The Masked Man was shouting, a voice raw with rage. "None of you really care! None of you give a shit!"
She feels dizzy, feels for a moment as if she is back on The Horsebreeder's Ranch, the night it burned. Maybe I died there and now I'm a ghost...
The dizziness keeps her from noticing Brogan staggering out of the flames, pistol in hand.
The Masked Man draws on Brogan but Brogan squeezes first and a burst of blood erupts from the Masked Man's head.
Brogan's gun sounds strange. Mags remembers the rumours, that the gun Logollos shot Sugarcube with had sounded strange. It's bringing her back, the sound, the question of it, bringing her back from the ranch, but too slowly.
Brogan already turning to face her, gun raised.
And part of her mind, staggering out of the flames from that night at the ranch into the flames that are swallowing Omega, part of her is trying to see if she can see, now that their hat is knocked off from the gunshot, if she can see who The Masked Man is...
Even as she, reflexes kicking in, raises her own gun at Brogan, but still too slow.
Maybe I am going to find out what happened to Sugarcube after all.
Except there are suddenly hoofbeats like thunder and a horse and rider charge out of the smoke. Right behind Brogan. And the rider, a massive man, shirtless and bloodied, long blond hair tangled and damp with sweat, hacks Brogan's head off with a giant sword.
"Maggie!" the rider roars, a savage grin on his face. "It's time to go!"
And she remembers him, another wave of dizziness, a wave of memories, enough to drown her - Vlad, he was called, and Akimoto - and the dizziness overtakes her, starting to fall, and the memories, remembering what it feels like to shift.
Showing posts with label western. Show all posts
Showing posts with label western. Show all posts
20160130
C2IP: The Agenda War IX
Mags and The Masked Man surrounded by fire and screams and blood.
Sugarcube used to love this town, she thinks, feeling her heart breaking again.
"The Mayor and the oil and the companies and the Law," the Masked Man shouts. "Drawing their lines and digging their holes and dispensing and withholding. This town's fortune and fate in their hands and everyone here is just a resource to them. Another means to an end. Sucking up life and love and dreams like the crude stuff and leaving ruined desperate husks. And Que will die and Mode and someone else will take their place. Let's call it The System. But the truth is there's no homes here, no jobs, no future without them.
"And the Wagoners with their hopes and their ideas and their ideals, doing what they can to get people well, keep them safe, make things better and stronger. Maybe make a change. Let's call it The Counter-System. All the ways they argue and fight it out. Who's using the schools and the papers and the places of gathering for what ends.
"Truth is, Maggie, and you know this in your heart, in your bones... It's all lies, all of it. This whole damn town is an infection, an open sore. This was free land once and a whole other people lived on it and with it and were murdered for it and enslaved. Omega Canyon, Temperance City, all the ranchers and cowboys, all the bounty hunters and Marshals, all the gamblers and the priests, all of it is a plague, a shadow, all of it rooted in native blood and suffering. If there's ever going to be any real future all this has to be torn down and burned away and the truth be owned and shared. That's the only way anything real is ever going to happen.
"That's why the only safe place in Omega Canyon is Judgement Grotto. The only part of this cursed enterprise that's even a little bit real: the graveyard.
"So that's why we're here. We're finally going to make everything real and send it all to the grave."
Maggie understood it now. Understood why things were in crisis.
Anti-System.
Sugarcube used to love this town, she thinks, feeling her heart breaking again.
"The Mayor and the oil and the companies and the Law," the Masked Man shouts. "Drawing their lines and digging their holes and dispensing and withholding. This town's fortune and fate in their hands and everyone here is just a resource to them. Another means to an end. Sucking up life and love and dreams like the crude stuff and leaving ruined desperate husks. And Que will die and Mode and someone else will take their place. Let's call it The System. But the truth is there's no homes here, no jobs, no future without them.
"And the Wagoners with their hopes and their ideas and their ideals, doing what they can to get people well, keep them safe, make things better and stronger. Maybe make a change. Let's call it The Counter-System. All the ways they argue and fight it out. Who's using the schools and the papers and the places of gathering for what ends.
"Truth is, Maggie, and you know this in your heart, in your bones... It's all lies, all of it. This whole damn town is an infection, an open sore. This was free land once and a whole other people lived on it and with it and were murdered for it and enslaved. Omega Canyon, Temperance City, all the ranchers and cowboys, all the bounty hunters and Marshals, all the gamblers and the priests, all of it is a plague, a shadow, all of it rooted in native blood and suffering. If there's ever going to be any real future all this has to be torn down and burned away and the truth be owned and shared. That's the only way anything real is ever going to happen.
"That's why the only safe place in Omega Canyon is Judgement Grotto. The only part of this cursed enterprise that's even a little bit real: the graveyard.
"So that's why we're here. We're finally going to make everything real and send it all to the grave."
Maggie understood it now. Understood why things were in crisis.
Anti-System.
20160127
C2IP: The Agenda War VIII
Mags, the smoke thick in the night, steps over Mode's corpse, the blood leaking from his gut reflecting the firelight, the flames thick in the night. She has the sudden thought that she's somehow killed this man before.
The citizens of Omega Canyon are screaming.
After shooting their way out of The Emperor, Dex ran for the schoolhouse, Wraith for the Star office, Cal for the old Hanged Man. They knew already, in their bones, that they were all already burning. People still needed protecting though.
Mags shoots another man who is about to shoot her. She's trying to size things up, make a count of things. Who started the shooting?
She can see, in the distance, the smoke parting like a curtain in the hot wind conjured up by the fire, that Que's manor is burning too. Glancing back, through more gunfire and screams, she sees that The Emperor is on fire.
War's come to Omega.
And then a figure in the midst of it, standing opposite Mags. She realizes that she's wandered into the main street, where Sugarcube and Logollos had drawn on each other. Do some things have beginnings?
Their hat is pulled low, a bandana pulled up high, face covered, thick duster and smoke and firelight making it hard to measure size, posture.
"You see what's happenin', Maggie?" they shout. Something about the voice. A knowing in it.
She thinks for a moment that it's Darius. Then she wonders if it's him, if Sugarcube's come back. She knows that she should know, that she should be able to tell, feels embarrassed that she can't. Truth is that things have never been quite right since the journey to the Horsebreeder's ranch.
"Tell me what's happenin', stranger!" Mags shouts back.
20160123
C2IP: The Agenda War VII
"Well, the bounty hunter was already there. She had rode in the night before, took a room at The Emperor. After checkin' The Hanged Man and learnin' it was shut down.
"So she's sittin' at the table in the corner with her rifle laid right out in front o' her, like she's darin' anyone to cross her. See, the clientelle was a lot o' hired guns workin' for the oil folks, mostly to guard shipments and the like, and sometimes keep the workin' folk in line. They were generally a fairly surly group, the kind you'd reasonably 'spect to trouble a lady sittin' by her lonesome in a Saloon.
"None of 'em troubled Mags Magenta though.
"And after a time the other three showed up and it was almost a reunion of the posse from the Incident last year, 'cept the Preacher wasn't there. The ex-sheriff, the ex-Marshal and the ex-gambler. They got to talkin' - I figures they were catchin' the bounty hunter up on all that had come to pass. The oil, the Mayor, the Law and the Wagoners.
"Part o' me woulda loved to been eavesdroppin' on that chat, just to know how exactly all this mess sounded in the tellin'. If any of it made any gorram sense or whether it was sense that died the day of the Logollos-Sugarcube showdown, if it was the corpse of normalcy and reason and right-thinkin' that they found in that coffin...
"The part left o' me though, if I'm to be truthful, is glad I never heard just what they said. They were an odd bunch, spooky and dangerous. For some reason, imaginin' what their conversation woulda been like makes me feel like when Pa would tell us ghost stories 'round the fire on cold winter nights.
"It wasn't long after that when the gents seated by the window began whisperin' that the Sheriff was outside.
"And then the first explosion happened.
"And then the shootin' started."
"So she's sittin' at the table in the corner with her rifle laid right out in front o' her, like she's darin' anyone to cross her. See, the clientelle was a lot o' hired guns workin' for the oil folks, mostly to guard shipments and the like, and sometimes keep the workin' folk in line. They were generally a fairly surly group, the kind you'd reasonably 'spect to trouble a lady sittin' by her lonesome in a Saloon.
"None of 'em troubled Mags Magenta though.
"And after a time the other three showed up and it was almost a reunion of the posse from the Incident last year, 'cept the Preacher wasn't there. The ex-sheriff, the ex-Marshal and the ex-gambler. They got to talkin' - I figures they were catchin' the bounty hunter up on all that had come to pass. The oil, the Mayor, the Law and the Wagoners.
"Part o' me woulda loved to been eavesdroppin' on that chat, just to know how exactly all this mess sounded in the tellin'. If any of it made any gorram sense or whether it was sense that died the day of the Logollos-Sugarcube showdown, if it was the corpse of normalcy and reason and right-thinkin' that they found in that coffin...
"The part left o' me though, if I'm to be truthful, is glad I never heard just what they said. They were an odd bunch, spooky and dangerous. For some reason, imaginin' what their conversation woulda been like makes me feel like when Pa would tell us ghost stories 'round the fire on cold winter nights.
"It wasn't long after that when the gents seated by the window began whisperin' that the Sheriff was outside.
"And then the first explosion happened.
"And then the shootin' started."
20160118
C2IP: The Agenda War VI
Weldwood Que, Mayor of Omega Canyon, poured himself a second brandy. He liked the way the light from the chandelier reflected in the liquid. "What exactly is the problem?"
Brogan Mirk, Sheriff of Omega Canyon, brushed some dust off his boot. "Their activities are creating a general air of dissent. Flyers and posters are appearing through the town, around some of the drill sites, even on some of the ranches on the North and South plateaus of the canyon. Manifesto-type writings, questioning the future of the area, questioning the benefits of the oil boom..."
Angus Mode, Deputy Sheriff, wiped some gravy from his moustache with a silk handkerchief. "Questioning the decisions and leadership of the Mayor."
Brogan Mirk, Sheriff of Omega Canyon, brushed some dust off his boot. "Their activities are creating a general air of dissent. Flyers and posters are appearing through the town, around some of the drill sites, even on some of the ranches on the North and South plateaus of the canyon. Manifesto-type writings, questioning the future of the area, questioning the benefits of the oil boom..."
Angus Mode, Deputy Sheriff, wiped some gravy from his moustache with a silk handkerchief. "Questioning the decisions and leadership of the Mayor."
Brogan shot Angus a look.
Mr. Throckmorton, local liaison to the Oil Companies from Temperance City, helped himself to the bottle of brandy. Servants were not allowed in these meetings. "Workers are beginnin' to hold meetings, talkin' about safety conditions, fair compensation, other such nonsense. Plus there's these weird symbols croppin' up, sometimes etched, like with a knife, sometimes painted, on some of the drillin' rigs or foreman cabins. Not really sure what that's all about."
Mr. Lanight, chief editor of The Omega Times, added, "The symbols have appeared on our building as well, and The Emperor Saloon."
Brogan interjected. "The symbols are repeated on many of the flyers and posters. It seems like a way to be reminding folks about the messages."
Que was frowning.
Brogan continued. "None of them are saying anything downright traitorous or treasonous. They're claiming to be a voice for the people of the Canyon."
"And have you identified any of the authors of the messages? Or the vandals defacing these buildings?"
"If the budget to the Sheriff's Office were to be increased," Brogan replied, "I could easily hire on some more men to keep a better watch. We may also want to consider a curfew."
Throckmorton added, "I'm certain the Temperance folks would endorse and maybe even kick in for an increase in security."
"The fact is," Angus said, "we've got two darkies and a slant-eye living in this Canyon, all of whom have reason to dislike the current way of things. One of them is good with letters, one of them has access to a printing press and one of them made a career on deceit and trickery. I think it's obvious who's behind this Wagoners business!"
Brogan sighed. Angus was a hothead but the Mayor was feeling the pressure and Brogan knew he was looking for a target. Not the best time for more troubling news, but - he chugged back his own glass of brandy - why not?
"You should also know, Mayor Que, that the bounty hunter Mags Magenta returned to Omega Canyon last night."
Mr. Throckmorton, local liaison to the Oil Companies from Temperance City, helped himself to the bottle of brandy. Servants were not allowed in these meetings. "Workers are beginnin' to hold meetings, talkin' about safety conditions, fair compensation, other such nonsense. Plus there's these weird symbols croppin' up, sometimes etched, like with a knife, sometimes painted, on some of the drillin' rigs or foreman cabins. Not really sure what that's all about."
Mr. Lanight, chief editor of The Omega Times, added, "The symbols have appeared on our building as well, and The Emperor Saloon."
Brogan interjected. "The symbols are repeated on many of the flyers and posters. It seems like a way to be reminding folks about the messages."
Que was frowning.
Brogan continued. "None of them are saying anything downright traitorous or treasonous. They're claiming to be a voice for the people of the Canyon."
"And have you identified any of the authors of the messages? Or the vandals defacing these buildings?"
"If the budget to the Sheriff's Office were to be increased," Brogan replied, "I could easily hire on some more men to keep a better watch. We may also want to consider a curfew."
Throckmorton added, "I'm certain the Temperance folks would endorse and maybe even kick in for an increase in security."
"The fact is," Angus said, "we've got two darkies and a slant-eye living in this Canyon, all of whom have reason to dislike the current way of things. One of them is good with letters, one of them has access to a printing press and one of them made a career on deceit and trickery. I think it's obvious who's behind this Wagoners business!"
Brogan sighed. Angus was a hothead but the Mayor was feeling the pressure and Brogan knew he was looking for a target. Not the best time for more troubling news, but - he chugged back his own glass of brandy - why not?
"You should also know, Mayor Que, that the bounty hunter Mags Magenta returned to Omega Canyon last night."
20160113
C2IP: The Agenda War V
Some say the War started way back when Sugarcube and Logollos had their showdown in the main street of Omega Canyon.
Some say it started during the Incident at Judgement Grotto. They'll say it was already being fought when Mayor Weldwood Que appointed Angus Mode, a man of dubious reputation, as Deputy Sheriff (rumours had it that Dexter Washington had turned down the job). That the launch of The Omega Times newspaper, in direct competition with the existing Canyon Star and with a generous government grant, was a battle in that War. That another battle was the closing of The Hanged Man Saloon after its liquor license was revoked, leaving The Emperor Saloon to cater to the needs of all the oil workers newly arrived to the Canyon.
The oil was flowing and business, for some, was booming. Trade coming through the Canyon was on the rise but most local shops couldn't compete with the merchants from the Coast and Temperance City who'd arrived once the drilling began. Most of the money, like the oil, was being sucked out of the Canyon.
Farmers who had sold their land to the drills (rumours of strong-arming were plenty) found themselves living in the increasingly cramped town in shoddily-built houses (the building crews managed by Temperance businessmen who didn't even live in the Canyon). Much the same lot for the oil workers, who earned only enough to pay rent to well-to-do landlords and drink their troubles away at The Emperor. Folks resorted to a lot of black market trade, which the Deputy Sheriff was in charge of stamping out; when seen in the streets in his finely-tailored suits he would half-heartedly lament the lack of success on "poor cooperation from the community".
The Mayor proposed consolidating the handful of small schoolhouses into one institution, in a new building funded by donations from the oil merchants, to "ensure a consistent education for the future leaders of Omega Canyon".
The Hanged Man Saloon was converted into cheap rooms for oil workers.
The Omega Times ran story after story about the dawning of a new age of prosperity for the Canyon.
Battles fought?
Some say the War didn't really begin until The Wagoners appeared...
Some say it started during the Incident at Judgement Grotto. They'll say it was already being fought when Mayor Weldwood Que appointed Angus Mode, a man of dubious reputation, as Deputy Sheriff (rumours had it that Dexter Washington had turned down the job). That the launch of The Omega Times newspaper, in direct competition with the existing Canyon Star and with a generous government grant, was a battle in that War. That another battle was the closing of The Hanged Man Saloon after its liquor license was revoked, leaving The Emperor Saloon to cater to the needs of all the oil workers newly arrived to the Canyon.
The oil was flowing and business, for some, was booming. Trade coming through the Canyon was on the rise but most local shops couldn't compete with the merchants from the Coast and Temperance City who'd arrived once the drilling began. Most of the money, like the oil, was being sucked out of the Canyon.
Farmers who had sold their land to the drills (rumours of strong-arming were plenty) found themselves living in the increasingly cramped town in shoddily-built houses (the building crews managed by Temperance businessmen who didn't even live in the Canyon). Much the same lot for the oil workers, who earned only enough to pay rent to well-to-do landlords and drink their troubles away at The Emperor. Folks resorted to a lot of black market trade, which the Deputy Sheriff was in charge of stamping out; when seen in the streets in his finely-tailored suits he would half-heartedly lament the lack of success on "poor cooperation from the community".
The Mayor proposed consolidating the handful of small schoolhouses into one institution, in a new building funded by donations from the oil merchants, to "ensure a consistent education for the future leaders of Omega Canyon".
The Hanged Man Saloon was converted into cheap rooms for oil workers.
The Omega Times ran story after story about the dawning of a new age of prosperity for the Canyon.
Battles fought?
Some say the War didn't really begin until The Wagoners appeared...
20160108
C2IP: The Agenda War IV
Brogan set the empty glass on the bar. "That's a quality drink, Mr. Lokk."
Callan held up the bottle of whisky, offering a second shot, but Brogan shook his head.
"At least when I give you my money now," he went on with a smirk, "I get something in return, unlike the many times I gave it to you at the poker table."
Callan chuckled. "My apologies."
"None necessary. You out-played me."
"Since we're not gambling now, why don't we go ahead and put all our cards on the table right away? I'm aware that Mr. Que is planning to propose that one of the two saloons in the Canyon have its liquor license revoked. He will claim he is concerned about the effects of unchecked drinking given the influx of new workers to the region."
Brogan gestured to the bottle and Callan poured a second shot as he continued speaking.
"And I'm aware that the saloon he allows to continue operating will undoubtedly be the one he feels will best support his goals as Mayor."
Brogan took a sip. "We both know that the kind of talk that is either encouraged or discouraged at the local watering hole can have a profound impact on the opinions of a community. And that the support of a Mayor is beneficial for anyone doing business in said community..."
Callan held up the bottle of whisky, offering a second shot, but Brogan shook his head.
"At least when I give you my money now," he went on with a smirk, "I get something in return, unlike the many times I gave it to you at the poker table."
Callan chuckled. "My apologies."
"None necessary. You out-played me."
"Since we're not gambling now, why don't we go ahead and put all our cards on the table right away? I'm aware that Mr. Que is planning to propose that one of the two saloons in the Canyon have its liquor license revoked. He will claim he is concerned about the effects of unchecked drinking given the influx of new workers to the region."
Brogan gestured to the bottle and Callan poured a second shot as he continued speaking.
"And I'm aware that the saloon he allows to continue operating will undoubtedly be the one he feels will best support his goals as Mayor."
Brogan took a sip. "We both know that the kind of talk that is either encouraged or discouraged at the local watering hole can have a profound impact on the opinions of a community. And that the support of a Mayor is beneficial for anyone doing business in said community..."
20160105
C2IP: The Agenda War III
"You're a woman."
Wraith stared at Brogan.
"And you're not even white."
Stared.
"What I'm saying is, Ms. Wraith, is that your appointment as a Marshal was nothing sort of miraculous and I consider it irrefutable evidence of your dedication and skill. That you should have retired from the position is, to me, only another indication that your full worth is as yet untapped. And I believe that your journalistic endeavours will only serve to validate that suspicion."
"Are you auditioning for a column in the paper, Mirk? We don't pay by the word, I'm afraid."
He smiled.
"Not exactly. I have been, however, urged to discuss the future of your publication by the new Mayor, who sees the value in a reliable source of news for the residents of the Canyon. So much so, in fact, that he is proposing that you and your partner receive a government grant to upgrade your printing equipment and a small tax exemption to offset the cost of materials. The goal being an increase in both quality and distribution."
Wraith's eyes narrowed slightly.
Brogan continued, "Now that the drilling operations have begun it will be even more essential for Omega to have a strong, clear voice..."
Wraith stared at Brogan.
"And you're not even white."
Stared.
"What I'm saying is, Ms. Wraith, is that your appointment as a Marshal was nothing sort of miraculous and I consider it irrefutable evidence of your dedication and skill. That you should have retired from the position is, to me, only another indication that your full worth is as yet untapped. And I believe that your journalistic endeavours will only serve to validate that suspicion."
"Are you auditioning for a column in the paper, Mirk? We don't pay by the word, I'm afraid."
He smiled.
"Not exactly. I have been, however, urged to discuss the future of your publication by the new Mayor, who sees the value in a reliable source of news for the residents of the Canyon. So much so, in fact, that he is proposing that you and your partner receive a government grant to upgrade your printing equipment and a small tax exemption to offset the cost of materials. The goal being an increase in both quality and distribution."
Wraith's eyes narrowed slightly.
Brogan continued, "Now that the drilling operations have begun it will be even more essential for Omega to have a strong, clear voice..."
20160102
C2IP: The Agenda War II
"I think it's obvious that the Office of Frontier Affairs will be taking an active interest in the growth and prosperity of Omega Canyon, given the news."
"Undoubtedly."
Brogan Mirk adjusted the brim of his hat. "I've been given permission to share with you, Mr. Washington, that the initial meetings have already taken place."
Dex smirked. "So the article in The Canyon Star was accurate."
"To a point."
"Why no public meetings?"
"Mr. Washington, I have been a residence of the Canyon for many, many years and am deeply invested in ensuring the prosperity of the town and its people. You and I shared a mutual acquaintance, the dear departed Mr. Sugarcube. Your honourable history in law enforcement is known to me. It was at my insistence that the OFA agreed to this discussion."
Dexter listened briefly to the sound of the students playing outside. Laughter, no shouting or crying. "And what exactly are we discussing, Mr. Mirk?"
"A gentleman from Temperance City by the name of Weldwood Que is being installed as the new Mayor of the Canyon. I will be appointed as the new Sheriff. The discussion before us today, Mr. Washington, is about whether or not I can convince you to accept the position of Deputy..."
"Undoubtedly."
Brogan Mirk adjusted the brim of his hat. "I've been given permission to share with you, Mr. Washington, that the initial meetings have already taken place."
Dex smirked. "So the article in The Canyon Star was accurate."
"To a point."
"Why no public meetings?"
"Mr. Washington, I have been a residence of the Canyon for many, many years and am deeply invested in ensuring the prosperity of the town and its people. You and I shared a mutual acquaintance, the dear departed Mr. Sugarcube. Your honourable history in law enforcement is known to me. It was at my insistence that the OFA agreed to this discussion."
Dexter listened briefly to the sound of the students playing outside. Laughter, no shouting or crying. "And what exactly are we discussing, Mr. Mirk?"
"A gentleman from Temperance City by the name of Weldwood Que is being installed as the new Mayor of the Canyon. I will be appointed as the new Sheriff. The discussion before us today, Mr. Washington, is about whether or not I can convince you to accept the position of Deputy..."
20151229
C2IP: The Agenda War I
Previously in v.Western...
*
It was a dark time for Omega Canyon.
A year had passed since The Incident at Judgement Grotto. The rumours about what had happened far outnumbered the facts and the townsfolk were content to let the tales be, as if telling them was like to summon trouble.
While the certainties about what had transpired in the graveyard that night - and about how it had led to the ranch of a mysterious horsebreeder being burned down - were few, there were some details about what followed that were plainly agreed upon.
Logollos and his corrupt ways were gone. Driven out or shot down, folks wouldn't offer a guess either way. He wasn't missed.
The lawman Dexter Washington had given up his badge and taken up residence in the Canyon, opening a small schoolhouse.
The marshal Wednesday Wraith had also unpinned her star and become a part-owner of the local printing press. She had began publishing a newspaper.
Callan Lokk had won The Hanged Man Saloon in a card game, kept the original owner in his employ, and given up gambling.
A new graveyard had been fenced-off and consecrated - the final act of the priest Darius Angelus before he disappeared.
The last of the strangers who had ridden into town the day before The Incident had also disappeared, the bounty hunter Mags Magenta.
Those were the handful of facts but out of the many, many rumours one was generally considered to be true: that when the grave of the strange drifter Sugarcube had been opened that mysterious night it was not his body they found inside.
However odd, The Incident and what came of it had actually changed the fortune of the Canyon for the better. The reversal of that fortune, and the cause of the current troubles, began shortly after when the Office of Frontier Affairs arrived and announced the discovery of oil in the land surrounding Omega...
*
It was a dark time for Omega Canyon.
A year had passed since The Incident at Judgement Grotto. The rumours about what had happened far outnumbered the facts and the townsfolk were content to let the tales be, as if telling them was like to summon trouble.
While the certainties about what had transpired in the graveyard that night - and about how it had led to the ranch of a mysterious horsebreeder being burned down - were few, there were some details about what followed that were plainly agreed upon.
Logollos and his corrupt ways were gone. Driven out or shot down, folks wouldn't offer a guess either way. He wasn't missed.
The lawman Dexter Washington had given up his badge and taken up residence in the Canyon, opening a small schoolhouse.
The marshal Wednesday Wraith had also unpinned her star and become a part-owner of the local printing press. She had began publishing a newspaper.
Callan Lokk had won The Hanged Man Saloon in a card game, kept the original owner in his employ, and given up gambling.
A new graveyard had been fenced-off and consecrated - the final act of the priest Darius Angelus before he disappeared.
The last of the strangers who had ridden into town the day before The Incident had also disappeared, the bounty hunter Mags Magenta.
Those were the handful of facts but out of the many, many rumours one was generally considered to be true: that when the grave of the strange drifter Sugarcube had been opened that mysterious night it was not his body they found inside.
However odd, The Incident and what came of it had actually changed the fortune of the Canyon for the better. The reversal of that fortune, and the cause of the current troubles, began shortly after when the Office of Frontier Affairs arrived and announced the discovery of oil in the land surrounding Omega...
to be continued
20150701
Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Third Wave
v.Cyber
“We found it. We bleedin' found it.” Trump sits down gracefully on the floor, cross-legged. “I don't generally like to do that much shooting, Max.”
“Simon. I'm Simon right now.”
“Yeah, 'course.”
Three days straight of sneaking, spying, charming, cheating, meshes, meetings, double-crosses, demolitions and then one final quick-cut, hand-cam, techno-soundtracked gunfight. The mooks guarding the penthouse had been outfitted with Hades Cortexes running Guillotine and Plague mods, Spectrum Corp combat tech and that perfectly nasty mix of cold professionalism and crass thuggery. It was as tough as a dystopian, hypercore, noo-mo omniist mythical quest should be.
Who hired the guards, who rented the penthouse, who transported the target here on what occult schedule are all just figments, names and licenses of phantom businesses and agencies, made-up mixed-metaphors like a steady autumn evening rainfall of fabricated data spun like spiderwebs from secret agendas lurking deep in the Grid, whoever is really running things since the Fall of Legacy. All that matters is the object on the table in the middle of the tangle of corpses, a faintly glowing cube like from that old-time movie The Avengers, the port to the most powerful and sophisticated surveillance node in Omegatroplis and maybe the Universe, The White Room.
“You gotta wonder though, who did build it?” Trump asks while Simon stalks the room injecting each of the bodies with Entropeez, dissolving the Cortex links at the synaptic level, just to be sure none of them can be remote-activated. Zombies are in another cycle of popularity lately, and that extends beyond a third reboot of The Walking Dead franchise into some grisly paramilitary applications. “Do you figure it was Horsebreeder?”
Simon, a designer Polysonae identity running in Max's head on the Horsebreeder-engineered Omega Cortex, shrugs. Simon is about completing the mission, solving for x, while it's Mick who's more about the y's/whys/wise. And it will likely take an appearance from Marshal for the final hack into the Room. Likely the toughest Mesh he's ever run, Tatterdemalion-level work, and for that to be anywhere close to a potential possibility then Max is likely going to have dose on Plex...
“We found it. We bleedin' found it.” Trump sits down gracefully on the floor, cross-legged. “I don't generally like to do that much shooting, Max.”
“Simon. I'm Simon right now.”
“Yeah, 'course.”
Three days straight of sneaking, spying, charming, cheating, meshes, meetings, double-crosses, demolitions and then one final quick-cut, hand-cam, techno-soundtracked gunfight. The mooks guarding the penthouse had been outfitted with Hades Cortexes running Guillotine and Plague mods, Spectrum Corp combat tech and that perfectly nasty mix of cold professionalism and crass thuggery. It was as tough as a dystopian, hypercore, noo-mo omniist mythical quest should be.
Who hired the guards, who rented the penthouse, who transported the target here on what occult schedule are all just figments, names and licenses of phantom businesses and agencies, made-up mixed-metaphors like a steady autumn evening rainfall of fabricated data spun like spiderwebs from secret agendas lurking deep in the Grid, whoever is really running things since the Fall of Legacy. All that matters is the object on the table in the middle of the tangle of corpses, a faintly glowing cube like from that old-time movie The Avengers, the port to the most powerful and sophisticated surveillance node in Omegatroplis and maybe the Universe, The White Room.
“You gotta wonder though, who did build it?” Trump asks while Simon stalks the room injecting each of the bodies with Entropeez, dissolving the Cortex links at the synaptic level, just to be sure none of them can be remote-activated. Zombies are in another cycle of popularity lately, and that extends beyond a third reboot of The Walking Dead franchise into some grisly paramilitary applications. “Do you figure it was Horsebreeder?”
Simon, a designer Polysonae identity running in Max's head on the Horsebreeder-engineered Omega Cortex, shrugs. Simon is about completing the mission, solving for x, while it's Mick who's more about the y's/whys/wise. And it will likely take an appearance from Marshal for the final hack into the Room. Likely the toughest Mesh he's ever run, Tatterdemalion-level work, and for that to be anywhere close to a potential possibility then Max is likely going to have dose on Plex...
v.Western
Callan rejoined them at the table. He nodded. The scrape of chair-legs on the wooden floor as they shuffled to make room, Dex grabbing an extra seat from the table beside them, the prospector seated there nodding his assent. The man seated at the table Callan had left started to re-shuffle the cards. The bartender glanced at them, frowning. Everyone tense, these strangers in town, except the man with the cards who was grinning. Callan poured himself a shot from the bottle on the table, the scrape of the whiskey sliding down his throat.
“The gentleman's name is Mister Brogan Mirk, a man of property and interests in a number of businesses, resident of the Canyon for over a decade,” Callan said in a low voice, the music from the piano further masking their conversation. “Once I began buying drinks he started to relax, and once he started winning he started talking.”
“I'm not sure that directly questioning the locals is the safest route to our destination,” Darius said.
“Everyone here knows why we're here, preacher,” Wraith said, glancing at the glances they were constantly receiving from all the other patrons.
“So long as we can keep things friendly,” Dexter said. “For now,” he added with a look to Mags.
So Callan recounted what he had learned from Mirk. The tale as they had heard it was broadly true – Sugarcube had gotten into it with this Logollos fellow and had gotten gunned down. Mirk had known Sugarcube from prior visits to Omega – the drifter had even stolen one of Mirk's horses once but then done some gunwork for him to settle the debt. Logollos had been good for business though, so Mirk had been on the fence when the showdown approached, to the point where he actually refused to place a bet on the outcome.
Another shot and Callan leaned in close to the table. “Now I reckon you'll agree with me that this is where the tale turns conclusively from tragedy to mystery...”
Mirk, one of whose business interests involved gunsmithing, claimed that the revolver Logollos used in the duel sounded different from a regular weapon. Furthermore, Mirk, who also had interests in the Canyon's funeral business, claimed that the corpse buried in Judgement Grotto was not Sugarcube's. The actual body was, apparently, delivered to an associate of Logollos', of whom Mirk knew very little other than that he was renowned for breeding horses.
“And now if someone could kindly lend me five dollars?” Callan asked.
“Excuse me?” Dexter asked.
“Now that losing is no longer profitable I need to win my money back,” he said with a wink.
Mags tossed him a wrinkled bill. “And we need to dig up Sugarcube's grave, and if he's not in residence then we need to track down this horsebreeder.”
Callan rejoined them at the table. He nodded. The scrape of chair-legs on the wooden floor as they shuffled to make room, Dex grabbing an extra seat from the table beside them, the prospector seated there nodding his assent. The man seated at the table Callan had left started to re-shuffle the cards. The bartender glanced at them, frowning. Everyone tense, these strangers in town, except the man with the cards who was grinning. Callan poured himself a shot from the bottle on the table, the scrape of the whiskey sliding down his throat.
“The gentleman's name is Mister Brogan Mirk, a man of property and interests in a number of businesses, resident of the Canyon for over a decade,” Callan said in a low voice, the music from the piano further masking their conversation. “Once I began buying drinks he started to relax, and once he started winning he started talking.”
“I'm not sure that directly questioning the locals is the safest route to our destination,” Darius said.
“Everyone here knows why we're here, preacher,” Wraith said, glancing at the glances they were constantly receiving from all the other patrons.
“So long as we can keep things friendly,” Dexter said. “For now,” he added with a look to Mags.
So Callan recounted what he had learned from Mirk. The tale as they had heard it was broadly true – Sugarcube had gotten into it with this Logollos fellow and had gotten gunned down. Mirk had known Sugarcube from prior visits to Omega – the drifter had even stolen one of Mirk's horses once but then done some gunwork for him to settle the debt. Logollos had been good for business though, so Mirk had been on the fence when the showdown approached, to the point where he actually refused to place a bet on the outcome.
Another shot and Callan leaned in close to the table. “Now I reckon you'll agree with me that this is where the tale turns conclusively from tragedy to mystery...”
Mirk, one of whose business interests involved gunsmithing, claimed that the revolver Logollos used in the duel sounded different from a regular weapon. Furthermore, Mirk, who also had interests in the Canyon's funeral business, claimed that the corpse buried in Judgement Grotto was not Sugarcube's. The actual body was, apparently, delivered to an associate of Logollos', of whom Mirk knew very little other than that he was renowned for breeding horses.
“And now if someone could kindly lend me five dollars?” Callan asked.
“Excuse me?” Dexter asked.
“Now that losing is no longer profitable I need to win my money back,” he said with a wink.
Mags tossed him a wrinkled bill. “And we need to dig up Sugarcube's grave, and if he's not in residence then we need to track down this horsebreeder.”
v.Genderbent
Jiro answered the door and raised his Alien Revolver. The sights auto-scanned the figure standing there, analyzing for evidence of cloning, shape-shifting, holographic disguise, and other standard forms of deception. The gun beeped.
“Mostly normal,” Jiro confirmed and lowered the weapon.
Mackenzie smirked. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”
“I thought we were supposed to be Code White,” Jiro said, moving aside so Mackenzie could enter the apartment.
“I wanted everyone to be safe, in case the object was what I thought it was,” she said, taking a seat on the old, ratty couch.
Jiro sat down beside her. Despite his gruff posture, the kid had missed his friend. “So it wasn't? We're safe?”
Mackenzie looked at him. “On the contrary.” She began talking about the Plureality research that she had stolen from Omega Station 12, about a theoretical state of existence called the Metaplex, and how it had been hypothesized that objects and possibly even entities could originate from within this 'place' and travel to our universe. Mackenzie had suspected that what Magnus had discovered was one such object, and that meant there was an assortment of hypothesized risks associated with coming into contact with it – hyperdimensional infections, psychocellular mutations, and/or being tracked and targeted by Plex entities. That's why she had initiated Code White to keep everyone separated and hopefully safe until she could maybe figure out what was going on.
Jiro rarely understood Mackenzie when she talked about this Plureality stuff, or Omega Magic or Neo-Linguistic Programming. He knew though, and had seen enough weird things, to take her and it seriously. She had told him once about how she had shot and killed a man, part of her program, who had learned too much about it and had become too dangerous. So he listened closely.
“Now I was just going off the pics Mag had sent, and comparing it to diagrams and equations in the research, but I eventually discovered some patterns occurring in the geometry of object that were transcribable as a code.”
“Okay...”
“I think the object is a transmission from the Metaplex. I've managed to turn some of it into English...” Mackenzie pulled out her phone, tapped open a text file.
“And if it is, Macks, then it could be a danger? We could be in danger right now?”
She paused. “You're right, Jiro. I'm sorry. I was excited by what I figured out and wanted to share it with somebody. I shouldn't have-”
“Stop it, doofus. I'm glad you came by. Besides the bank account is almost empty and the landlord is finally starting to notice that there's never any adults around the apartment.” They shared a smile. “Alright, so what's this thing saying exactly?”
“It reads kindof like a mix of surrealist poetry and those bizarre junk emails... Like the first line is 'Beware the horsebreeder'.”
Jiro frowned. “Mackenzie, you know I'm a polyglot, right?”
“Yes, Jiro. You know seven languages. And you're ambidextrous and can play the trumpet and hold your breath for over five minutes.”
“The name of that man you told me about, the one you shot...” Jiro's tone was very serious. “There is a type of horse called 'Morgan', and the Dutch word for breeder is 'fokker'...”
*
Aqua stared at Bishop's unmoving body and watched as a man stepped out of the conductor's booth. Stepped over the body and turned to face her.
Aqua felt very afraid. She stood up though, faced the man. There was something so strange about him. They faced each other in the aisle of the subway car, like a showdown.
“You're him, aren't you?” she asked.
“Who?”
Jiro answered the door and raised his Alien Revolver. The sights auto-scanned the figure standing there, analyzing for evidence of cloning, shape-shifting, holographic disguise, and other standard forms of deception. The gun beeped.
“Mostly normal,” Jiro confirmed and lowered the weapon.
Mackenzie smirked. “That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.”
“I thought we were supposed to be Code White,” Jiro said, moving aside so Mackenzie could enter the apartment.
“I wanted everyone to be safe, in case the object was what I thought it was,” she said, taking a seat on the old, ratty couch.
Jiro sat down beside her. Despite his gruff posture, the kid had missed his friend. “So it wasn't? We're safe?”
Mackenzie looked at him. “On the contrary.” She began talking about the Plureality research that she had stolen from Omega Station 12, about a theoretical state of existence called the Metaplex, and how it had been hypothesized that objects and possibly even entities could originate from within this 'place' and travel to our universe. Mackenzie had suspected that what Magnus had discovered was one such object, and that meant there was an assortment of hypothesized risks associated with coming into contact with it – hyperdimensional infections, psychocellular mutations, and/or being tracked and targeted by Plex entities. That's why she had initiated Code White to keep everyone separated and hopefully safe until she could maybe figure out what was going on.
Jiro rarely understood Mackenzie when she talked about this Plureality stuff, or Omega Magic or Neo-Linguistic Programming. He knew though, and had seen enough weird things, to take her and it seriously. She had told him once about how she had shot and killed a man, part of her program, who had learned too much about it and had become too dangerous. So he listened closely.
“Now I was just going off the pics Mag had sent, and comparing it to diagrams and equations in the research, but I eventually discovered some patterns occurring in the geometry of object that were transcribable as a code.”
“Okay...”
“I think the object is a transmission from the Metaplex. I've managed to turn some of it into English...” Mackenzie pulled out her phone, tapped open a text file.
“And if it is, Macks, then it could be a danger? We could be in danger right now?”
She paused. “You're right, Jiro. I'm sorry. I was excited by what I figured out and wanted to share it with somebody. I shouldn't have-”
“Stop it, doofus. I'm glad you came by. Besides the bank account is almost empty and the landlord is finally starting to notice that there's never any adults around the apartment.” They shared a smile. “Alright, so what's this thing saying exactly?”
“It reads kindof like a mix of surrealist poetry and those bizarre junk emails... Like the first line is 'Beware the horsebreeder'.”
Jiro frowned. “Mackenzie, you know I'm a polyglot, right?”
“Yes, Jiro. You know seven languages. And you're ambidextrous and can play the trumpet and hold your breath for over five minutes.”
“The name of that man you told me about, the one you shot...” Jiro's tone was very serious. “There is a type of horse called 'Morgan', and the Dutch word for breeder is 'fokker'...”
*
Aqua stared at Bishop's unmoving body and watched as a man stepped out of the conductor's booth. Stepped over the body and turned to face her.
Aqua felt very afraid. She stood up though, faced the man. There was something so strange about him. They faced each other in the aisle of the subway car, like a showdown.
“You're him, aren't you?” she asked.
“Who?”
“The one Max talks about. The one he shot and killed. The one who haunts him. Who chases us, who's always messing with us.”
The man stepped forward. Aqua reached down and picked up her gauntlets, began strapping them on. The man kept walking forward. The lights in the car flickered. From her headphones on the seat she could faintly hear a new voice speaking. The man approached, Aqua raised her fists, strained to hear what the voice was saying over the sound of the subway hurtling through the endless tunnel.
The man approaching, the voice repeating: This transmission is coming to you.
The man stepped forward. Aqua reached down and picked up her gauntlets, began strapping them on. The man kept walking forward. The lights in the car flickered. From her headphones on the seat she could faintly hear a new voice speaking. The man approached, Aqua raised her fists, strained to hear what the voice was saying over the sound of the subway hurtling through the endless tunnel.
The man approaching, the voice repeating: This transmission is coming to you.
20150624
Crisis In Infinite Plexes - Second Wave
v.Western
Wraith reined in her horse.
“Why are we stopping?” Mags asked.
Some townsfolk had begun gathering at windows and doorways.
“And what's your plan?” Wraith asked her with a sneer. Marshal Wednesday Wraith was far from your typical lawbringer but she still didn't care much for bounty hunters. It was a matter of discipline, of dedication. But if Sugarcube had been friends with this one, well that counted for something.
Mags returned the look. “We ride straight on to Logollos ranch and settle up.”
Callan was studying the onlookers, trying to get a read... Were they nervous or relieved at the appearance of the ragtag posse? “I'm all for taking risks, but...” he said.
“But there's something more going on here,” Darius finished. The accounts of the duel that had lured Sugarcube's former companions to Omega Canyon, passed on by postal riders, cowboys and travelling salesmen, had all hinted at darker goings-on than a simple showdown.
“It'll take learning the truth to make this justice and not just vengeance,” Dexter said.
Mags shrugged, as if the latter was good enough for her. But she followed the group as they made for The Hanged Man Saloon.
v.Space
The Dragon suddenly lurched, the lights on the bridge flickered. The Captain steadied herself and looked to her First Officer.
“Recommend attack posture,” Comm. Washington said, his tone grim.
“Lokk?” she asked, one last time, looking for an excuse. The Lieutenant was furiously studying the transmissions from the unknown vessel, trying to interpret them, to decode them, to find any hint that they were an attempt to communicate and not a sign of aggression. With every pulse, though, their ship was taking damage.
“Chief Angellus, configure power distribution for combat mode. Commander, begin backing us off, slow and steady, with evasive manoeuvres in queue.”
Lt. Cube's voice broke in over the speakers. “Captain, the Legacy ship just one-eightied. Full-speed in the opposite direction. I'd like to take credit but we were only teasing them with target-locks.”
Magenta frowned. “Give me a full-radius Metawave scan.” It would mean diverting computing power from analyzing the mysterious pulses but Lokk obeyed the order without hesitation. His eyes widened as his screen registered the sensor sweep – the target vessel, Cube's Hangman, Wraith's Reaper, the retreating Judgement-class ship... and an approaching fleet of Ether-type Exo battlecruisers.
Before he could relay the result his peripheral screens flickered with new data. Another incoming transmission from the vessel, three-times the intensity of the last one.
v.Fallen
The Eye had eventually crashed but they had survived. The plan had worked. They crawled from the Gutter, out past Frontline, deep in the Wasteland, and saw the Demon portal.
The sky bright with falling stars. Toxic fumes swirling like dervishes. The earth itself heaving and crashing like the sea against cliffs. Orbs of green and yellow flame flickering then erupting.
At the centre of the frothing tumult, a hole of pure white, like a circular section of a painting had been scraped clean to reveal the canvas beneath.
Darius shouted over the howling, screaming winds. "Max, I'm having more of those visions! For a second we were all together again but we were superheroes! Could we be shifting again?"
Max stared at the chaos before them. There weren't any Demons, they had all marched to Haven. "I don't think so... Maybe it's a time distortion? Maybe the proximity to the portal is letting you see glimpses of our future?" He looked back to his friend, smiling. "Aw hell Darius, you know I don't really know what's going on most of the time! I just guess and try to sound clever!"
Darius smiled back. Wraith stepped between them; she was holding a jury-rigged device that they had salvaged from the Grid when they first hijacked the Eye. Wraith had been convinced that she could use it to send a signal to Haven, to let them know that the Dragons fought on, but so far she had been unsuccessful.
"Did you get it working?" Darius asked.
"I... I don't know," Wraith said. "It suddenly started receiving a transmission."
*
Now Aqua's headphones began making a strange scratching sound. Akimoto's voice getting lost in static, then a high-pitched whine. She took them off. Looked back and forth in the empty subway car.
Sometimes their car was attached to others, sometimes you could see other people in the attached cars, sometimes the windows were blurry. And sometimes, like now, there was only darkness outside the windows. Until they reached a station. Aqua hoped they reached one soon, she had to pee.
Maybe Max or Akimoto or Suki, or one of the others would be at the next station. It worked like that sometimes. She was wishing right now that she paid more attention to how things worked, but it was all pretty confusing, and she was young, and mostly she just liked the action and adventure of it all.
The door to the conductor's booth opened and Bishop's body slumped out onto the floor.
Wraith reined in her horse.
“Why are we stopping?” Mags asked.
Some townsfolk had begun gathering at windows and doorways.
“And what's your plan?” Wraith asked her with a sneer. Marshal Wednesday Wraith was far from your typical lawbringer but she still didn't care much for bounty hunters. It was a matter of discipline, of dedication. But if Sugarcube had been friends with this one, well that counted for something.
Mags returned the look. “We ride straight on to Logollos ranch and settle up.”
Callan was studying the onlookers, trying to get a read... Were they nervous or relieved at the appearance of the ragtag posse? “I'm all for taking risks, but...” he said.
“But there's something more going on here,” Darius finished. The accounts of the duel that had lured Sugarcube's former companions to Omega Canyon, passed on by postal riders, cowboys and travelling salesmen, had all hinted at darker goings-on than a simple showdown.
“It'll take learning the truth to make this justice and not just vengeance,” Dexter said.
Mags shrugged, as if the latter was good enough for her. But she followed the group as they made for The Hanged Man Saloon.
v.Space
The Dragon suddenly lurched, the lights on the bridge flickered. The Captain steadied herself and looked to her First Officer.
“Recommend attack posture,” Comm. Washington said, his tone grim.
“Lokk?” she asked, one last time, looking for an excuse. The Lieutenant was furiously studying the transmissions from the unknown vessel, trying to interpret them, to decode them, to find any hint that they were an attempt to communicate and not a sign of aggression. With every pulse, though, their ship was taking damage.
“Chief Angellus, configure power distribution for combat mode. Commander, begin backing us off, slow and steady, with evasive manoeuvres in queue.”
Lt. Cube's voice broke in over the speakers. “Captain, the Legacy ship just one-eightied. Full-speed in the opposite direction. I'd like to take credit but we were only teasing them with target-locks.”
Magenta frowned. “Give me a full-radius Metawave scan.” It would mean diverting computing power from analyzing the mysterious pulses but Lokk obeyed the order without hesitation. His eyes widened as his screen registered the sensor sweep – the target vessel, Cube's Hangman, Wraith's Reaper, the retreating Judgement-class ship... and an approaching fleet of Ether-type Exo battlecruisers.
Before he could relay the result his peripheral screens flickered with new data. Another incoming transmission from the vessel, three-times the intensity of the last one.
v.Fallen
The Eye had eventually crashed but they had survived. The plan had worked. They crawled from the Gutter, out past Frontline, deep in the Wasteland, and saw the Demon portal.
The sky bright with falling stars. Toxic fumes swirling like dervishes. The earth itself heaving and crashing like the sea against cliffs. Orbs of green and yellow flame flickering then erupting.
At the centre of the frothing tumult, a hole of pure white, like a circular section of a painting had been scraped clean to reveal the canvas beneath.
Darius shouted over the howling, screaming winds. "Max, I'm having more of those visions! For a second we were all together again but we were superheroes! Could we be shifting again?"
Max stared at the chaos before them. There weren't any Demons, they had all marched to Haven. "I don't think so... Maybe it's a time distortion? Maybe the proximity to the portal is letting you see glimpses of our future?" He looked back to his friend, smiling. "Aw hell Darius, you know I don't really know what's going on most of the time! I just guess and try to sound clever!"
Darius smiled back. Wraith stepped between them; she was holding a jury-rigged device that they had salvaged from the Grid when they first hijacked the Eye. Wraith had been convinced that she could use it to send a signal to Haven, to let them know that the Dragons fought on, but so far she had been unsuccessful.
"Did you get it working?" Darius asked.
"I... I don't know," Wraith said. "It suddenly started receiving a transmission."
*
Now Aqua's headphones began making a strange scratching sound. Akimoto's voice getting lost in static, then a high-pitched whine. She took them off. Looked back and forth in the empty subway car.
Sometimes their car was attached to others, sometimes you could see other people in the attached cars, sometimes the windows were blurry. And sometimes, like now, there was only darkness outside the windows. Until they reached a station. Aqua hoped they reached one soon, she had to pee.
Maybe Max or Akimoto or Suki, or one of the others would be at the next station. It worked like that sometimes. She was wishing right now that she paid more attention to how things worked, but it was all pretty confusing, and she was young, and mostly she just liked the action and adventure of it all.
The door to the conductor's booth opened and Bishop's body slumped out onto the floor.
20140814
v.Western
The last time that the drifter they called 'Sugarcube' - some stories said it was his sweet disposition, others involved a penchant for using treats to lure horses away from their rightful owners - had been through Omega Canyon it'd been a quiet, restful place. A good town to find a bit o' work or to lay low if need be, for whatever such reasons as a wanderin' soul with a knack for trouble-makin', or at least trouble-findin', might have. The folk of Omega were welcoming and not likely to inquire, so long as the trouble stayed out o' the Canyon.
But, as is the way of things, the town had changed. A mysterious landowner had moved in and he had brought a lot of two things with him: money and bad intentions. Wasn't long before the man they called Logollos had bent the will and the ways of the Canyon to a murkier, downright poisonous, disposition. So when Sugarcube returned and voiced his distaste with the new cruelties he found in the former haven, well, it led, as it often does, to a showdown in the main street.
Whether Logollos won the draw fair-and-square or whether there was some species o' chicanery involved was a truth kept hidden by the townsfolk. And whether that was outta spite or fear was another mystery in itself. But truth always has its seekers, and mysteries beg to be solved...
And so it was that some weeks after Sugarcube was gunned down in the street that a misfit gang of gunfighters rode into Omega Canyon lookin' to avenge the death of their friend. A bounty hunter, a sheriff, a gambler, a marshal, and a preacher. And, to borrow a phrase, Hell followed with them.
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