<div class="floatleft">(http://projectseso3a.wikispaces.com/file/view/will.jpg/129288509/226x283/will.jpg)</div><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Marcus Lang<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Train > Station<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Sheriff Hagerstrom<br/><hr/><br/>He couldn't believe his luck. Well was he lucky? Luckier than he could have been he supposed. After the incident, seeing the light of day again wasn't even something he would have gotten his hopes up about, but when you make yourself an asset, the government finds a way to keep you around, skirting and bending laws if they have to. That was why Marcus Lang, known throughout space as one of the top mercenaries and bounty hunters around, was here on this backwater planet.<br/><br/>They could have given him the death penalty, locked him up and threw away the key. But high profile wet work made an already valuable person like him indispensable. The top brass had a pretty good feeling nobody from Freud's Slip would be able to gun down Marcus. Piss him off maybe, but kill him? Small armies had tried and failed miserably. So they sent him to the Slip to let him work off his debt to society, which was basically him working for the Sheriff until the brass decided he could go free. It was funny how he went from contracting for the government, to being forced to work for them against his will. Funny how things changed.<br/><br/>He didn't really have too much of a problem with that since the alternatives were prison or death.  And they let him keep all his gear, which was a bonus. So here he sat, soft music playing in his ear as he dozed in the train car. A particularly rough shake caused his eyes to snap open and in an instant his hand was in his coat reaching for the pistol within. Then he remembered where he was and sighed, relaxing and taking his finger off the weapon. Sitting up in his seat, he straightened out his duster and tipped his hat up higher on his head.<br/><br/>Looking around he saw two genomorphs; sexy dog girls who were dressed as law enforcement. He supposed that meant they'd be working together from now until his sentence was up. "Freud's Slip," he said as he crossed one leg over the other and looked at the girl asking about where they were going. "It's pretty much the definition of the wild west in our time. People stakin' mineral claims, saloons, general store, shootouts and nearly complete lawlessness...my kinda town."