Welcome back to Deadeye, Pilgrim. Notes for today are as follows: All animals in the reptile classification have experienced a spike in their aggression settings, so be on the lookout. Negotiations with the AI are in progress, this known issue will be resolved as quickly as possible. With the influx of new beta testers, social interaction is becoming more important than ever. In light of this, the Friends List is now live! Check your journal and be sure to use the Pony Express service to communicate with anyone on your list.

  Would you like to try spawning in the same location?

  Her head cocked to the side, but the scientist in her forced her to click yes, and the world went black again. The familiar rattle of a train filtered into her hearing, and when her eyes started working again, she was unhappy to note that she was in exactly the same train car. Blood stained the wall next to her seat, where she had shot her first lawman, and when she looked back over her shoulder, she could easily see the other stains and a blackened area where her first fire bottle had struck.

  Time to take stock again. She was in the same clothing as before, barely more than simple rags. Her satchel felt heavier when she moved her hip against it, but she was in the same manacles as before. As she pulled at them, her hands brushed against her stomach and the rough raised skin of a scar was obvious. She lifted her shift, inspecting the area to find what looked like a healed knife wound. An instant of thought passed through her head, and she ducked to feel at her forehead, sitting back in relief when she found no bullet scar.

  The game seemed to keep any scars you earned, but only from nonlethal wounds. Kitty shook her head, again wondering what the hell BlackLight was doing. Her reverie was interrupted by a lawman wearing a black shotgun coat and red shirt entering the car. He wasn’t quite the same, but close enough to fit the role easily. The man moved into the car and came to sit down across from her, staring into her face as she tried to keep from staring back.

  “You alright Ma’am?” he asked. His voice was gentle, kind even. Kitty hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Fine,” Kitty replied. She raised her eyes to his, seeing genuine concern in his expression.

  “I apologize for the manacles, but I have orders. Do you need a cloth for your wrists?” He stood and moved towards the bar. “I can offer you a drink as well, but not too much. You’re expected at the judge promptly after we arrive.”

  “Sure, a drink’d help my nerves.” She threw a tiny drawl into it, deciding to play along.

  He returned with a shot glass full of amber liquid and a pair of clean wash rags. Kitty thanked him and gently took the small glass with both hands, raising it to her lips and throwing it all back in one gulp.    His lip raised in an impressed curl. “Never seen a woman take her whiskey that hard. I’m Mitchel, by the by.”

  “Well I ain't your ordinary woman. I do prefer rum, to be fair.” She spoke softly, holding her hands up before her. “Kit, nice to make your acquaintance Mitchel.” He nodded in agreement, and began carefully poking the dishrags through her cuffs, spreading them out to cover her skin from the harsh metal. The dishrags ended up giving her wrists the appearance of having frilly lace cuffs.

  Once that was done, he returned to the bar and filled her glass from a bottle of rum this time, putting one for himself alongside it as he poured. “Clearly not ordinary. You mind if I ask what they’re holding you for?” Mitchel asked.

  “I don’t actually know,” Kitty replied. She took the glass and gulped it again, handing it back with a muttered thanks.

  Mitchel nodded slightly, a look of mild confusion on his face as he sat down across from her. “I understand. You’ll get your fair shake, not to worry. Judge Engle is a fair man.” He shook his head slightly. “Sorry, I’m sayin’ ‘fair’ a lot. Do that when I’m nervous.”

  Kitty ignored him for a while, looking out the window as their journey progressed. She just sat and thought about what in the hell was going on with this game, what BlackLight could be doing with it as a social experiment. She went through the elements in her mind. Brutal violence with hard emotional trauma as a persistent theme. Scars kept between playthroughs. Seemingly no limit to gore or violent behavior, she realized while thinking back to the firebug and cannibal. Then there was that strange message at the end of her last session, telling her to try being a bad guy.

  The train blew its whistle, and began to apply slow braking pressure, dragging Kitty out of her thoughts without much conclusion. She was beginning to suspect the company was studying people who had violent or antisocial tendencies, but it was only a partially formed theory. Her lawman escort nodded at her and swept his wide brimmed black hat into place, before crouching and unlocking her from the floor.

  Mitchel stood and held a hand out. “Ma’am?” he asked.

  Kitty stared up at Mitchel before shrugging and taking his hand in both of her manacled hands and allowing him to help her to her feet. He walked her off the train into the town she had died in during her last run. Now in daylight she was able to get a much better picture of what the place actually looked like, in spite of the shimmering heat that wavered in front of everything more than twenty feet away.

  It was a simple town as she had thought, a trio of streets in a vague horseshoe shape filled with cramped buildings shoved in beside a single train track, and a smattering of outlier buildings that looked like homes. Across from the tracks was that disturbing void, so she decided to stay far away from that area. The liveliest building in town was the saloon, a two story affair with a broad upstairs balcony. Sullen prostitutes watched her from above, and she tipped an imaginary hat to them in the hopes of some titters or excitement. All the women on the balcony did was sigh or turn away.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Looking around, a pattern of behavior was noticeable. Men and women went about their days, but their eyes were downcast and sullen. A wooden crate was dropped at the train station with a sharp bang, and several of the townsfolk jumped or made movements for cover. Kitty nodded at her captor to get his attention.

  “What’s wrong with all the people here?” She used her chin to indicate what she meant, pointing out an older gentleman in the corner of the saloon doorway, clinging to the batwing doors for stability as he tried to recover from his fright.

  He shook his head, lips pursed in frustration. “Something’s happened in recent days. Nothing but bad news from every corner of the state. Murders and rapes, people going missing, buildings being burned down.” There he stopped, taking a breath and looking at the sky. “It’s like the whole state is infested with monsters or somethin.’” He pointed down the street to the burnt down church. “Just two nights past, a man boarded up the church with a whole bunch of people inside and burned it down. Women and kids in there, families screamin’ for help. Nothin’ any of us could do.”

  “Has anyone been brought to justice for it?” Kitty kept looking at the town, noticing bullet holes and burn marks in some of the buildings they passed, as well as an unhealthy amount of what looked like blood stains on the boardwalks in front of businesses.

  “We got one bit-woman, pardon me ma’am. A prisoner broke free from transport and shot up the train before making her way into the desert. She bushwhacked our posse and killed the lot, five good men. Then she tried to come into town for some reason, but Doc Halloway down there saw our man’s gun on her and turned her in. She didn’t survive the arrest.” He looked down apologetically as they reached the sheriff’s office and jailhouse. “But it weren’t her causing most of our worries, we’ve had people going missing for days now. Men, women, children, it don’t seem to matter. Some say we’re cursed.”

  Kitty bristled, thinking of the cannibal and his abattoir campsite. “Well marshal, I’ve been where you are, and I might be able to help.” She looked down at her manacles and shrugged. “Once this is all behind us, that is.”

  Mitchel held open the door and took his hat off, holding it respectfully low. “That’d be fine Ma’am, just fine.” Once she was inside, he closed the door behind them and gestured towards the back of the building. The sheriff that had cornered her the night before was leaning casually against the bars of an occupied cell, speaking soothingly to a woman prostrate on a thin cot.

  “Sheriff. Prisoner for you,” Mitchel announced.

  The man turned, an upset pinch to his face fading quickly as he took them in. “Papers?” the sheriff asked. He motioned towards the empty cell, locking the door behind Kitty as she entered and turned back. Once she was secured, they moved over to an oak desk with curved legs and pleasantly rounded edges.

  The two men huddled over the sheriff’s desk for a few moments, talking in hushed tones and gesturing at different sheets of paper. With a frustrated gesture, the sheriff crumpled up one of the papers and tossed it in a wastebasket beside his desk. He turned and stormed over to the cell, unlocking the door and then Kitty’s manacles.

  “Your arrest warrant was revoked; the judge’s order came through the telegraph a little while ago. You’re a free woman.” He gestured to her ratty clothing. “I was instructed to give you some money from the town’s fund to recompense your lost equipment. Would you sit with me a moment to get some basic information, Ma’am?”

  “Of course.” Kitty followed him and sat at the desk, while the marshal moved toward the doorway and peered out the window.

  “For the state record only. Name?” He peered at her, licking his pen and readying it over a sheet of paper.

  “Kit.” She glanced at the woman in the cell, who had curled up in the fetal position against the wall on her cot. “Who’s that woman?”

  “Oh, she’s a prisoner for murder. Poor thing. Her husband was butchered by that convict we had storm through here a couple nights back.” There he paused, seeming to decide it was fine to tell her more, but leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “She got my gun loose and blew the woman’s head clean off.” He sighed and glanced back at the woman on the cot. “I wish I could do something for her, but she’s like to hang for it. Think her name is Grace, but she ain't spoke since it all happened.”

  “That’s the worst thing I’ve heard all day.” Kitty scowled, still causing this woman pain and suffering. It was made all the worse knowing this was no game, and this pain seemed to be the point of it. Her expression tightened, a plan forming as the corner of her lip twitched up.

  “Yeah, I’m awful sorry for her. Wish to hell I’d done more to stop her.” He shifted in his creaky wooden chair, turning back to the paper at hand. “Anyhow . . . profession?”

  Her plan began to fall into place. She didn’t like being experimented on. Time to ruin the experiment. “I’m looking for work actually, came to apply to be a deputy,” Kitty replied.

  “Well that explains why you didn’t make no fuss during transport. You clearly know the law.” There the sheriff scribbled on the paper a bit. “You have any experience in the field? Not usual to see a woman go into law enforcement.”

  Kitty smiled. “Oh I’ve had experience. A bit of bounty hunting, some of the more . . . legislative side of the law as well. No offense meant sheriff, but these seem like tryin’ times, and a good honest town like this needs all the defenders it can get.”

  He eyed her as she spoke, slowly nodding. “Can’t argue that. Let’s get a decent gun on your hip. Lord knows we need help round here.” The sheriff slid open a drawer on his desk, reaching in and drawing out a familiar revolver, clunking it down on the table alongside a wad of bills. “This’uns got a history’a tragedy on it, but maybe you’re the gal to turn that around.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be happy to help out. I was actually trackin’ a pair of reprobates when I was wrongfully arrested. Think they might be causing your town a lot of grief. I’ll ride out once I’m equipped and take care of ‘em.” Kitty scooped the gun off the counter, into her satchel, noting with a small frown that it was the one she’d left with the doctor just before she’d been killed. She rifled through the bills, counting twenty dollars. Sure felt like a starting amount.

  The marshal at the door hit the frame with the palm of his hand. “Hot damn, I knew you was somethin’ special. You’re really gonna help out? I ain't never met no law lady before,” Mitchell said. He turned to face her as he spoke, lighting up with an almost childlike eagerness.

  “Much as I can, sure.” Kitty looked down at herself. “I’ll be needing some proper gear first though. Lady or no, I’d prefer a good coach gun to this six shooter.”

  “Oh hell, the captain’ll sort you out there. Let’s head over now.” The marshal swung the door open, standing to one side for her. “Thank you sheriff.” He tipped his hat to the man behind the desk as he closed the door behind them.