DISCLAIMER: All the characters from the "Magnificent Seven" TV series are property of Trilogy Entertainment, The Mirisch Group, MGM Worldwide.

MISFITS

PROLOGUE

The Leader

What on earth was he thinking?

What had possessed him to agree to this? He should not still be here. He should have gone long before it had come to this. What was it about this town that kept him here instead of moving on? What made it so different from the dozen or so towns he drifted in and out of during the past two years? It was just another town in the Territory, lawless and dust blown. It was not the kind of place anyone ought to get too comfortable with. Places like this had a way of turning on you, like mongrel dogs.

He shouldn't even think of staying and yet he was still here, with a job even. A job? That reeked of permanence. He had no wish to settle down. He did it once already and it ended badly. He had no wish to do it again, to build something and cherish it, only to lose it all with one spark of a match.

He was not ready to care and yet he found himself in the company of six men who were as lost as he was. They looked to him for leadership and while he didn't show it to them, his stomach constricted tight at the idea of their belief in him and his mind reeled at the possibility he might end up caring for them. This had disaster written all over it and he felt like a man trapped on a wild steed he couldn't dismount. Yet he could pinpoint the exact minute he had climbed onto its back, that instant when he looked across the street and made connection with a set of blue eyes with as much steel as his own.

It was a long time since he felt something inside him stir. In fact, it was a long time since anything had the power to move him and yet the tracker's gaze awakened in him the memory of what it was to give a damn.

Now, thanks to the Judge's speech about standing one's ground, about fighting for what was right and his head was filled with idealistic notions leading him to take leave of his senses and accept the role of peacekeeper. Together with the six men who were his companions of late, he agreed to protect this town for a dollar a day with room and board.

Yep, no doubt about it. Disaster.

The Bounty Hunter

This was a mistake.

He should have been riding to Tascosa to clear his name, not staying in this middle of nowhere town, playing the role of peacekeeper. A wanted man playing at being a lawman, now there was a twist. It was proof he had lost his mind. Eli Joe was out there waiting for him and the longer he stayed away from Tascosa, the harder it would be to prove his innocence. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what compelled him to stay when he should have been long gone, taking a job no less. It took a week working in a hardware store to learn it was not for him he liked the town even less.

He longed for the open space between settlements, where it was quiet for miles around and you could sit in solitude, letting the land soak you up to become a part of it. There was none of the chaos that came with too many people crowded in one place and after a life lived alone, he frankly didn't care for that to change. Yet, deep inside he knew why he was staying.

It baffled him as much as it probably baffled the man who was the cause of it. It made no sense but it felt real and binding. He was standing there, trying to decide if he was going to let a bunch of drunks lynch an innocent man, just as the folk of Tascosa let him be branded a killer for something he did not do. No one had spoke up him either. When he got around to deciding he could do something about it, he looked up and found himself staring into the eyes of the man in black.

Hell, he still didn't know what was in that stare but it connected with him on a level he never experienced before. Without saying a word, a whole conversation passed between them across that dusty street and each man knew exactly what the other was thinking. He didn't know anything about destiny or fate but the machinery of cosmic design slipped into place and suddenly he just knew his place in the world, was at this man's side and always would be.

The Scoundrel

What was the point?

Things could never be the same between them again. They were friends once, close friends. Serving together in the war, the man had come through for him in more ways than he could count. He always expected them to remain friends, never imagining anything could ever drive them apart because as men, they were as different as night and day. He loved his women and he loved carousing while his friend loved only one woman and he watched in awe, as they made that relationship something so beautiful it took the breath away.
He who was never in need of female company, who knew the whispers of a hundred women who said they loved him and would do anything for him, was envious. He hoped in his heart someday, he would find something as wonderful.

But it ended with a fire.

Love became a sorrow so intense even his own heart was nearly shattered by its end. Not only did his friend lose she who was everything to him but also a son, a child who was light personified. The anguish was so deep he feared for his friend's sanity. Determined to be at his friend's side no matter what, he also suffered in silence the guilt at convincing Chris Larabee to spend that night in Mexico instead of riding home to his wife like they planned.

Remaining at Chris' side for as long as he could, he tried to make amends, stopping the anguished widower from putting a bullet in his head. The cost of saving Chris from himself was their friendship. When one witnessed the excoriation of another, there was no going back and the exposure created a permanent rift between them. In the end, they went their separate ways because even though he stopped Chris from suicide, he wasn't able to stop him from self-destructing into the Man in Black.

Seeing Chris in town again, he felt some semblance of hope. Perhaps their friendship could return to a shadow of what it was but then that pretty newspaper editor made her inquiries about Chris and he unwisely told her what he knew. Buck knew women well enough and easily deciphered the long meaningful look in her dove like eyes when she asked about Chris. Unfortunately, revealing the truth to her incurred Chris' wrath and drove home how wrong he was about salvaging their friendship. Dead wrong.

And yet he was still here, riding along the Man in Black, hoping against hope, that someday, they might be friends again.

The Preacher

God had a funny way of sending him a message.

He thought his faith was a river run dry and his past sins had earned him a swift death. Suicide was a mortal sin and while he turned his back on his faith, there were some lines he dared not cross. But he wanted too very much to because the burden of his tresspasses weighed heavily upon him and contrary to popular belief, faith in God did little to make the pain disappear.

He watched the skies for the coming of the crows, deciding it was a sure sign his passing was at hand. Working on the church, he was confident he would never finish it because they would come for him. Eventually, he tired of the waiting and instead sought out the opportunity to for his life to end without committing the ultimate sin.

He had gone to the village thinking he would die, in fact he was almost certain of it. It was a foolish and yet noble crusade. What better way to meet the maker than to sacrifice one's life by helping innocents? It was almost poetic.

Then a curious thing happened.

Instead of shirking off the mortal coil, he met six other men who had come together for different reasons to defend the same village but for some inexplicable reason, he felt something he had not felt in a long time - the need to watch over them. As if to confirm this was indeed the sign he was awaiting, the Almighty chose not to let him die even though he came damn close to it. The crows had circled him while the dirt beneath him ran red with blood but they did not feast.

As they circled and circled until they diminished into nothingness, he reached enlightenment and understood that a man with faith was far more valuable than a man of cloth. God had work for him to do and if it was to play peacekeeper while watching over his companions, so be it.

If not, God would let him know and the crows would circle again.

The Boy

He couldn't believe it!

He was one of them! Not just a stray they picked up on the way but one of them! Apart of him was still stunned with disbelief these six men, all so capable and the kind he could only dream of being like, wanted him as one of their number. Why did they want him? He was just a stupid kid. He had come to the West full of ideas, read from one too many dime store novels, with no idea fiction and reality were two different things.

People really died and there was nothing glamorous or noble about it and young men like himself, who didn't know better, were usually the first to be sacrificed.

There was nothing romantic about gunning someone down. Until he took a life, he hadn't grasped that. Only when he saw the light fade from eyes that would never see anything again did he understand he'd taken away everything the man would ever be with a single gunshot. When the Reb soldier died at his hand, he realised he'd sold his soul to the Devil in order to achieve his dreams. He thought of all the things he wished for when making the journey to the West and it was soiled by one act of violence.

He almost went home.

But then out of nowhere, the big man who seemed to know everything, who could not stop telling him how much he didn't know, said the words that made it alright. For the first time since his mother died, he didn't feel so completely alone.

As different and as hardened as they all were, he seemed to be the one thing they wanted to protect and while he thought he was old enough to look after himself (thank you very much), it was nice to know he found a family.

Even if they all hated his hat.

The Healer

Times are a changing.

Ask him a few years ago if he would count six white men as his friends and he would have thought it was pure insanity. After all, there had never been a white man save one, who treated him as anything but a slave, even after the war. The ever present glint in their eyes where they sized him up as less than human would always surface and though he was immune to the pain since his plantation days, it still stung. It was not that he was starved for friends and he could certainly find his own kind if the loneliness was too much, but he didn't think friendship ought to be segregated.

When he came to the town, the dust blown place that it was, he was drifting. It was not until he learnt they needed a healer that he chose to stay. In towns like Four Corners, violence was a regular occurrence and he knew he could help. During the war, he'd learnt a great deal about stitching up wounds and mending broken bones. Under the surgeon's tents, there was only one colour - red.

There was the usual prejudice of course, but being Negro meant it was just the way things were. Besides, the one white man he trusted lived in the area and after the preacher's service to him in the past, he was not about to let the man wait for death if he could convince him otherwise. There were other friends, some coloured and some white folk but it was friendship at a distance. He did not expect deep bonds to be formed.

Not until he was almost lynched.

The two men came out of nowhere and why they chose to save him was as much a mystery to them as it was to him. However, that act of kindness led to a kinship he had not expected to feel with them. With the two, they became seven. The old people in the hills always said seven was a number of power and even though he discounted such superstitions in the past, on this occasion he could feel it. With the exception of the gambler, whose Southern past made it a requirement to be scornful, the others looked at him and didn't see a Negro.

They just saw a man.

The Gambler

This was pure foolishness. Mother would say he was utterly insane.

Since when did he have a compulsion to be apart of the gainfully employed? Especially in this dilapidated collection of dusty buildings attempting to call itself a town? And for a dollar a day? The more he thought about it, the more he concluded he had lost his mind. Protecting law and order when he spent most of his life breaking it, was laughable. For the life of him, he could not understand what was compelling him to remain when every instinct was telling him to run and not look back.

It wasn't as if he made any deep attachments and after his behaviour at the village, his associates were less than friendly and seemed to merely tolerate his presence. Not that he cared, not even when he saw the bonds forming between the six men and knew he wasn't included. The boy had been more than ready to incarcerate him after learning of some past troubles in Fort Laramie! After everything they'd been through, he hoped he earned some measure of trust, but the young man merely shrugged his shoulders apologetically before slamming the doors shut on his cell.

Okay, maybe he cared a little.

Even when they needed his help, the Man in Black was perfectly happy to let him languish in his cell rather rather than ask him for assistance. He knew he erred when he left the scene of their first battle but had any of them realised how hard it was for him to fight hs natural inclination to save his own skin? While he didn't expect gratitude, he did expect understanding. Instead, all he received was a stinging warning from their illustrious leader to never do it again. And with all that between them, he was still staying. Why?

Because he was mad that was why. Mother would say so if she were here and she would be right. Completely mad.