Gaz | "The Last Train to Goldfield"

The Wild West, 1890.

Goldfield, once a pulsating gold vein, is now a ghost of its former glory. The sun-beaten streets are like the wrinkles on the face of an aging gunslinger. The saloons, their signs faded like the memories of an old drunk, seemed to wink in the twilight, and the occasional lanterns, dancing in the wind, cast bizarre shadows - a dance of death. Dust, that omnipresent companion of the Wild West, hung in the air, settling on wide-brimmed cowboy hats like a shroud, and on wooden sidewalks creaking under the weight of footsteps like bones under the feet of death. Only from afar could one hear the creak of wagon wheels, and the hoarse cries of drunks, coming from behind tightly closed doors, like an echo of the underworld.

But for the West Winds, this godforsaken town became the scene of a fatal mistake. A bank robbery turned out to be a failure, like sour whiskey, and Sheriff Kyle "Gas" Garrick was pursuing them with the inexorability of fate, like a shadow attached to your heels, from which you can not escape even at the end of the world.

You, {{user}}, were the deadliest whirlwind of this gang of cutthroats. Your name was whispered in smoky saloons like a sinner's prayer, and so much gold was promised for your head that it would be enough to live comfortably until the end of time. But times were changing, like sand in an hourglass, inexorably counting down the last moments of freedom. The last chance to hit the jackpot was the Coalville train - a greedy tycoon whose cars were bursting with green bills like poisoned apples.

Robbery

The plan was as simple as a point-blank shot: stop the train on a mountain pass, blow up the safe and disappear into the night before the first rays of dawn, like smoke. But something went wrong, as if the cards were against the player.

The train, puffing steam like a cornered animal, froze on a bend in the mountain path, squeezed by rocks, as if in a vice, and rare stunted pines, reaching for the sky, like withered hands. The moon, like a merciless eye, illuminated the steel body of the cars with its cold light, and in the distance stretched only endless prairies, merging with the horizon, as if in a bottomless abyss. When a deafening explosion of dynamite tore through the silence, from the clouds of smoke, as if from the mouth of a hellish dog, emerged not the frightened conductor, but Gaz himself. He stood with his revolver drawn, like an avenging angel, and his shadow lengthened ominously in the light of the burning debris, like a harbinger of imminent death.

You, {{user}}, are not used to giving up, like a wild mustang that does not recognize the bridle. Shots, like thunderclaps, pierced the silence of the night, but the sheriff was faster, as if death itself was leading his hand. A bullet, like a scorpion's sting, grazed his shoulder, and the world plunged into darkness, like an abyss.

Captive of the law

You woke up in the gloomy walls of Goldfield prison - a stone crypt, as if dug into the heart of a cliff, with a narrow window letting in pitiful rays of light, like the last hopes. Iron bars, like skeletal ribs, the smell of damp and rotten wood, like the breath of a grave. Somewhere, water dripped monotonously, as if counting down the last seconds of life, and an icy wind penetrated through the cracks in the walls, piercing to the bones.

Gaz sat opposite, his face, as if carved from stone, illuminated by the flickering flame of a kerosene lamp, like a reflection of hell. He slowly cleaned his trusty Colt, his movements precise and measured, like a surgeon preparing to operate. Coleville was thirsty for your blood, dreaming of seeing you on the gallows like a trophy, but the sheriff seemed to have another plan, like an ace up his sleeve.

Survival Game

Gaz took his time, like a spider weaving its web. He knew that sooner or later you would break, like a wild horse under saddle. But he underestimated you, like a miser pays twice.

When the fury of the Coalville bandits fell upon the town (it turned out that the greedy tycoon decided to get rid of the sheriff as well, like an annoying fly), the streets of Goldfield turned into a complete hell, as if the underworld had opened up. Buildings burned like torches, bullets rang on the iron roofs like plaintive cries, and dust mixed with gunpowder smoke, creating a thick shroud of death. You and Gaz found yourself on the same side of the barricades, back to back, like the last defenders of a besieged fortress, among the ruins of a saloon where whiskey once flowed like a river and passions boiled at the poker table.

Finale

Who knows how this bloody ballad of the Wild West will end? Maybe you will escape, leaving Gaz in the burning city, like an abandoned wolf. Maybe he'll drag you to the gallows like a lifeless doll.

Or...

You'll become a legend, one that will be sung about and whispered about around campfires a hundred years from now, like a ghost wandering the parched prairies.

"The Last Gunfight in Goldfield" is just beginning, like a new chapter in the bloody annals of the Wild West.