text: The Grand Coastal Route locomotive came careening through the tracks high above the red rock canyon. The locomotive engineer was trying his best to outrun the train robbers closing in on the passenger cars but these efforts were proving to be worthless. Due to the train’s high speeds, dust clouds had formed around the cars and dirtied their windows, impairing visibility outside. The civilians, unaware of the situation outside, harshly critiqued the driving of the engineer. “How preposterous!” A wealthy gentleman exclaimed to the passengers of the last car, “Is the brainless bastard steering this machine purposely trying to kill us?!” Many of the others, dressed in similar upper-class garments agreed with the gentleman’s comments. All but one were caught in the wave of unrest; he sat peacefully in a velvet-lined booth towards the end of the car. Lengthy unruly hair and a light, brown beard indicating he hadn’t crossed paths with a razor in months, the bolo tie worn above his simple white collar shirt and charcoal black vest with a duster revealing he was a native to the west. He stood out among the crowd of elites on the train, his dress only semi-formal and his hygiene typical of the west. Although the man sat silent, he was well aware of the immense danger the passengers faced. Along the train rode a masked figure garbed in a stone gray vest, black denim jeans, and a pristine white dress shirt. Speeding along on a brown-spotted white horse, the train bandit reached the leading car of the train. Aggressively, he drew his single-action revolver from it’s holster and waved it about in the air, hoping the glare would catch the attention of the engineer. Once the engineer looked to his left, he knew it was all over. “NOOOO! Don’t! Please!” the engineer begged for his life, but futile these efforts would prove to be. Without haste the robber fired his sidearm, planting a hunk of lead in between the elderly man’s eyes with blood spurting from the exit wound. As his body slumped to the ground and fell from the train, the bandit stood up from his horse and daringly leapt to the controls. Without hesitation, the ruffian finessed the controls, adjusting all the right levers to slow the train down. Finally, the heist could commence. Noting the speed of the train had begun to reduce, passenger unrest had declined.. Many had gone back to casual conversations, mainly pertaining to events happening back east or their enthusiasm for land development here in the west. However, like dynamite tearing through the rough granite of the Sierras, the peaceful mood was abruptly killed by the storming of the cart. Four armed figures all donning black masks and bandoliers rushed into the cart and shot towards the ceiling, signalling a hold up. The gentleman who originally led the outcry against the driver, foolishly filled with a sense of heroism, exploded from his seat and attempted to hold one of the bandits up at gunpoint. Faster than his exploits, the shotgun wielding robber pumped the man with shrapnel moments before he could reach for his gun, eviscerating what was once the man’s abdomen. His blood decorated the red velvet seats and wooden floors. “Any otha coot wanna try dey hand?!” The lead bandit shouted, brandishing a six-shooter. He got nothing but terrified stares as a response. “No? Aight den. Men, go collect da goods.” The highwaymen began to clear the passengers of all their cash and expensive glittery goods with little resistance. The large shotgun wielding thug reached the quiet stranger’s seat, him leaned against a window with his hat slightly tipped over. “Ay! Are you deaf are just stupid?” He slurred out in a thick southern accent. The stranger instantly leapt up and drove his knife into the thug’s throat while knocking him to the floor. The stranger then quickly unholstered his black iron revolver with his right hand and fired two shots which tore through the foreheads of the other two robbers. Amid the passengers shock and gasps, the lead bandit aimed his gun at the hero but a black gentleman in the front seat leapt at and punched the bandit in his jaw. With this opening, the stranger shot the gun out of the robbers hand and shot him in the arm and side causing him to kneel. The gunman walked up to the robber, crouched down, and asked, “Zhelang’s on this heist, ain’t he? Unless you good for nothins changed the plan.” “I can’t believe you’d betray us, Kellan, you damned dirty snake!” the robber replied angrily. “That don’t answer my question, Kenny. Besides, y’all were holding me back.” Kellan proudly claimed. The robber continued his silence, making Kellan splatter his brains on the wall. He stood up, took Kenny’s repeater from his back and tossed the rifle over to the rebellious passenger. “I want you to shoot any armed bastard that comes back here who ain’t me or badges, ya hear?” He questioned the passenger, who nodded in compliance before cocking the worn repeater. With this cabin cleared, Kellan proceeded onto the rest of the train looking for his former companion. As soon as he opened the door to the luggage cabin the three outlaws within unleashed a flurry of bullets upon Kellan. Immediately, the lone gunman dove behind a makeshift fort of boxes and barrels but not before one bullet grazed his right arm. “Well boys, call me an 8 day clock in June but aint dat Kellan I just saw?” One bandit remarked. “Griggs! I always look forward to seeing how much heavier you are each day, ya overfed hog.” Kellan playfully replied. The robber, extremely offended by this jab, cocked his pump action and began charging towards Kellan’s position but the cowboy exploded from the back of his cover; sawed off in his left hand, revolver in the right. He first erased Griggs’ face from existence via sawed-off, replacing it with a crimson fleshy mess. Next, Kellan planted two bullets in the chest of one bandit and kneecapped the last before ending his agony with a bullet to the heart. Taking a breather, Kellan sat down to reload his guns and tend to his minor wound with some rum he saw on the floor. After 5 minutes, he was ready to continue his onslaught but first liberated Grigg’s gun, feeling he might need some more firepower to win this war. Exploding into the next car, Kellan kicked the door in into the dining car and instantly blasted one robber out the window with his new toy. The other robber quickly jumped behind the bar as Kellan dove into a dining booth and both began firing at each other as Kellan pointed civilians out through the back. While the bandit’s revolver kept Kellan from advancing, Kellan’s shotgun was tearing away at the bandits cover which could only withstand about two more shots. The bar was becoming a stack of toothpicks and right when he needed one more shot, the gun suddenly jammed. “Me and my got-damn luck.” Kellan grumbled as he inspected the gun. The bandit continued firing into the booth but Kellan, fed up with this back and forth, devised a better plan to deal with his foe. Unholstering his revolver, Kellan fired at the wall of alcohol behind the bandit causing it to cascade all over him. Then, the heroic gunman snatched a match from his baroque-engraved cigarette case, lighting it in the process, and flicked the burgeoning young flame towards the liquor soaked robber behind the bar. Instantaneously the bar was enveloped in a crimson blaze as the bandit, also caught aflame, danced back and forth whilst unleashing a blood curdling scream that could pierce the heavens. Once the screaming stopped and the bandit’s shriveled corpse collapsed, Kellan emerged from the booth with his guns reloaded and ready. With most of the train robbers disposed of, Kellan easily blasted his way through the remaining forces in the rest of the cars. Eventually, he reached the engine and the mess left by the poor engineer. He approached the controls and attempted to stop the train when a small knife lodged itself in his right hand making him pull back from pain. Turning around to spot his attacker, Kellan looked up to see his former leader and friend, Xin Zhelang, glaring down at him with a piercing murderous intent not even his flowing hair could interrupt. As he ripped the knife from his hand, Kellan shouted, “You brought this mess upon yourself Zhelang! It was YOUR decision to use me as bait to save your skin! You knew I couldn’t sweep that under the rug!” The Chinese gang leader stood perched over Kellan, statue-esque in his form as if the gunslinger’s words couldn’t penetrate his anger. Finally, Zhelang turned around and responded, “Your words won’t settle this, pestilent snake!” as he walked towards the back of the train. Kellan, now aware that the true challenge of this mission has begun, followed the gang leader to the top of the train. Standing atop the green and black locomotive, Kellan looked around to see the barren desert of the Mojave occasionally sprinkled with some greenery on his right and the massive canyon painted with layers of red rock the train straddled to his left. Zhelang stood at the opposite end of the roof, fixed in a combat ready pose. The two outlaws stared each other down, the rest of the world drowned out by the deafening tension pouring from atop the train. The scene stood frozen in time until suddenly both men went sprinting towards each other with violent intent. Kellan landed the first blow with a clean punch to the leader’s jaw but it left him unphased as he immediately retaliated with a few kicks to Kellan’s stomach and a sharp elbow to the face. The hero staggered back trying to recover but Zhelang was merciless in his assault. He continued with a flurry of kicks and strikes before a beautifully executed spin kick laid Kellan out on the ground. Underestimating his foe, Zhelang stepped over and began lifting Kellan by his shoulder but the downed gunslinger swung around and bashed the revolver’s rosewood handle into the Chinaman’s temple. With his target staggered Kellan exploded into action, slamming the gun straight down onto Zhelang’s skull which caused him to slump down to his knees. The cowboy was ready to land his finishing strike when Zhelang, whose face was now decorated with streams of blood, blocked the gun’s handle with one of his knives. Kellan, mumbling with annoyance, jumped back to avoid any other knife attacks as Zhelang picked himself up and brandished a second knife. The two engaged each other once more with Zhelang’s mastery over knives keeping the cautious cowboy from ending this fight soon. Sustaining cut after cut, Kellan knew if he couldn’t figure out some tactic to deal with Zhelang he’d be calling the canyon his new home. That’s when he realized there’s only one way to be triumphant. The Grand Coastal Route locomotive-now a shell of itself with frightened passengers, dead bandits everywhere, a burning dining car, and no engineer-began it’s crossing of the giant bridge extending across the massive canyon below. Kellan and Zhelang, still locked in mortal kombat atop the train, paid little attention to their surroundings and kept at the battle. Now, with everything in position, Kellan could put his plan into place.After being kicked and pushed back by Kellan, Zhelang charged towards his former friend and drove both knives deep into his abdomen. The pair stood in place, as if God himself were preserving this scene, soaking in what just transpired. Kellan then, through the blood accompanied coughs and cold steel invading what felt to him to be his liver, let out a slight chuckle and embraced his enemy. “What is there to laugh about, snake, this is the end for you.” a confused Zhelang inquired. “Well, that’s because you put yourself in the perfect position to receive some sweet southern justice.” Kellan asserted through coughs before headbutting the Chinaman and throwing him off the side of the train to be swallowed by the depths of the Mojave, his hysterical wails of horror marking his last moments on earth. With a wave of relief washing over him, Kellan took a moment to bask in his hard fought victory, still surprised he was even able to make it this far on the train. As the locomotive finished crossing the bridge, Kellan slowly made his way to the controls to stop it, wincing with every movement. Bringing the train to a complete stop, Kellan turned around and walked back to the closest passenger car, vacated by the folks he sent to the back. The hero then took a seat in the fancy velvet booth, pulled out a cigarette he blood stained with his hands, and lit it; puffing himself into unconsciousness as law enforcement approached from the eastern horizon.