Chapter 4

There were no words spoken. The sheriff simply kicked Jet back into the room, watching as he tried to catch his breath. Just as dispassionately, he grabbed the android's wrist and bent it almost to the breaking point. The knife dropped out of his pain-numbed hand, and another kick put him flat on his back. The sheriff placed a foot on Jet's chest and casually bent down to one knee.

"...what?" Jet finally snapped at him. Chuckling, it tapped its chin.

"A thought. Nothing more." He moved his foot off and stood with a strange grace. "You seem more interesting in hurting yourself than really thinking. Perhaps... you should sleep."

Jet would have scoffed, if at the moment his vision didn't swim. "You bastard," he grit out, rubbing his eyes. "What are you...?"

"You can't possibly think of an escape, as tired as you are?" His voice was low... hypnotic. Jet found himself starting to nod off as the voice continued. "An hour of sleep, allow your brain to rest for a while..."

"Stop." A small thrill of alarm ran through Jet's body, keeping him awake a little longer. He couldn't sleep, not while that thing was there.

"Rest. Rest, dear Jet."

"Stop!" Jet slammed his hand against the floor, sitting up a little.

Silence. He looked around, snorting as he realized the bastard did the disappearing act again. Of course. Jet slowly got up, a little impressed with himself that he didn't hurt as much as he thought he would. The knife was still there and the door was open, so that just made the sheriff even more of an idiot. Jet armed himself and started out, a little more cautious this time.

Didn't hear anything... He had to be careful going around this corner, easy spot to be ambushed. Jet hesitated, stretching his hearing when he heard footsteps. Hurried, but the same weight and timing as a certain idiot sheriff... oh hell no! Jet flattened himself against the wall, waiting. A little closer. Closer. He raised his knife hand, tensing.

Now. Jet pushed himself around the corner, stabbing outward at the same time. The blade split the yellow vest effortlessly and was driven into soft flesh just as easily. A brown and black coat draped around him and - wait.

That was not right.

Jet slowly looked up, horror being born in the pit of his stomach. He looked up a familiar stubbled chin into pained blue eyes framed by green hair. His hand dropped off the knife as Clive looked down at it, almost shocked and betrayed. He didn't just do that. Everything about it said that it wasn't going to be someone he knew. Jet stumbled backwards, swallowing. Hell no.

"Jet?"

That was even Clive's voice, worried and confused. No, he couldn't look up at him, not after that. Jet clenched his eyes closed as he pressed up against a wall. His hand was sticky with blood, his friend's blood. The older man had been there to get him out of there. And he stabbed him, killed...

Gravity was doing weird things. Instead of feeling like he was vertical, it felt like he was flat on his back. Jet cracked one eye open, looking up at a... ceiling? Wait just a moment. That was beyond not right. He sat up quickly, then doubled over in pain. His ribs hurt. And so did his wrist, for that matter. His hand was still covered in blood... but whose was it? Jet looked around at his prison, heart pounding. Had he even gotten out of this room?

"Beautiful." The sheriff plucked at his shirt, a little disgusted. "I would have done without the stabbing, though." It pulled the knife free, tossing next to Jet. "Afraid of betraying your friends. Though, are those two truly just friends?" He leered at Jet as the android shot a disturbed look at him. "Ah, you just have 'traveling companions.' How sweet."

Wait a second... two? Jet carefully wrapped his fingers around the handle, standing slowly. Two. He hadn't seen Gallows? Clive... his head hurt, and he fell back down onto his ass. Was this reality? This nightmare world where a day restarted only to end in a massacre? Or was it where he was a killer, having slain someone that had guarded his back time after time? And Virginia, had he left her to die? Had that been the woman he had heard killed earlier in the day? Does that mean he had eaten her? Jet's stomach heaved as he followed that improbable line of thought.

The sheriff had left. Or had he been there? Jet looked down at the knife, shaking, unaware as his thoughts started to splinter.

---

"Mm, just a few more hours until morning, isn't it... Jet?"

Jet pulled his face away, brandishing the knife. It wasn't going to touch him. He wouldn't let it.

"Put that down. Someone might get hurt."

Jet's arms wavered, the memory of a pained and confused voice surfacing. No, that was a dream. Or, it didn't matter. He had to get out of there. He had to.

"I said," and at this point the sheriff grabbed his sore wrist, "put that down."

He kicked at it, stomping down on a sudden bloom of emotion. No, it didn't matter. He had to get out. The motion made his ribs scream in agony, but it did its job. The sheriff let go.

"You want to leave that badly?" It chuckled, and waved at the door. "If you can get out before the day starts again, you're welcome to it. However," and here it put warm lips against his ear, "you have five minutes."

Fine. Jet pushed him away and stumbled out of the room. It wasn't going to take him five minutes to get out of there. Each breath made his chest scream with pain, but that didn't matter. He wasn't going to spend another day in this town.

How long had it taken him to get out of the inn? Felt like ten minutes, at least. But nothing had happened yet. He still had time. Run for the gate, that's what he should do. Jet managed a few steps before his ribs protested, forcing him to slow. But it was right there, and the town was still eerily silent it was still dead and all he had to do was cross into the desert and he'd be safe. He'd be safe.

Safe.

Jet hit the sand face-first, groaning. Each breath was pure agony. But if he had to, he would crawl on his hands and knees. Or elbows and knees or whatever.

The sound of a waking town behind him was a death knell to Jet. He turned around slowly, waiting to see what would happen. They would see him, no doubt, and try to help. He wouldn't be able to leave. They would kill him.

They were supposed to see him, right? Jet slowly stood, hand gripping wood, then realized what he was using for support. The town gates. The outside of the town gates. He let out a little, weak chuckle, looking back at Deadwood. He had won. Jet looked over at the sheriff, about to gloat when he realized what it was the ass had in its hands.

Airget-Lahm.

Oh no way he was letting his ARM stay there. The knife... just a little away from the gates. He must have dropped it when he fell. Jet backed up, carefully bending down to get it when something the size of an ape with the scream of a large cat hit him from behind.

Jet landed hard on his bad wrist, mind temporarily blank with pain. He looked up at it, trying not to cough. A monster, so close to town? Somewhere it had to be written that Jet was not to have a good day. He attempted to sit up when the monster backhanded him.

Damn it. Damn it! Jet wiped a bit of blood away from his mouth, looking up at the dumb beast. It knew it had a meal right here. Damn it. He wasn't going to go down without a fight, though. Not without...

A shot. Not only that, but it was a large ARM. A very familiar large ARM. The monster grunted, looking past Jet to what had hit it.

"Hey ugly! Hey ugly! Over here, ugly!"

Fate had to be kidding.

"You're not going to touch him!" The sound of two pistols, very familiar ARMs to Jet, went off, and Virginia stepped in front of him. Gallows joined her, shoving his modified Coyote in the thing's nose and emptying both barrels into its face. A bolt slid home behind him and Jet looked behind him to see the green haired sniper take aim once again. This time, it hit the monster square in the head, putting it down for the count.

Virginia turned, relieved. "Jet! I'm glad you managed to get out. Gallows, we have to eeeep!"

Jet looked around, wary. No, Fate was kidding. There was no way these were his companions. It wasn't. He stood slowly, still brandishing the knife in the Virginia look-alike's direction. He had to get further away, further from the town's influence.

"Jet, what do you think you're doing?"

No, that wasn't Clive. Clive was dead, but wasn't that a dream? He turned, watching it step closer to him. "Don't you dare," Jet finally said, voice croaking from disuse and pain. "Don't." It wasn't stopping. Jet grit his teeth, and pointed the knife directly at him. "Don't."

A strong hand lowered his arms, calmly, carefully. "Jet, calm down." Clive pried the knife out of his hands, carefully handing it to Virginia. "Jet."

No... this couldn't be right. He raised a fist, trying to hit him when Clive grabbed his upper arms. He didn't more than that, but just held him there as Jet cursed and thrashed before his ribs finally said enough. Jet stood there, panting, shaking. Clive's shadow... it was right. The right size for the man. But it couldn't be. These... were his friends?

A gentle, feminine hand touched his shoulder, worried. On the other side, a big bear of a hand clasped the other shoulder. They didn't try to frighten him or anything of the sort. Jet looked around, seeing worried relief mirrored in all of their faces.

He was free. The sudden relief made his legs numb and he sagged in Clive's grasp.

"Jet!"