of things.

As he watched the dusk hounds maneuvering into position he noticed how their dust-colored hides seemed to blur the difference between where they were and where sudden movement showed them to be. They really had earned their name fittingly enough; these hounds often appeared at dusk and typically did so seemingly out of thin air. It didn't really seem all that fair to their prey to him, natural or not. And presently Marshall decided that he had had enough of bullies, even if they were mere beasts.

With both pistols to hand Marshall took aim and trained his first shot just to the side of the lead hound. A loud crack echoed out as his blast hit nothing but dirt, a clear miss. His eyes barely had time to notice any real detail in the dusk hound's reaction; already the growing gloom was providing protection to them from his perception. But engaging an enemy without the benefit of light wasn't altogether unfamiliar to Marshall. He knew rather well that long before his eyes would discern any detail, they would detect motion instead.

Patiently he drew in a long breath and eased it back out; forcing himself to relax as he waited. Another blur of brown exploded at his left, and he answered it with an impulsive shot. Again only a thud of dirt marked his efforts, but one subtle fact became clear. With each avoided attack the lead hound dodged, the others moved likewise. A plan began to form behind his brown eyes, and a savage smirk soon joined it.

This time when something obscure alerted him he fired again in its direction and immediately followed it up with a second just opposite to the first. A primal yelp of pain rewarded his gambit as a wounded dusk hound stumbled just long enough to be greeted with a sharp staccato of shots. "That's one," Marshall remarked gravely as he watched a few fleeing shades vanish off into the distance.

"Guess they weren't sure who to follow next," he decided. With the final rays of sunlight fading from the sky Marshall reviewed each gun and reloaded the empty cylinders. Overhead he could already see a few drosswings beginning to circle the prospect of a fresh meal. The large carrion birds glided about on their foul smelling oily black wings, eager to feast on the fallen dusk hound below.

As the sky-born scavengers began their dive down for dinner, Marshall watched on and just as fast marked they scattered as if spooked. But what could have startled these drosswings from a fresh feast? The distant sound of a rumbling roller soon answered that question well enough. It was racing rapidly towards Redemption, and as it got closer Marshall found the vehicle familiar. He had seen this one before, the day the Titan Train was robbed coming to town.

If this was the Bull-Boys heading into town, then it was anything but good news. In a hurry Marshall looked for a better position and when a rough chunk of stone presented itself he slid behind it. The rigid rock was a rough presence at his back as the roar of an engine grew louder. Cautiously he decided to risk a look around the side as a thick trail of thrown up dust flew in his face.

While he coughed up a cloud of his own, the motor's sound was already fading away. The Bull-Boys had just blown past him in a reckless rush that worried him about their reasons for coming to Redemption. Grandma Grael and Terra's faces were the first things that came to mind and he found himself quite concerned. He would have to hurry to catch up to that roller and fate frown on them if he was too late this time.

Episode 25 – Beware a Burnt Backside

The sound of screeching steel assaulted the air as the Bull-Boys' rushing roller skidded to a halt. Immediately, both Wynt and Briscole jumped clear to take up positions along either side of the vehicle, weapons in hand. "Caess," Dyzon shouted as he rose to step out himself, a gun in one hand and a megaphone in the other. "Get behind that toy of yours and kindly give these good folks a taste of our resolve. I want them to know we mean business and ensure that we have their undivided attention."

Caess hesitated for a single breath before moving to obey the order, a look of concern clearly etched on his slate shaded brow. "Alright Dyzon, but I haven't finished testing this thing out yet – no promises that the power cells will hold out under prolonged use," he explained. "Any particular preference in regards to targets or would you like me to provide them with a warning blast?"

"Just pull the trigger and reduce something to rubble boulder brain," Dyzon scolded. Without further wait, the Kry-Santhian slipped behind a swivel mounted device, pivoted it towards some nearby buildings and tediously squeezed its trigger. For a second his heart skipped a beat as he questioned whether it would even work, only to find a roar of relief when it erupted. A bright steady stream of shimmering energy poured out to rip its way through everything it touched. With a jerk Caess pulled the pointed power to his left and watched the wrecking weapon's blast obey. By the time he released the trigger he knew only seconds had past but before him he would have sworn a few minutes worth of a bullet barrage had occurred.

"It makes me no never mind if you want to hide in your homes or not, you can die just as well no matter where you are." Dyzon's announcement easily carried through the evening streets, audibly amplified by the megaphone held before him. As he began his sinister speech fearful faces slowly began to peek out from windows and rubble to regard him. "I am here for one thing and one thing only; the man who calls himself Gauntlet. Can you hear me, hero? I am calling you out, if you've got the guts to face a real man. And I can promise you, you'll not find us the bunch of push-over's you're used to."

Only silent shadows and trembling townsfolk answered Dyzon's challenge as he looked around. "Alright, there may be no love lost between the people of Redemption and yourself, Mr. Crusade, but I doubt you'll turn a blind eye to their pain. Show your self or my friend here is going to start remodeling Redemption into ruins." Along with the threat went a lethal look, which reinforced his meaning as he gestured toward Caess.

The soft sound of soled boots padding over dirt ended with a crunch behind Dyzon, prompting a smile of satisfaction. "You can call off your dogs, friend, I'll accept your challenge," the mysterious man proclaimed. Awaiting Dyzon's eyes when he turned around was a man with his own gaze downcast, his face obscured behind the brim of his hat. No weapon was visible in either hand, nor was a single stitch of protective apparel anywhere to be seen. In fact, only a pair of antique looking revolvers was holstered at his sides and some bizarre blades marked the man as even being armed at all. And even so, the fool had ignorantly chosen to wear his weapons with the handles facing forward.

"Let me explain something, friend," Dyzon began with a chuckle of amusement. "When you wear a weapon it's wise to be able to get to it easily and quickly, first of all. And secondly, for your own health; it is never a noteworthy notion to step into our way when we're looking for somebody." A growing giggle began to grip Dyzon at the idea that this silly man seemed to think himself brave enough to walk right up to them and accept his challenge. "So why don't you run along, we have business with this Gauntlet fellow, not some dimwit drifter."

Marshall raised his head with measured effect, his hands still clear of his carried side arms. "I thought I made myself clear the last time we met; I am certainly no friend to you and your lot," he countered. Upon seeing the familiar face, fresh laughter found Dyzon as he enjoyed the irony of the situation.

"Well, well, well; look here boys – if it isn't Mr. Titan Train himself! Don't tell me you're this Gauntlet character, causing; or trying to anyways, all this trouble around here?" Marshall surveyed the position of his foes and made a mental note of their placement before answering. "The same," he admitted careful to keep his best poker face on.

With a shake of his head Dyzon tried to clear his thoughts of the inherent humor in the claim and called for Wynt and Briscole. "Would you two remove this idiot and his bad taste in jokes, please," he asked with a growing groan of displeasure. Perhaps afterwards, the real hero might show himself. Dyzon hated to waste all night destroying the town looking for him.

Eagerly Wynt took aim, relishing the chance to get back at the man who he'd promised to get even with on the Titan Train. "With pleasure," he answered. A few steps away Briscole raised his own gun obediently as well. "Whatever you say, boss," he agreed. Together the pair of thugs began to approach their target in tandem, ready to remove him.

Marshall allowed them three steps towards him as he sized them up and estimated their reactions. Neither one of them had moved their finger to the trigger just yet, nor did either seem intent to do so until they closed in on him. In fact, a staggered step marked Wynt as a man recently engaged in some heavy drinking. He was a sharp contrast to the sweaty tightly muscled man at his side that looked to be fresh from a workout.

Even sober and well rested, Marshall doubted either of them would have the speed to react on the draw fast enough. But right now, he was doubly sure he held the edge in this encounter. It was time to take the advantage and make the most of it, Marshall decided grimly.

Both his elbows dropped to point behind him, his wrists bent ever so slightly as his gun's grips seemed to reach for his embrace. A subtle whoosh of wind accompanied his weapons as they whipped out, catching the bold bandits off guard by the offensive. Wide eyes stared in disbelief as a pair of pistols barked to life to send speeding shots their way. The violent volley pelted them with piercing projectiles that ended in grizzly gurgling.

Both criminals fell to the ground with a wet thud as Marshall adjusted his aim towards the other two terrorizing thieves. Perhaps now they might take him a touch more seriously. Either way he was ready to receive their reaction.

Episode 26 – Flee You Fleas

Dyzon Naez watched in shock as two members of his criminal crew fell before this deadly drifter. It had all happened so fast, one second he was enjoying the impending end to this silly stranger – and then suddenly shots rang out. How had he drawn on them so fast, let alone managed to get any shots off before them? Who was this man that they were dealing with?

Realization ravaged his insides as a fear began to snake its way up from somewhere deep within him. This was indeed the self-proclaimed hero of Redemption, it had to be; the man who called himself Gauntlet. On this side of those pointed pistols, Dyzon now found himself understanding precisely just how easily Eris could have been overcome by a single Samaritan.

The weight of his own weapon, still hanging loose in his hand felt ten times heavier than he knew it to be. It brought his attention back, his focus landing on the simple understanding that relics or not – two terrifying revolvers were trained on him. Any move he made now to attack would certainly be interrupted instantly by impending death. There wouldn't even be the need for this avenging angel to draw at all. A quick squeeze or two and he would be waking up as worm food.

"Caess," Dyzon said hoarsely, trying desperately to keep from showing how scared he was. No matter how dire the situation or how bad the hand he held was, he refused to let this Gauntlet guy see him shake. "Now would be a good time for you to be doing something," he confessed.

The keen minded Kry-Santhian had already been analyzing the situation as it unfolded, considering a complex array of options. His grip still on his deadly little device he immediately assessed its state only to discover rather remorsefully that his concerns were confirmed. The improvised invention had sucked far more power from its power supply than he had estimated. If only he had had more time to tinker on it, Caess considered. Perhaps it was the direct way he wired the circuit pathways, or maybe the resonating tank had failed to filter the frequency and... This wasn't the time to troubleshoot his tinkered tech; Caess decided and reined in his train of thought immediately.

"I am doing something," the stocky stone skinned scavenger admitted without any attempt to mask the urgency he was feeling. "The smart thing to do right now is try to make for a tactical retreat and hope to avoid getting shot in the back! I suggest you do the same, unless you feel obligated to find out if Wynt and Briscole are waiting for you before they shuffle along."

Dyzon tried his best to study the man still standing in the same spot where he had shown up at. For all his effort he couldn't read him at all, he had made no move towards him. This silent sentinel just stood there like a statue with his guns at the ready. Would he show mercy if they fled? Or did a bullet in the back await him as soon as he provided the opportunity?

The idea of running from anyone was tantamount to declaring himself a coward – or worse; Eris's equal. Both things sickened Dyzon as they crossed his mind. And what of his reputation among the people of Redemption, what of the image everyone had come to expect from the Bloody Bachelor?

This was surely a sign of weakness if ever there was one. And after a similar showing from Dizcords Daemons, there was little to keep the town from turning against them. Even with Arbiter on their side, or the Mayor to spin things, this could easily spell the end to the way things had been for them.

Taurus would no doubt hold him personally responsible. That fact was inevitable and left him little option; he could either die here and now or take his chances running. If he ran he might live long enough to rectify the situation by finding a way to take out this Gauntlet character. And even then once the Red Bull received word he would be as good as anyone else occupying a grave. There would be no where to hide or any way to outrun his reach.

"Time to roll the dice," Dyzon declared through gritted teeth. Caess had had enough good sense to slowly reposition himself behind the driver's seat and await his peer's move before he himself did anything. It would simply have been better odds to floor it and save his own hide if Dyzon had chosen to take his chances in a gunfight.

The Bloody Bachelor swallowed hard to push his wounded pride down and out of the way. It still turned in his stomach as he moved ever so delicately to grab at the roller's rail cage doorway. Each second felt like forever as he listened intently for any sound that might foretell his fate. But nothing came right up to the moment his rear rested against the passenger's seat.

"Flee you flea," Dyzon demanded instantly. The words had barely formed and managed to make their way past his tongue when Caess had already slammed the accelerator as far down as it could go. The two disappeared in a trailing cloud of dust until the lingering twilight swallowed them up.

"Looks like we're all going to be on the hook for this," Dyzon said coldly. "Either we remove this thorny threat or we face the Red Bull's wrath right alongside Eris and them." Caess drove in silence as he considered just how desperate Dyzon would have to be to even consider joining forces with a female let alone someone he deemed a rival. "Make contact with Dizcords Daemons, I know you have some idea of how to reach them, and set up a meeting."

Only the humming sound of the roller's engine could be heard against the night as they drove on. Neither man dared risk a glance behind them, nor would they talk further presently. They had just witnessed a man they thought to be little more than a joke gun down two of their crew in the blink of an eye only to allow them to run without so much as a warning shot. As frightening as fighting this Gauntlet again was, they both found themselves hoping they had time before news could travel to Adrian Taurus. Time enough for them to attempt to fix everything, or if they were lucky die trying.

Episode 27 – A Gun-Bunny Hops Again

Over the course of her many years, Grandma Grael had picked up a good number of useful things. Time and experience had honed her judgment, allowing her to pick out which customers were more likely to cause trouble. If someone came to her in need, promising to pay later she had to know who really would. And likewise she had to be prepared to spot anyone struggling against the temptation to take. You didn't run the only real resource for the necessities out here for very long without adapting to survive.

So when the sharp staccato sound of footsteps outside ended at her door, she already knew that they carried someone bent on business other than what her shop provided. It was the driven drumbeat of purpose, the hallmark of impending interrogations. Unfortunately for them, Grandma Grael wasn't in the mood for playing games.

"Here on official matters," Sheriff Arbiter announced as he stepped over the threshold to stand just inside the doorway. "Afraid I am going to have to ask you to hand over the wanted outlaw known as Gauntlet. We both know he's been staying here, and unless you comply I'll have to charge you with obstruction."

Arbiter stood with his head cocked to the side, an unmistakable look of pride in his posture. His gun was still holstered at his hip, one hand held near it as if to warn that he meant his threat. But all Grandma Grael saw was the same young bully she had watched grow up. The familiar friendly smile she was known for was nowhere to be seen upon her face as she fixed him with a stern stare.

"Now you listen to me, Pierce Arbiter, we both know a lot of things," Grandma Grael countered. "We both know that you're no real sheriff; you're nothing more than a fancied up guard dog for Adrian Taurus. I've minded my own business for far too long about the matter. I've turned an eye and went on about my way. But you never have learned which critters to leave be.

You're boss did take that lesson to heart long ago. Let me share that little pearl of wisdom with you; everyone has a past and it's often best to listen to your elders when they warn you about those who came before you. Adrian's father knew me well, back when we settled Redemption; he often told him some of the stories about who I used to be. And if you're curious what that has to do with your situation right now, well, let me clarify it for you.

Adrian would have told you, before you ever even thought to set foot in my store making demands, that it would be the biggest mistake you ever made." Without any dramatic gesture or attempt to conceal the fact Grandma Grael let the barrel of a shotgun rest atop her counter, pointed directly at the Sheriff's chest. Her eyes had the look of cold steel as she dared him to call her bluff.

"For the record," she continued to explain. "They used to call me Gun-Bunny Grael. My past wasn't exactly a pleasant one, and I have tried to put it behind me. But I have watched you bend the law to suit your own corrupt and perverse needs once too many. So, I am going to give you the only warning you'll get from me – to show you that I am a little more merciful than I was in my youth. This isn't a pea-shooter pup, so unless you want some holes in you I suggest you run along back to your big-headed boss and deliver this message; he crossed the line."

While Pierce listened to her every word, his eyes found it difficult to remove their focus from where they remained fixed on Grandma Grael's trigger finger. And it was hovering within a hair of a very messy end to his mortality. He had heard a handful of stories, whispered conversations mostly from some of the older townsfolk after some drinking about some old wildcat woman. They had called her Gun-Bunny, he knew that much, but he had never heard anything more than the occasional old rumor. It was frontier folk tales he figured; more exaggeration than anything, now his doubts were quickly dissipating.

"Alright, you win," Arbiter admitted with his hands held high, careful to keep them clear from his side arm. "But one way or another something is going to happen to want-to-be hero. The Red-Bull will never tolerate even a single man to interfere with his interests. So my friendly advice to you is to steer clear of him. And as for this, well, I'll try to forget we had this little unfortunate encounter. But I make no promises others might find you're lack of respect disappointing."

"Tuck your tail and get gone pup, this trigger is a might touchy," Grandma Grael advised. Arbiter found the cold brush of fear tickling its way up his spine. He had no question that she meant it either, and he wasn't about to risk finding out. So he slowly started to back his way out to the street while his pulse raced in response. The second his heels hit street he wasted no time in putting as much distance between him and the legendary lady. Let her see him run, live today, deal with her later.

As she watched the sorriest excuse for a Sheriff she had ever known sprinting off into the shadows, Grandma Grael allowed herself a chuckle. Pierce was still just a petty punk compared to the kinds of people she used to deal with, he even ran like a frightened critter. In the past he never would have made it past the door to insult her, and on the rare chance that he had never would have made a single step towards the street.

Considering that thought she wrestled to decide if that meant she was slipping, or simply a better person. In the end she shrugged it aside as something that didn't matter. Something told her that shortly word would start to spread of how the infamous Gun-Bunny was hopping once more. It was more than enough to make her smile again while she laughed. Who'd have ever thought that would happen? For some folks, she supposed, old habits were just too stubborn to be rid of though.

Episode 28 – The Deputy Delivers

Outside the Sheriff's office a small boy was sitting, waiting for him as Deputy Rook approached. The small glimmer, of what he could only guess was hope in the child's eye, was a warm and welcome sight. "May I be of service young man," Rook dutifully offered, sounding every bit the dedicated Deputy.

"Is it true, sir," the boy found his words stumbling as he tried to spit them out. He even fidgeted with his hands as he refused to meet Rook's eyes. "I, um, I mean - is what everyone saying correct; did this Gauntlet fellow really just run the Bloody Bachelor right out of town?"

Rook had to admit there was more curiosity to the question then the usual accompanied fear he was used to hearing. But then again he couldn't clearly recall the last time that, well, anyone willingly came by the office to ask about anything official. Things in Redemption seemed to be changing; at least that much he couldn't argue with.

"I think I can honestly say that it is true," Rook confirmed and as he did saw a genuine grin spring to life at the news. "As a matter of fact, I just came from looking into the whole thing and my official report is that two members of the Bull-Boys will be in the dirt directly. I suppose this town might owe this Gauntlet character a debt of gratitude. That's two gangs of late that he's single handedly handicapped, and I'd wager if we give him a little more time he might just finish the job."

There was a newfound glow to the boy after that, as he was almost bursting with visible excitement. "Yeah," he exclaimed with a sudden hop. "Gauntlet is so great, I bet the Red Bull himself is going to be scared of him!" And as fast as his little legs could carry him the boy took off, obviously eager to share the news.

Rook was still shaking his head and enjoying the kid's enthusiasm when he entered the office. But as he made it to his desk something nagged at him, a troubling tickle that he couldn't quite place. A quick glance around the room didn't really provide anything immediately out of order but the feeling remained. There was something wrong, but what?

The Sheriff had sent him off to check up on the reports of another incident in town while he himself looked into another matter. But apparently he had made it back before the Sheriff. An examination of Arbiter's desk though told another tale; it spoke volumes that not only had the Sheriff returned but that he had left again in a hurry. Papers were ruffled and left in a mess, not to mention the fact that his keys were missing. And when he looked in the drawer he immediately noted the empty space where he usually kept his gun. Another weapon was missing from the rack along the wall as well.

"What are you up to," Rook asked aloud as he considered what possible course of action his boss might be up to. The only clue he could find was the hastily scribbled coordinates for a location just outside the edge of town. And there was only one reason he could figure for Arbiter to be interested in visiting such a place; he had to be going to meet with one or possibly both criminal crews.

"I've got to warn Marshall," Rook decided and headed for the door. And the first place he knew to check was the General Good, so he would start there. As he headed off to warn the wily warrior he had to appreciate the ironic humor involved in his choice of residence. Even at a time like this it never did hurt to laugh a little.

♦♦♦

A lone lit lamp greeted Marshall when he slipped inside the shop. Accompanying it was the familiar fresh scent of gun oil that lingered in the air. Patiently perched behind the counter was Grandma Grael herself, a steaming mug before her and a wiped down weapon laying well within reach.

"You had yourself a visitor," she offered quietly. As if the evening hadn't already been interesting enough, Marshall reluctantly raised an eyebrow and decided to ask the question he was sure she was simply waiting for. "Now who would want to stop by and pay a visit to little old me, I wonder?"

Grandma Grael fixed him with a stare that made him catch his breath a moment and fall silent as a school boy. How did she do that, he started to wonder and then immediately cast the quandary aside. Something was different; her trademark friendly demeanor was strangely absent. And in its place was a somber seriousness that was altogether unsettling.

"Arbiter stopped by the shop and decided he would just try his luck throwing his weight around," the little lady explained calmly. "The jury is still out on whether or not I was too easy on him, to be fair. But in the end he did turn tail and run for all he was worth."

Another look at the shotgun atop the shop counter confirmed that she was deadly serious. "Before you settled here and started this shop..." Marshall found himself beginning to ask before he quickly changed his mind. "That was another time," Grandma Grael answered anyway. "And needs not be brought up presently, but you mark my words; that boy will be up to something, if he isn't already."

"I am afraid that she is right, unfortunately," Rook added as he revealed himself from behind Marshall. "I didn't know he had planned to come here looking for you to begin with but now he has disappeared while I was away from the office and it doesn't look too good. All I have to go on is the fact that he left armed and some coordinates to a place just outside town. I am afraid he may be on his way to meet up with some of those folks who aren't exactly fans of Gauntlet."

Somehow, quite surprisingly without meaning to Marshall realized that he might just be watching events unfold according to his plan. Even if he hadn't quite worked out how to have directed them that way himself, he welcomed any manner of good fortune in that regard. With all his enemies possibly gathering together now was the perfect opportunity to try and take advantage.

"Let me grab a few things and then you can point me in the direction of this meeting spot," Marshall mentioned. He didn't bother to wait for the Deputy to respond, or try to object on the matter before he headed for his room. There was no need to waste time debating what would suit his needs or be the best option for the task at hand. Marshall didn't need a second thought; he went straight to his gear and grabbed exactly what he was looking for.

It only took a moment to confirm that his 'Hole Maker' and 'Scavenger's Shard' were ready to be put to use. For good measure he snatched up a few extra handfuls of shells and strapped on a couple extra bits or gear – just in case. Within minutes he returned back downstairs and declared; "let's get to work." Without another word he and Rook tipped their hats to Grandma Grael before vanishing back out the door. And a little old lady raised her mug in salute before resting her other on the handle of her gun. It was about to be a long night, and she had no intention of missing a minute of it.

Episode 29 – A Grim Gauntlet

With their booted feet drumming against the dirt Rook guided their way through town in a tireless run. At times Marshall noted that he was indeed thankful that he had made it a point to keep himself in shape. Even so, he couldn't deny he was equally impressed with the pace his peer was setting for them.

They passed between buildings and cut through anywhere they could to follow the curious course Rook had established. Slung over his shoulder the weight of his rifle was reassuring as it reminded him of its presence, bouncing against his back. He kept a good grip with his left on the hilt of the makeshift blade that hung at his side, careful to keep it from swinging wildly about.

Another sharp turn around a corner and a quick dive to dart between a couple shacks delivered the duo even closer to the edge of town. Marshall began to notice fewer and fewer buildings now when he looked around. And of the ones he found even fewer looked to be in use – or what he would consider in any condition for use. The further out the two of them seemed to get, the more it became clear that out here everyone clung together – they needed each other.

"So, what is your plan this time around," Rook asked, the question interrupting Marshall's thoughts on the town. It took him a minute to collect himself, but as he considered the answer he couldn't think of any way to put it that didn't make him sound foolish. So he just decided to spit out.

"Nothing subtle, nothing covert; just going to walk in there and make sure I am the only one coming back out." Hearing the words come out of his own mouth, Marshall admitted that they sounded ludicrous, even to him. But the more the town seemed to disappear behind them, the more he began to realize he didn't care. Good people had been living in fear for far too long, and they deserved better.

"Do you take special classes on strategy or do you just study lessons on the subject from lunatics," Rook replied sharply. "You are going in outnumbered, into what might just be a lion's den full of folks who may or may not be waiting for you to do just that. And your brilliant brainstorm is that you are going to just waltz in to wage war?"

"That about covers it, yeah," Marshall admitted an obvious air of amusement in his voice. "Would you be expecting anything of the sort," he asked playfully. The look on Rook's face was one of absolute shock as it sunk in. It was like he just realized he was about to try to clip a live wire with a pair of steel scissors and someone had just pointed it out.

"You're right," he apologized after the stunned look slowly faded from view. "That may actually be a great plan after all. Or completely suicidal; I guess we're about to find out which."

Looming before the both them still stood what remained of an old Thunder Rail storage facility. An old out of use set of tracks had already began to rust outside it, and only crumbling crates were still left littered along its exterior. However, somewhat out of place, a strong set of doors still stood complete with a quite capable looking lock. It wasn't anything modern by any means, not even electronic in fact.

"Before you ask," Marshall said quietly. "Yes I can bypass that lock, but now is not the time for a lecture on mechanical systems – nor do I want to waste the time in doing so. There is a reason why I call my friend here 'Hole Maker,'" Marshall declared as he drew the rifle hanging behind him and cocked its lever. "I'm going in the front; you circle around and find yourself another way in. While I have their attention held you see if you can cover me."

Rook hesitantly started to obey, but paused for a second with a look of concern. "And what if you don't draw everyone's attention? Or if they take you out before I can get into position," he openly objected. "What then?"

"Don't worry; I am fairly certain that I can keep their eyes on me. Besides, if anything goes wrong I am sure you won't be able to miss it. If that happens, you just do your best to get clear, understood?" Marshall waited just long enough to be acknowledged with a brief nod before he turned back towards the doors and casually approached them.

Moving like he was born from the shadows themselves, Deputy Rook slipped off into the twilight, his side arm already in hand. Marshall took in a deep breath and held it for a long moment as he willed the thought of just how crazy what he was about to do really was out of mind. But with the conscious effort, came so many old faces again. Faces of so many people that he had passed by looking for some heroic figure who he thought would have shown up to save them at any moment. But no champion ever came; it had only ever been him there, watching out for some fantastic figure instead of doing something.

This time, he was the hero, and he was going to take action. Marshall released the air from his lungs in a long slow exhale and let his mind clear. He seized upon his purpose with iron resolve and raised his Hole Maker. "Well, here goes," he told the empty air around him and squeezed the trigger back in a single fluid pull.

Awaiting the release of his trigger finger, the weapons arc-igniter sparked to life and sent a pulse of electric current coursing into action. Resting at the rear of both barrels a pair of caseless projectiles exploded as their propellant ignited at the touch and vaporized into the promise of violent velocity. Each round ripped its way down the barrel before it until they both blasted angrily against the waiting door.

As it shuddered against the sudden assault, another pair of rounds rotated into position and immediately was sent flying. The lever flicked forward in a flurry as Marshall let his bullets bust the door to pieces. Once satisfied the hole he had made was big enough he slipped a few shells into the guns cylinder and holstered it as he stepped inside.

"Who's ready to run the Gauntlet tonight," Marshall roared. "Come on out, knock-knock; its justice come calling. Anybody home," he goaded, daring someone to try to stop him. If anything would get under their nerves, a blatantly bold move such as this had to be right at the top of the list. He wasn't wrong.

Episode 30 – Tarnished Badges

"This has to be some kind of nightmare, even for Newport," Arbiter spat bitterly. The whole situation had spiraled out of control and looked to be rapidly rushing into the realm of absolute chaos. "How is it that, of the two of you, neither one could handle a single stranger?"

His question had almost the same impact as a braided leather whip as it stung both Eris and Dyzon's wounded pride about as well. Already the unusual Uraor had been on edge ever since they had been contacted by her robbing rival, demanding they set up a meeting. Eris would have liked nothing more than to take out every frustration she felt in a furious frenzy directed his way. But even she could see the folly in such temperamental tactics.

As for the Bloody Bachelor himself, he was consoled by the constant reminder that there was still a likely chance Eris could be caught at the unfortunate end of this Gauntlet guy's guns. Taurus couldn't possibly fault him for that one, if it just happened to occur. Could he? The Red Bull was notoriously difficult to predict when it came to how he might respond to some things. Which was precisely why Dyzon desperately wanted to walk away from this whole ordeal as soon as possible, he could almost feel the breath of hounds hunting him at the nape of his neck. The thought made him shiver despite himself.

"Like you have done any better," Eris was the first to snarl back in an avalanche of anger. "You've not managed to stop this dangerous drifter either," she challenged. "And you're the shiny shield who is supposed to keep things like this from even becoming a problem. Instead you let the man just walk off the Titan Train and into town without so much as bothering to even search him. Then, all of a sudden, we have a violent vigilante on the loose and the only authority in town's great idea to handle the situation is a fancy speech. While we are dying in the streets at the hands of some campaigning crusader you are rallying sheep."

"I don't think I appreciate your tone much," Arbiter automatically snapped in response. "Besides, while I have danced about to keep everything going smoothly all this time it wasn't me who failed so miserably. Both of you two had him outnumbered and both of you came up on the short end if you recall."

"Don't you dare lump me in with her," Dyzon chimed in, a growing agitation of his own building. "She only sent 3 piles of scrap to the heap; I had to send two flesh and blood men to the Digger Doll. The guy just got lucky is all, simple as that. However, if you had been bothered to warn us just how dangerous this man was it might have been different. For that matter it never should have happened in the first place if you'd simply done what you were paid to and arrested this fool."

Arbiter opened his mouth to defend himself with another verbal volley, but a loud series of shattering sounds stopped him. "Dirty diamonds, what is that racket," he cursed. The sinister Sheriff spun to face the fragmented frame of what was the warehouse's doorway while suspicions were slung about behind him.

"This is some kind of trick," Eris accused, using her finger to level a blow of blame towards the Bloody Bachelor. Simultaneously he snapped a slung shout her way as well. "You idiot, you have lead him straight to us!" Marshall's bellowed bravado carried its way through the air to only further infuriate the battling bandits.

Arbiter immediately felt a surge of sadistic glee as he watched this hero walking through the doorway without a single weapon in hand. "You have a lot of guts, I'll give you that Mister," the Sheriff said with a smile. "But you have just reached the end of your rope; you just don't know it yet." Behind his back, he already had a gun in hand. This was going to be so easy, and so very enjoyable.

"Draw," Arbiter roared, his voice resonating like a struck gong. He twisted with a jerk and swung his already drawn weapon before him to fire. In his excitement, he misjudged his aim – the Sheriff hadn't had to engage in a gunfight in quite some time. Arbiter had allowed himself to become rather rusty he realized, and now he regretted it.

In a fluid motion, Marshall pulled both pistols and took aim. He had been a hair faster on the draw than the Sheriff, but had opted for a well placed shot instead of a wild one. It was a decision he was delighted by the outcome of, when a blazing beam flew past him. Two hammer falls rang in response as he sent a pair of shots back. One slammed home into the Sheriff's upper chest near his shoulder and sent him stumbling. The other burned its way into his gut, sending a wave of sickness through him, and stealing his breath.

"Some friendly advice; doesn't matter much if you can out draw another man, if can't hit what you aim for." Marshall watched as the Sheriff let his gun fall to the floor, free from his grasp. Struggling for breath his hands grabbed at his chest as blood already started to soak its way out. "You have brought disgrace to your duty, and dishonor to the badge," Marshall explained with icy venom.

"Get him," Dyzon and Eris cried in chorus as they charged past the fading form of Arbiter. Marshall snapped off another rapid fire staccato song of shots that thudded their way into his opponents. Several caught the Uraor with fearsome force only to be met by her body's uncanny ability to recover from damage quickly. Already the wounds were beginning to close.

Another blast took Dyzon from behind and to the side as it dropped him to the ground, cutting his rushed assault short. Scrambling, Marshall dropped his Tamel's and grabbed for the hanging hilt of the sword at his side. The light caught and rippled along the edge of the shattered blade as he brought it to bear. Eris screamed with rage as she sent blow after blow his way, a crashing wave of close-range combat.

Marshall steadied himself as his hands took their grip along the heavy blades handle and rolled his body to maximize the momentum. The sharp stub sliced through flesh like rushing water through a valley and an arm fell to the floor. A howl of pain exploded in answer and Eris fell back a step to clutch at the ruined remnants of her lost limb. Fire still burned in her eyes, but with it came a clear understanding of what awaited her if she continued.

"Mercy," she pleaded, feeling the inherent shame the words brought forth from insider her with them. She would recover, she knew, but to die so disgracefully; that would haunt her in the hereafter forever. It was better to live and reclaim her pride later than to be known as a weakling by those who told of her tale.

Episode 31 – New Sheriff, New Plan

Without a single whispered word, Marshall set himself into recovering his beloved bullet-slingers. One by one he reloaded each empty cylinder slot with a quiet click as it turned. When finally he spoke, it was the somber voice of seriousness, his head still cast down at the gun in his hand.

"Where are the rest of them," Marshall asked suddenly. "Tell me, right now – if you truly do wish for any manner of sympathy; where are the rest of your friends." A twinge of concern shook Rook's conscience awake as he began to worry where Marshall might be going with this. Even a criminal, once caught was subject to the right to face the law for their crimes, not be executed on the spot.

"Whoa, easy there 'slinger," Rook pleaded, his hands held before him. "Let's simmer it down a notch and wait a tick, alright?" Marshall made no move, his hat's brim still cloaking his face in shadow. "If you're asking about the other two; the Ursian and the Kry-Santhian – they split out the back as I was making my way inside. I think it is safe to say we don't have to worry ourselves over them; we have the leaders of both gangs. One dead, the other in custody and we have removed a corrupt official from power. Isn't that enough bloodshed for one night?"

Some distracting thought seemed to distance the grim drifter as he reached down to examine the crimson stained corpse, of which only moments ago had been the Sheriff of Redemption. With his left hand he casually plucked up the blood slick badge dangling from a scrap of cloth and held it up just enough to let the light catch it. The small shield had once been a symbol of authority, of the promise to protect. Now it was little more than a sullied trinket in his eyes.

"The town will be needing a new man for the job I should imagine," Marshall mused, his tone still hollow and out of place. "I can't think of anyone better suited for the task," Rook admitted, a sincere smile joining the remark. But when Marshall looked up his eyes met the prismatic purple of Rook's own and the Deputy knew full well that Marshall had never meant himself.

"Neither can I," the deadly drifter declared and tossed the badge towards him. Rook easily caught it in his hand and regarded it, wiping clear some of the gore with his thumb. "I don't know what to say," he stammered shortly, working to find the words he wanted to say. "Not sure I even know how to do the job," he confessed finally.

"You'll do fine, trust me; I am great judge of character." Rising once more, Marshall holstered his gun and looked from the stunned new Sheriff to the wounded warrior woman. "It is easier than you think; all you have to do is what you know is the right thing. Enforce the laws, keep your head and do your best. Just try not to forget two very simple things; justice may not always come from a judge and if you stray from the straight and narrow – you can find yourself facing a Gauntlet."

The last comment, Rook couldn't ignore, it made him curious and caused questions to come to mind. "What will you do now, where will you go?" Now with both of the rival bands of bandits no longer a threat to the town, there wasn't really anything to keep Gauntlet here in Redemption. Could such a man as Marshall Lawson settle down though?

"There are others who are responsible for the problems here, those who think they are beyond punishment for the pain they cause. I think its time they discover how mistaken they truly are," Marshall explained. "If you mean Adrian Taurus, I am sorry, but even you cannot reach him. Where he is, nobody ever comes back from; we're talking as far down as you can go – the end of the line and just beyond. Taurus is a permanent resident of The Graveyard, he is practically already buried."

"Well then," Marshall announced with a chuckle. "Perhaps it is high time that I managed to get myself back into prison." Rook had been certain that nothing else Marshall said could have surprised him by this point. After everything else they had been through, surely he was accustomed by now to the man's madness. And then there was this; which he couldn't honestly say which part was more unbelievable – the fact he wanted to be sent down to The Graveyard or the fact that at some point he had already been on the opposite side of barred walls.

"You know, you really are a few shots shy of a full load," Rook exclaimed. "If you get sent down there, then there is no coming back, nobody to protect you. Do you understand that?" Marshall raised one eyebrow and a glowing gleam in his eye made the new Sheriff stop his speech suddenly.

"That is what makes it perfect," Marshall countered. "There will be no one to get in my way, no one to protect him, and no where else for him to run. The man thinks himself safe in his castle, in the one place everybody believes has him kept from causing any more harm. He is hiding there, and enjoying complete absence from any manner of suspicion whatsoever. Its time for that to end I think."

"If you ask me, you are only signing your death warrant," Rook replied, echoing his reservations with the idea. "No worries in that regard, I know the perfect professional for the task should the need arise. I might even be able to get a discount." Marshall laughed once more at the mention of the macabre maiden, and Rook couldn't refrain from enjoying the joke as well. "There is just no talking sense into you is there," he had to ask. Still laughing Marshall easily answered with another whip of whit. "Nope and there is no beating sense into me either. Others have tried, and failed – thick hide and thicker skull I'm afraid."

Episode 32 – Red Bull Rage

Sitting alone along a crudely crafted bench, Adrian Taurus's bulky body radiated grave peril to anyone who dared to interrupt him. To the casual observer, one might have found humor in the notion that such a notorious crime-boss could be caught in his spare time, idly enjoying any manner of civilized entertainment. Nevertheless, there he sat; knee deep in thought playing a tactical game of tiles with only his self to provide both player and opponent.

The sound of rhythmic clattering footsteps approaching didn't even merit a single flinch from his focus as he contemplated the next move to be made. But once the sound stopped and a female voice spoke a tensing of tendons flexed instantly in response. "We have some things to discuss, you and me," Demure Devadonna began boldly.

Several steps ahead, Adrian already anticipated where this conversation was bound to lead and he didn't like it at all. If it was good news, well, that would have been delivered with some manner of celebratory grace and expectations of reward. Even if there had been a slight stumbling; word would have been refrained from reaching him for a short time yet, before he was informed through alternative channels. No, without a doubt if this dramatic damsel was the messenger, then this information was sure to leave a terrible taste on his tongue.

"Spill it," Taurus ordered impatiently. "Just get on with it and skip this play at skirting the subject before you no longer have the fortune of my attention." Adrian's eyes never left the board before him as he continued to systematically move and remove the various tiled pieces along either side. With each passing beat of her pulse, Demure found herself starting to tremble as she watched the plastic parts beginning to move slightly faster from the hex shaped game.

"I have just been informed that Arbiter and Dyzon are both dead, sir," she shakily submitted. "Eris has been taken into custody, just prior to these events the wanted outlaw known as Gauntlet was responsible for gunning down both Wynt and Briscole in the street." A violent force detonated the table in front of Taurus, shock seizing Demure as she tried to rationalize what was happening before her. As she watched on, her mind recoiled from the savage display while Taurus tore everything about him to kindling.

The Red Bull's rage was a legendary thing among the underworld; it was spoken of with nothing but complete terror by those who feared they might earn his wrath. And now here she sat as Adrian Taurus demolished anything within sight. Even the very bench he had been sitting on was flung through the air to explode in a shower of shrapnel against a stone wall.

"Incompetent, worthless, sacks of wasted flesh," Taurus growled between snorts and snarls. "One single man, one blind fool and not any of you could manage to deal with this disruptive drifter? Clearly I have over estimated the talents of the lot of you! I should have strangled you all myself instead of giving you a chance to be of use."

Growling, Taurus turned, his eye burning bright red as his frenzy overflowed. "I'll have your hide for this, and then I'll get this Gauntlet in my grip myself. His skull will shatter ever so sweetly for trying to topple me." A scream swept straight from Demure's mouth before a steady stream of frantic pleading followed.

"Please, I beg you, grant me the opportunity to regroup; I am sure I can repay this rogue for the both of us! He will hurt for all that he has done. I promise you, this Gauntlet will pay dearly – I owe him for Ashes, and as Mayor who else is left to keep control of your public interests? He can't dare touch me! I can deliver him to you, I swear it, and he'll be handed down here to you in a heartbeat."

The fury faded, if only slightly from Taurus as he still shook from the avalanche of adrenaline. "Rook has taken up the mantle left by Arbiter, I am sure that he will blindly try to enforce the letter of the law. He's probably already taking the vigilante into custody to send him down to The Graveyard." Demure desperately continued to convince the undisputed overlord of the underworld of her remaining worth. She wasn't sure that her argument was being altogether successful.

Taurus allowed his anger to abate a little more as he enjoyed the elevated racing rate of his pulse that still thundered through him. His mind was already calculating the various elements to the petite politician's claims. The sidekick turned Sheriff just might make his first act one of arresting the only real outlaw left. And with the other known criminals dead or behind bars, what need would there be for a gun slinging guardian? It definitely held merit, he had to admit.

"Alright," Adrian breathed out the word with a harsh huff that punctuated his point. "But we will not again have such a conversation. Fail me once more and you will find yourself earning a deserved and deadly reward." Crimson still colored his eyes as he grinned with a grim glee. "Go now, bring me this Gauntlet, so that I might provide him with a likewise punishment that he seems so fond of."

Demure didn't need to be told twice; on hearing the order to take her leave, she did so in a shameless sprint. There was work to be done, and she still couldn't believe how she had just avoided the Red Bull's rage. Even if it was narrowly – second chances were almost unheard of from Taurus. The fear that she only had been given the illusion of mercy didn't help alleviate her worries either. She could only hope that shortly this drifter would be safely deposited beneath the dirt, and this whole bleak business would be behind them. Surely placing this Gauntlet down into The Graveyard would put an end to everything, right?

About the author:

Ever since he has been able to hold a pencil, Matthew C. Gill has been scribbling down stories. Burdened by an over-abundance of imagination and discovering a lack of fitting bedtime stories for his children he set himself to attempt to create his own. What he never could have expected was the interest of all four of his children as they eagerly awaited each new 'episode' every night. He now lives as a slave to their literary appetites.

Connect With Me Online:

Twitter – Http://Twitter.com/SilverPenScribe

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