Chapter 3

The town had literally restarted. Jet looked through the bars, stunned as he noticed the mother, who had been either crazed enough to kill her own infant or had snapped when someone had done so, taking the still-living and now squalling child out for a walk. Jet could even tell that the asshole had stashed him in a room in the inn, as he could smell the kitchen below him and several people around him getting up for the morning.

It was... a normal day. Only not.

Did he have to be right over the kitchen? Jet twisted the knob, hoping his annoyance would be enough to break the lock. No such luck. And his shoulder quickly protested being rammed into the door, telling him that thinking that would break the lock was stupid to begin with. The only thing he could do was sit down, smell the food being cooked, and hoped a maid decided to unlock the door and clean.

There was something wrong about the town. Not just the fact everyone killed everyone else and then it went back to normal like nothing had happened. A... malevolence, just under the surface. Why the hell didn't he feel it the first time around? It was an undercurrent, but damn if it wasn't an obvious one. It would have been obvious if he wasn't the Filgaia Sample!

Was that a woman whimpering? Jet frowned, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Eh, but a saloon like this probably had a few whores. One of them probably had a bad night. Not his problem.

That stew smelled so good. Trying to take his mind off things, Jet looked back outside, snorting as he saw the same brat that used to occupy one of the corners of his room stumble out of an alley, rubbing his eyes. He accidentally bumped into one of the men, who appeared to be suffering from too much "medicine" the night before. Instead of a fight, the man just stumbled off to a nearby horse trough and... eeesh. Hangovers were nasty business, especially the part in treating them. Jet lifted his upper lip in disgust, then twisted it into a wry smile as he realized the brat had lifted a few gella from the drunkard. More than one way to make a buck.

There was someone talking below him, just barely loud enough to be heard. Jet searched for a good knothole in the floor, quickly finding out most of them were in the wrong spots to see anything. But this low to the ground... he could hear something.

"-but I am unable to get the most out of the subject." Okay, that whiny voice was the cook. Subject?

"Well, it's a delicate process. Especially if... hm, such tender meat." The other voice was richer and smooth as deadly silk. Jet shivered at hearing it, knowing there was malice under it. The woman's whimpering increased in volume and a sick knot settled in his stomach. There was no way... "If you cut here, you risk ruining the leg meat. I would... recommend here."

A muffled feminine scream, almost covered by a wet slicing sound.

"Ah, I see."

It was. Jet choked back a heave. He had some of that. It had been a woman. Human. They chopped up and served human here. No wonder the meat had tasted weird. The woman's voice barely got loud enough to be heard outside of the kitchen, but... she was alive as they sliced her up.

He wasn't going to throw up. Nope. Not while he didn't have a chance in hell in cleaning it up.

What was wrong with this town?

---

It had... been an eventful day, finding out what the meat was aside. The mother had gotten a bit violent... nearly beat up her own husband before going back to the normal, kind figure. It looked like an act, not like split personalities. She knew exactly what she was doing. The sheriff investigated that one, and... there was something different about him. Something human. Something right.

Right about now, Jet surmised, he would have been walking in to Deadwood with Virginia. The sun was almost in the right spot. The undercurrent of something bad was still around... if the day had started over, why didn't he catch it the first time? He kicked at the door again, pissed. Were the people just stupid or something? No one came to investigate the noise all day.

The sudden change in the atmosphere made Jet's head hurt. It felt like something snapping into place. For a few untold moments, his vision was so blurred with pain that he couldn't see an inch past his nose. What had happened? He looked outside the window blearily, squinting at the familiar shape of the sheriff strolling out of an alley.

Wait.

Strolling? Almost... gleefully? That wasn't how he had acted all day. He had moved with purpose, but tiredly. Like the job had gotten to him. And... yes. That was a bloodstain. His shadow... Jet reared back from the window. The undercurrent was gone and had settled into that man. He was... possessed. That was the only thing that would explain it.

He looked up at the window, two fingers touching the brim of his hat. Jet sneered down, knowing what it was he was looking at. Filgaia itself was disgusted with it and wanted the stain gone. He knew.

No wonder he hadn't had a feeling of wrongness walking in.

It would be a while before the large ARM went off. Jet had to wonder, though, who that was. The only other ARM he had seen in town had been the .45 revolver. Not nearly large enough for that sound. The sound he had heard... Jet couldn't shake the feeling it was familiar. An ARM he had heard before.

Screaming. It had started. Morbidly, Jet stared out the window, watching the mother finally lose her cool and start attacking people. The terror she felt spread to the other townspeople, and Jet had an eagle-eye view of the carnage as it happened.

But the large ARM didn't go off. No one had an ARM large enough for it.

It didn't last as long as Jet thought it would. After fifteen minutes, most everyone was dead. And with a snort, he heard the lock on the door being picked. If the day was going to end right, of course there had to be the suicide of the last remaining townsperson. Of course. It was so perfectly cliché.

The kid bust in, panting as he looked around. He was liberally splattered with blood, flesh, and guts. Probably had to fight his way out. He curled up in the far corner, near the door, shaking. "Maria... she... and Phillip... they... they..." His hands shook as he looked down at the knife in his hands. Jet had the sudden irrational urge to try to stop him as the kid jammed the weapon into his own throat. The white-haired android looked away, disgusted. There was no way he could have changed that. But...

Hey...

Door's open. Without thinking about it, Jet reached down as he passed by the dying form of the brat, pulling the knife free. It was the only weapon he would have until he could find his ARM. He quickly turned around the corner of the threshold, thrilled at his escape. Finally.

That was, until the asshole in the sheriff's body ambushed him with a board. Very simply, he swung the wood into Jet's ribs with enough force to drive the breath out of his body. "Now, now. None of that. Though, kudos for thinking of it, Jet."

Damn.