Prologue
Many things can go wrong during heists, and many things do for the fearless outlaws that roam the Highlands of Pangea.
But, for the Black Hill gang, luck always seems to be on their side. Their leader, Thomas Nixon, is a smart, educated man who turned to the outlaw way of life when his family was gunned down by some petty thieves. Using his intelligence, he got his revenge, but in doing so acquired a hefty bounty that prevented his return to normal, civilian life. So he grabbed a horse, his revolver, and a hat to keep the sun out of his eyes and set out. Eventually, he gathered a formidable crew of outlaws.
First was his right hand, Samuel Trout, the sharpshooter, who made sure to pick the best spots to provide covering fire, ensuring swift victories and even swifter escapes. Then came the medic and priest, Joel and Jack Buck, twin brothers who were framed for their parents murder. They made sure the crew stayed alive and in the good graces of God. Finally, there are the two kids on the crew: Sylvie Berry and William Heffridge.
Sylvie was an orphan girl, found by Nixon during an early heist that went awry, where during the retreat he had ducked into an abandoned building, boarded up and inches deep in dust. She was hiding there, struggling each and every day to find food and drinkable water. Nixon saw his daughter in her, and took her with him. Despite her initial protestations, Sylvie eventually found her home with them, and a role as the crew's surrogate daughter. She was six when she was taken in, and twelve when they met William.
He was a victim of slavers. Nixon saw them attacking a travelling caravan, and being the softie he was, decided to intervene. The slavers died, one by one, until the last few fled for their lives, leaving behind the paddy wagon with their current merchandise, that being people.
Nixon offered to take the fourteen year old boy home, but he wanted to join the outlaws, to be able to help people like they did him, regardless of the law.
With William, the Black Hill gang was fully formed, not because recruiting stopped, but because they would all be dead within three years. It went smoothly for a while, the gang pulled off heists, fought rival crews, made money, and grew a reputation of being merciless to any that stood against them, but true friends to those who earned it.
There was even love to be found, with Sylvie falling for William, the two of them growing close after they survived a shootout alone against the Crimson Chain gang. She had kissed him there, standing in the center of a ghost town, dust settling on the corpses of rapists and scum. He made her happy, and she made sure to cover his back always. They were inseparable, and soon became known as the Black Hill Valentines.
But despite all the good fortune, the law seemed hot on their trail. Camps abandoned, VIPs lost, heists ruined. It was as if they had information they shouldn't.
Then came the Small Springs heist. The target: a passenger/cargo train owned by Ironhorse Continental Railway Company. William learned that there should be some wealthy passengers, a safe, and very little security past that. It seemed an easy enough job, so they waited for it at a remote water station in the dead of night.
It stopped, unaware of the gang, and they rushed aboard, riding in on draft horses and firing into the air. Sure enough, there were only three armed guards amongst the actual staff, who surrendered quickly when they realized which gang they were dealing with, and that they could leave with their lives. Nixon, Sylvie, and William head to the back car which is made of reinforced steel, but that the guards open very kindly for them. They find two safes out in the open. One is locked with a new design, and so they deal with the smaller one first, finding the passenger's valuables. Unfortunately, they get only thirteen-hundred in cash and four gold watches. They go to ask the staff aboard about the main safe, but are told the safe is on a new timer, and will only open at a certain point, which would be the destination
Luckily, right as they had accepted the disappointing payout and are getting ready to bail, Sylvie spots three wooden boxes hidden in a false wall behind the safes. To Nixon's immense pleasure, as well as the rest of the crew, the boxes hold sixty thousand in gold pieces, as well as a bunch of ammunition for the gang. Amongst the ammunition, is a single bullet that, unlike the rest, is made of some strange metal that reflects the light in a gradient blue and violet, with electrical cracks decorating the casing. It is warm to the touch, and Nixon lets Silvie keep it.
At the end of the heist, there are no fatalities, but the gang does take a rich lady hostage for their escape, to ensure no one follows. They let her go a few miles down the tracks, easy enough to be spotted and picked back up. Then, it is back to camp, for one last party,
Nixon
I sit by the fire at the poker game, drinking my beer with a whore on my lap holding my cards for me. Sara is her name, and she is a pretty young blonde lass with hungry green eyes. She giggles constantly, kissing my neck and nibbling my ear.
I hear Sam complaining, asking if I can call or fold already, but I slam the beer down and look over to find Jack. "Hey, Jack, my boy! Grab the guitar already! We need some music to celebrate! This is a big score boys!"
Jack, who is currently tending to the horses, laughs and drops the brush. "Yes sir! What do we want?"
There is a chorus of responses from the gang, their lovers, the two cooks, and the former prostitutes that have joined our caravan and earn money through guile and seduction, but in the end, the song chosen is Cowboy's Life.
Jack starts strumming, and I look around to see the love birds missing, likely celebrating in private. I sigh, thinking about how grown up Silvie has gotten in the last nine years or so.
We all know the words, so we all sing along, even grumpy Sam.
"The bawl of a steer,
To a cowboy's ear,
Is music of sweetest strain;
And the yelping notes
Of the gray coyotes
To him are a glad refrain!
And his jolly songs
Speed him along,
As he thinks of the little gal
With golden hair
Who is waiting there
At the bars of the home corral!
For a kingly crown
In the noisy town
His saddle he wouldn't change;
No life so free
As the life we see
Way up in the Highlands!
His eyes are bright
And his heart as light
As the smoke of his cigarette;
There's never a care
For his soul to bear,
No trouble to make him fret!
The rapid beat
Of his broncho's feet
On the sod as he speeds along,
Keeps living time
To the ringing rhyme
Of his rollicking cowboy song!"
As the song comes to an end, with joyous applause and the raising of bottles, I go all in with the pair of aces I see in Sara's hands.
Sam, the only person left in the game, calls, revealing three of a kind, kings. "Damn, looks like I underestimated you, Mr. Trout. I guess I owe you a favor. What shall it be?" I light a cigar, puffing on it three times before exhaling.
Then I see his expression. He looks serious, and I feel stupid for not realizing he is, since he never makes bets unless he knows he'll win. I take another swig, and pat Sara's rear, letting her know I need a minute in private.
The lass takes the hint and leaves, finding Joel and flirting with the young man of about twenty-seven. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the wooden table between us, my eyes clearing and taking on a serious look. "Talk to me Sam. You're my brother, never forget that."
He nods, clearing his throat. "It's about William. He isn't who we think he is."
My eyes narrow, and I take another drag of my cigar. "What did you see?" Sam, as the sharpshooter, also carries out the task of watching the camp, even when no one thinks he is. He is constantly aware, a result of the harsh life he's lived since his parent's murder.
"He's been sending letters out, always under different names. Timothy C. Seth C. Hank C. You see the pattern?"
I nod. "Have you figured out what the names mean?"
He pulls out from his coat three envelopes. "I've collected these over the last few months. These are copies I had some of my contacts made when he tried to send them off. They seem normal, at first. But if that's the case, why the false names, right?"
I look at them. Tim speaks of a friend to his father, a man I recognize as a target that suddenly disappeared before we could get to question him. Because of that, we lost out on a big score on some fancy sculpture done by some fancy artist up in the capital of Goldridge. Seth speaks of a beautiful cliff hidden amongst the trees, a wonderful vacation spot for his lover. We had to abandon such a spot in the night when Sam spotted marshals riding towards us. Hank speaks to his childhood friend of a story he is working on, a river boat heist very similar to one we had to give up on when security suddenly increased twenty fold.
"He's selling us out." It's obvious, he's been giving our closely held information to someone, and the 'C.' tells me exactly who to. Elias Crowley, also known as the Crow to the outlaws in the Highlands. He is working with the Shadow Marshal Bureau. "Fuck! Sylvie is with him right now! Get your gun, Sam. We need to act fas-"
The sound of a gunshot cuts through the celebration. I tense, fear filling me. The Crow, the greatest outlaw hunter in the Highlands. If William was working with him… But why? I thought he saw me as a hero? I tried to be good to him, just as I try to not do unnecessary evil.
People start to panic, and I know I need to act as the gang's leader. "Bucks, get the people out of here, you both know the exit routes! Sam, with me!"
I take off, running towards Sylvie's tent at the back of camp. I am thirty feet away when the smoke starts billowing out, the lights inside flickering manically as the fire from the lanterns must be burning out of control.
I stop cold in my tracks. Memories flash before my eyes, memories of my home being invaded, of my wife and daughter on their hands and knees begging for their lives. I pull back the hammer of my revolver as William walks out of the tent, calm and buttoning his shirt closed. Sam spits and raises his rifle.
"You son of a bitch!" I yell. I hear gunshots, a lot of them. A cold sweat covers me, and I turn to look at Sam. "Sam, go help the others. Now!"
He does so without question, and I turn my eyes back on William, and they go wide in terror.
William, with his golden blond hair, orange eyes, and handsome jawline, is covered in brilliant golden flames on his right arm, snaking up his shoulders, neck, and the right side of his head. He isn't burning, more like his body is becoming the flames. His expression is cold, yet sullen.
"I'm sorry, Thomas. I never expected… no I never wanted to get so close to her. Still…" he raises his burning hand at me, thumb up and index finger pointed at me. "You are criminals. You broke the law, and the consequences have come."
I fire my full magazine, six shots, directly to the head. I watch each bullet hit, passing harmlessly through, like I just tried to shoot a campfire. There are no bullet wounds, and there is no blood to speak of.
"What are you? A devil? That's it, isn't it! You killed the real William! Replaced him, my boy. He was like a son to me, and you killed him! Him and Sylvie!"
He shakes his head. "No. I am the same kid you saved that day. Only I wasn't there by coincidence. I was planted there. You were becoming a real nuisance, but you were smart. We couldn't catch you, so I was sent in. It took a few years, and there were some unintended…" he pauses, glancing behind him, "obstacles, but the time has finally come. I can show you the real, accursed me."
He erupts in flames, his finger gun still pointed at me even as he becomes a living bonfire. "I am Viktor Crowley, bearer of the Solar Flare Curse. This is goodbye, Thomas Nixon." He lowers his thumb, and I watch all the flames race from his body, to his finger, then out at me in the form of a giant flaming bird, flying to with the speed of a bullet. "Phoenix Burnshot."
I jump out of the way, hitting the ground hard. The bird tracks me, hitting my legs and scorching the flesh in an instant. I look down, seeing my pants and chaps gone. The only thing I see from the knees down are two black, charred branches.
I can't even feel it, the nerves completely dead. I try to drag myself forwards, and the black flesh stays behind, tearing off my stumps like jerky.
I hear footsteps, but my head collapses to the ground as I start going into shock. The gunfire has stopped. It is silent now, no music, no celebration, no joy. All there is are the crickets, birds, and the raging fire mere feet away. The man that approaches looks like William, or rather Viktor, but with black hair and eyes. He is taller, and at least in his thirties, about a decade younger than me. His black, handlebar mustache is in pristine position. Not a hair out of place. I can smell the gunpowder on him.
The Crow kneels down before me, his face cold and unfeeling. He looks me over, then at Viktor. "Excellent job. A successful end to your first real mission." He stands, holding out his arms. "Welcome home, son."
My eyes go wide as they embrace in a hug. Then, without even looking at me, the Crow points his revolver at me, and puts a bullet in my skull.
Sylvie
My head is pounding when I open my eyes to the open sky. Rain falls in the early morning, smoke still in the air in the charred grasslands where we had camped. I sit up, looking around. The camp is quiet. The horses are gone.
My eyes land on a body nearby, its legs half missing. I stand and walk over, feeling lighter than normal. My headache is fading quickly, too, and the emptiness that replaces it is oddly comforting. Though, I know something is wrong when I look at the face on the body, and feel nothing.
Nixon, the man that raised me like his own, is dead. I stare at him for a long while, realizing that I am empty. I touch my chest without thinking, as if feeling to see if my heart is missing. I feel something odd on my bare flesh.
Wait, why is my chest bare? I try to think. What had happened?
"Oh yeah…" it starts coming back to me slowly. I had pulled William into my tent. I had pulled him in close, and he had removed my shirt, belt, pants.
I remember his touch. Gentle, delicate, passionate. We made love, celebrated a job well done. Then, I gave him a gift.
The bullet. "Beautiful," I say aloud as I continue to remember. It was a beautiful bullet, a true treasure. I gave it to him. I didn't see him load it.
I remember getting up, going to pour some of my good wine. I had turned, and…
A tear falls down my cheek, but just the one. "William. He… shot…killed… he…" my voice starts as a tremble, but slowly becomes like steel, unwavering.
I look down at where he shot me, and see a scar that looks like my chest fractured, held together only by the tissue, right above my heart.
I look away, since it's a non-issue. I'm not gonna die, it seems. Which means I need to move forwards. I was wrong about not feeling anything. I realize as one thing becomes clear to me.
The Black Hill gang is dead, betrayed by one of its own, a man I loved. He failed to kill me, which means he is about to experience the one thing that I can still feel. The raw emotion that is slowly filling every inch of me.
He will feel my wrath.