<span style="font-weight: bold">Three weeks earlier...</span><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">For some men, the passage of time comes gently. Years pass in relative obscurity, unfazed by the disquieted world and its cycle of violence and death. For others, the passage of time is marked by the number of friends lost and the number of scars faded. For Tyler Bellford, obscurity was little more than the fleeting memory of a dream. The sum of his life seemed to stretch out behind him like the wake of a great ship, the waves of his actions affecting lives the wasteland over. He was a tired man content to put the days of constant conflict behind him, but whose notoriety kept such notions in a permanent state of fantasy. He had been many things during his life: mercenary, adventurer, soldier, lawman. And to each deed, a separate legend was born. His life was the stuff of myth, of campfire stories and hushed rumors among the indigent and elite alike. After a time, his action had become dwarfed by that legend, and soon the man found himself disappearing into the shadow of a myth.<br/><br/>It was only through the rumor of his death that he was able to finally escape his own legend. <br/><br/>Stories told of a showdown in the street, of a warrior known only as Gunny outdrawing Tyler and killing him in a single shot. In truth, the details of the fight strayed considerably from reality. Such was the way of campfire stories. <br/><br/>Gunny did shoot Tyler, though not fatally. And the warrior hadn't, in fact, drawn first. The shot that had allegedly brought Bellford down was delivered after Tyler's bullet ripped Gunny's kneecap apart and knocked him flat on his back. The story told of Gunny saying a prayer over Tyler's body as a kind of posthumous dig at the avowed atheist. In reality, Gunny was carted off to the doctor by his two lieutenants before having a chance to confirm the kill. Tyler was declared dead in the street by the local sheriff, Susanna Pearce. Little did Gunny know that Tyler and Pearce were former lovers, and that Pearce had in fact covered up the truth of Tyler's survival. Nobody saw what happened to Tyler's body, though legend told of it being buried in a field nearby. Years later, that same burial site could be seen with Tyler's name upon a ramshackle cross, though the true contents of the grave remained a mystery.<br/><br/>As for the reason behind the fight, there existed only speculation. Some claimed that Tyler and Gunny dueled over a woman, which seemed as likely an explanation as any, given Tyler's affinity for womanizing. Others claimed that Tyler posed the only remaining threat to Gunny after the Four Horsemen and their army had been defeated. Whatever the reason, only Tyler and Gunny knew the true motive.<br/><br/>And so the legend disappeared into history. He spent the next fifteen years settled down in the wilderness near Black Stream, Minnesota. There he lived a quiet life, spending his days farming and repairing machinery for the local settlement. The life of a warrior seemed a distant memory.<br/><br/>Tyler was an impressive man to behold: strong and handsome – a man whose athleticism in youth gave way to a remarkably fit middle-age. He was still the physical equal of men ten, even twenty years his junior, though it was apparent that time and mileage had taken their toll. Silver hairs dotted his beard, the corners of his eyes wrinkled when he squinted or smiled, and old injuries ached with sudden changes in weather. Most men in the wasteland didn't live long enough to see the ravages of age. Given the dangers he had faced in his life, Tyler hadn't expected to live past twenty-five, let alone to thirty-nine. His longevity was either a testament to his prowess as a survivor or his incredible luck.<br/><br/>With a few final sparks, Tyler lifted the welding mask from his face. The new wind turbine was finally finished, and would soon be capable of powering the entire town of Black Stream. No longer would the small settlement be reliant upon scavenged fuel cells from old cars. Between this initiative and the soil remediation work he had done with fungal colonies, Black Stream was on its way to growing from a backwoods trading post to a major power in the area.<br/><br/>“Now if only you can make the water another color besides black.”<br/><br/>Tyler turned to the source of the friendly voice. It was Kira Petravic, the local seamstress. He smiled at her warmly and replied, <span style="color: #336666">“Put it through a distiller and it should come out clear.”</span><br/><br/>“I don't think Andy wants the stills used for anything but booze.” She grinned, brushing her hair back behind one ear. “You almost done?”<br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">“Just needs to be rigged up to the grid. Figure this thing will put electricity in every house in town.”</span> Tyler placed his work gloves in his back pocket and descended the ladder from the top of the turbine.<br/><br/>Kira shook her head and kept smiling. “Five months I've known you and I still don't know where a guy like you learned all of that.”<br/><br/>Tyler gave her a wry look. <span style="color: #336666">“A guy like me?”</span><br/><br/>“You know, the handsome rough and tumble type. Usually you boys are off shooting bandits or breaking hearts, not fixing engines out in the middle of nowhere.”<br/><br/>Tyler looked away wistfully for an instant. Part of him wanted to admit that he used to be the very man she described. But that felt like a lifetime ago; it was hardly worth mentioning now. <span style="color: #336666">“My mother taught me.”</span><br/><br/>“And what did your father teach you?”<br/><br/>Tyler kept his response to himself. One answer resounded in his head:</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">How to avoid paying your debts.</span><br/><br/>* * *<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Now...</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">"Actuator's blown."</span>Tyler utters softly, his steps so eerily quiet, the sudden appearance of his voice nearly gives Deckard a start.<span style="color: #336666">"Not likely to find a new one this far out."</span><br/><br/>Looking somewhat annoyed, Deckard sighs.<span style="color: #BF0040">"That fuckin'... I swear, I find that little turd who sold me this heap, he's gonna end up with a few extra holes."</span><br/><br/>Tyler smirks.<span style="color: #336666">"You won it in a card game, Deck."</span><br/><br/>Suddenly, Deckard grins and begins to chuckle.<span style="color: #BF0040">"Oh yeah... Heh... Suppose I can't get too mad. Still, though. We're pretty well fucked without transportation."</span><br/><br/>The distant cloud of dust suddenly draws their attention. A low rumble follows, like the sound of a twister -- though neither man can see signs of a storm in the sky. Tyler arches a brow, his hand gently resting on the grip of his revolver, his keen eyes watching the dust cloud break and reveal the great iron beast rolling along the ground in the distance.<span style="color: #336666">"Lemme ask you something, Deck. You ever seen a train before?"</span><br/><br/>Deckard shakes his head.<span style="color: #BF0040">"Not one that's moving..."</span><br/><br/><span style="color: #336666">"I think we just solved our transportation issue."</span>