The spectacle taking place before the gate was drawing more attention than a painted-up whore strutting into church and ripping a wet fart.
As a frontier outpost completely lacking in any form of law enforcement, the mayor's henchmen were viewed by most as the local peacekeepers. As such, when the terrified residents of Fort Alamo witnessed henchman #1—better known as Sam—standing over a motionless heap with his rifle drawn on a pair of strangers, a sudden hush fell over the town. One after another, they turned and started shuffling towards the sudden confrontation like a cluster of soot-stained zombies sensing brains for the first time.
All Bill wanted to do was find a place to sit down and explain himself, but the fear of getting shot in the face left him unwilling to move a muscle. Accepting Wild Bill's advice to keep his 'gob' shut, Bill quashed any thought of trying to talk it out. Instead, he kept his full attention focused on tracking every movement of the rust-streaked barrel hovering uncomfortably close to his right eye.
Although Bill meant well, he couldn't deny that remaining silent was probably for the best. After all, good intentions weren't going to stop a bullet from providing his brain with additional ventilation.
Bill's senses were in overdrive. Embers snapped and crackled like popcorn. In the distance, mortally wounded bison bellowed out the last of their woes, pitiful moans for help that would never arrive. Over it all, Bill could hear anxiety-inducing whispers emanating from the hostile crowd gathering in his periphery.
“What's going on over there?”
“Y'all think Sam caught the vile bastards responsible for this mess?”
“Who's that layin' on the ground?”
“Looks dead to me…”
“Shoot em' Sam!’
“Hush! I'm tryina hear what they're sayin'…”
“Don't you fuckin' hush me Charlie.”
Tensions were running high. Everyone, it seemed, wanted answers, yet information was in short supply.
Another bison succumbed to its injuries, prompting yet another yellow notice to materialize. Its arrival was inevitably heralded by an additional infusion of experience energy that sent a cool wave of pressure gushing through Bill's body like the purifying waters of Lake Minnetonka. Invigorated by the deluge, his cells began to hum a blissful one-note song. From his bones and organs, all the way down to individual fingernails and strands of hair, everything thrummed with new vigor. As his body acclimated to the changes, it was beginning to feel amazing. If not for the lava in his hip, and the looming threat of death, he would've moaned with delight.
Listen here Willy-bob, that there rifle is yer worst enemy. It plowed yer wife and even had the stones to kick the family dog on his way out the door. Now it's time for payback. When I count to two, I want you to take my left hand and smack that fuckin' rifle right outta' that pansy's hands. And don't you hold anythin' back, ya' hear?
Before Bill had a chance to vocalize his displeasure at being referred to as 'Willy-bob', or to question Wild Bill's sanity, his mouth was already moving on its own. Bill cringed inwardly as he watched the expression on Sam's face sour further and further with each nonchalantly-delivered word. It was like watching milk curdling in fast forward.
“Well howdy there Redbeard! You seem like a nice enough fella, so I'm gonna go out of my way an' give you the benefit of the doubt here. I ain't come to this town lookin' to start trouble. Hell, never wanted to come here in the firs' place to be honest. Wasn't given much of a say in the matter.” He sighed dramatically and raised his voice to ensure everyone could hear.
All eyes were on Wild Bill as he continued to rant. Hand on his hip, he smiled condescendingly, addressing everyone in attendance as if he was a disappointed boss admonishing a bunch of unproductive employees.
“You fine folks already know I was chased here by a gang of crooked lawmen. A couple of 'em are layin' dead in yer street. Tensions are high, I get it. The world's gone plum crazy, and I'm sure all this System nonsense has yer panties twisted up in knots. But.”
Wild Bill nudged the snoring pile of mud and fabric-wrapped old man with his boot. “I'll be damned if I let some boozed up old fool shove me around.“ he cocked his head in Nero's direction.
“And not a one of you had better insult my companion here. He ain't a slave, and my…,” he paused, scratching his chin as he considered how to best explain his alter ego without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. “…conscious? Con… conscience? Confound it! That annoying voice in my head would be mighty obliged if you lot would overlook yer whole 'no colored folks in town after dark' policy.”
While Wild Bill gave what seemed to the populace to be extremely unrealistic demands, several small, seemingly random details stuck out to Bill at the same time. The barrel of Sam's rifle seemed to be quivering like a leaf in the wind. Wild Bill's instincts roared to life, informing him that Sam's hands were beginning to tremble. As such, there was a very good chance he would accidentally discharge his weapon. Luckily, that same threat also meant his aim could no longer be trusted to hit so much as the broad side of a barn.
Simultaneously, the pale green eyes of his adversary were wavering nervously, shivering beneath a singularly robust unibrow. As Bill stared into those eyes, he witnessed a stunning transformation taking place. It was as if something hidden in the depths of his own gaze was unsettling to behold. Perhaps it was nothing more than Wild Bill's calm exterior projecting a blatant lack of worry for his current predicament. Whatever Sam was seeing, it ignited an immediate, and unmistakable chain reaction within him. His pupils spread out like a tide of spilled ink, chartreuse irises swiftly becoming overshadowed by circles of the purest black.
Alone, these minor symptoms bore little real significance. However, when taken as a whole it was obvious Sam was realizing that perhaps he'd bit off more than he was able to chew.
This unexpected, and quite helpful understanding of physical indicators led him to believe his red-headed assailant was either A: hopped up on more booger sugar than Tony Montana, or B: losing his nerve in real-time. Judging by the poor condition of Sam's rifle, and his worn and frayed clothing, Bill felt confident in assuming it was the latter. He had no idea if cocaine was available at this point in time, but he could confidently state that Sam's illicit drug fund was more or less nonexistent. He might, might, be able to afford a couple drinks at the local bar. Maybe.
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After making a V with his index and middle fingers, Wild Bill pointed them at his eyes and then aimed those same appendages out at the crowd. Bill thought it was a remarkably corny action, but he couldn't deny it had the intended effect. The small gathering fell silent.
“Now look here. We all know I was well within my rights to lay Schaffner out. Way I see it, that fraudster's had it comin' to him fer a good long while. Now…,” with a smirk on his face, Wild Bill jammed his outstretched index finger directly into the barrel of Sam's rifle to show just how scared he really was.
Bill, however, was terrified enough for them both. Hey! What the fuck are you thinking, dude? Do you want to get shot in the face? This seems like a really good way to get shot in the face… great… He's ignoring me.
In fact, Wild Bill was doing exactly that. Although the situation could've been better, he felt it was more or less under control. Rather than waste time bickering with himself, he decided to shift to the next phase of his plan: discredit the opposition.
“…way I see it, rather than makin' himself useful an' tryin'a shut the gates, maybe mountin' a defense against whatever manner of insanity's goin' on outside these walls, ol' Redbeard decided to wander all the way over just to poke me in the eye with this here weapon. Fer no better reason than to strut ‘bout like a peacock fer his dear Miss Sadie.” turning his attention from the crowd, Wild Bill fixed Sam in place with a dead-eyed stare. “Glare at me all you want ya' flannel-mouthed lickfingers. You gonna call me a liar too?”
The crowd could no longer remain silent. As the blood drained from Sam's face, the residents began to whisper. A few agreed, while most were still sitting on the fences. Wild Bill didn't care. He knew he had them right where he needed them.
Holy shit man, what are you doing!
I'm tryin'a buy us some time. We're injured and outnumbered, we've gotta take the initiative. Now quit complanin' an do as yer told! Otherwise, don't blame me when I blast this ginger fuck right off his feet.
“I ain't in the mood fer this Sam. There's a proper time and place fer dick measurin', and this ain't it. Don't ya think we already got enough goin' on without this sad attempt to bully a wounded man? Far as I can tell, you've got two choices. Get to choosin’. Either shoot me right now, or lower that smoke wagon 'fore someone gets hurt. I ain't gonna ask again. You've got 'til the count of three. One.”
A look of confusion flashed across Sam's scrunched up face. He narrowed his eyes to slits and chambered a round. “Seems to me like you're on the wrong end of this barrel to be makin' demands, outlaw,” he growled.
Unaware of Sam's inner turmoil, a few of the closest townsfolk cheered when they heard his response. Had they been able to see his face however, their spirits would've been crushed.
Get ready Billy-bob!
Fuck! Wait a minute man! I'm not ready!
“Two.”
It was now or never. FUUUUCK!!!
Fearful that even the slightest delay would lead to an untimely demise, 'Willy-Billy-Bob' did as instructed and swung his left hand with every ounce of strength he could muster. It was as if his entire arm teleported. Bill's elbow creaked and groaned, subjected to an immense wind resistance.
DONG!!
Bill's open palm impacted the rifle with so much force that its pitted and worn barrel folded in half like a wet paper towel tube. Sam's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as his weapon was torn from his grasp and sent spinning through the air like a misshapen boomerang.
“Three.”
With that, Bill was reduced to a helpless passenger, his consciousness dragged into the depths of his mind. Quick as lightning, Wild Bill’s hand flashed to his pistol. He winked at Sam and smiled ominously, running a single finger up and down the ivory grip. “You really oughta be quicker'n that there Redbeard,” he gloated, pulling his pistol and spinning it around his finger so fast it resembled the metallic blur of an airplane propeller. Showcasing his skill, Wild Bill twisted his hand and pointed his finger at the ground, reversing the spin while holding his weapon horizontally.
Show off.
All of a sudden, Bill's arm jerked down, slamming his pistol back into its holster, much to the crowd's approval. Grunts of acknowledgement turned into a round hesitant applause. Bill couldn't believe his eyes. Rather than facing a group of angry settlers shouting at him from all directions, he was suddenly receiving a standing ovation.
As Bill contemplated giving a bow, an avalanche of notifications flooded his vision. He no longer had any choice in the matter. His body folded over at the waist as an enormous burst of experience energy surged through his veins.
[Quest Updated]
Preemptive Assault- Carry out a successful attack on the initial Beast Wave resulting in a 50% or higher casualty rate.
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[Quest Updated]
Damage to Fort Alamo: Minor. Morale: Low. Performance rating: A Calculating personal contribution… +10,000 Contribution Points. Beast Waves Remaining: 2> Fearing that Bill's sudden distress spelled an end for Sam's wellbeing, the townspeople stepped forward to form a barricade around their embarrassed protector. They slowly put their hands up, as if in preemptive surrender. Whoa! What a rush… How do you like them apples Billy-boy? It worked like a charm! Bill wasn't so sure. The extra rewards were great and all, but as soon as he looked up, he saw a familiar face elbowing her way through the crowd. Flanked by her other rifle-wielding henchman, Sadie glared daggers at anyone foolish enough to voice a complaint. Bill sighed. Heads up, man. I think we have a problem… As if to prove his point, henchman #2 crouched down on one knee and took aim at Bill. “What the hell are you imbeciles doing? Close the gate!” Sadie spun around to face her citizens and demanded, “you people make me sick. After everything Sam's done for you ungrateful lot, y'all are just gonna stand there and let him be humiliated?! Unbelievable!” she lost control of her temper and stomped her feet like a petulant child. A cackle echoed in the depths of Bill's mind. Missus Sadie's 'bout to blow her top! She's mad enough to swallow a horny toad backwards! To all appearances, Sadie was beyond pissed. When she turned on her heels and pointed at Bill, her face was so blotchy and red that he half-expected steam to start billowing out of her ears. “And you!” She pointed from Bill to Nero and screamed, “until I find out who you are and what you want, you are both under arrest. Sam, Frank, escort these two to my office. Now!” Wild Bill was having none of it. He pulled his pistol and fired a single shot. BANG!