Colt was awakened from his dream by a cool breeze of air that flushed from his feet and over his head. Before, the room was muggy and overheated. But now, it was as cool as the air conditioned Mojave Outpost. This is especially strange considering these motel rooms weren't air conditioned. So, what was causing this cold air? Colt lifted his head up, for fear of moving his body and waking up Cass who was still hugging him tightly. The door was wide open and a cool desert breeze blew in, making the edge of the bed sheets flutter. Colt looked back at Cass, who was in a deep sleep and snoring, and then back at the door. The fear crept into him and his heart began to race.

I know I didn't do it, Colt thought to himself, and if Cass is asleep… then who opened the damn door?

It finally dawned on him and his eyes widened… Colt, quietly and subtly, removed Cass' arm from his waist. She groaned sleepily, jerked her arm free from Colt's grip and rolled over. Colt looked at his revolver, still in the black holster, on the table. He slowly slid his left leg off the bed and onto the still warm floor and then he swung his right leg off the bed and made contact with the shaggy rug. A loud screech pierced the night air. Colt froze. Someone had opened the bathroom door.

Colt sat on the bed, frozen in fear. He kept his eye on the revolver, which glistened in what little moonlight that came in through the door. He would have to be quick or else him and Cass would both suffer the consequences. Colt took in a deep breath of the cold air… then he jumped off the bed and went for the revolver. A silent ping rang out; the ping of a bullet leaving a silenced weapon. Colt felt a searing pain in his right calf as he fell forward, with the revolver just a few inches out of his reach. A bullet had penetrated deep into his leg and the crimson blood was pouring out of the wound. He let out a muffled scream as he held his hand against the oozing bullet hole.

Cass awoke and sat up in the bed at the sound of Colt hitting the floor. She looked over the edge of the bed and at Colt, who was lying on the floor, blood seeping out of the wound from in between his fingers and onto the floor.

"What the fuck happened?" She yelled with a look of horror on her face. Colt managed to raise a shaking, crimson colored hand towards the bathroom. Cass didn't even get a chance to look before a dart landed on her arm. She yelped as it pierced her skin. Then, almost immediately, she fell limp on the bed; knocked out by whatever liquid that was in the dart.

"Cass," Colt said in a low moan. He tried to reach for the revolver, but it was just out of his reach. Two men emerged out of the darkness near the bathroom; both dressed in ski masks and leather jackets with rearing stallion emblems on their right breasts. Colt's heart raced as he eyed the gang members and saw their patches. Rage coursed through his veins like hot lava. He tried, desperately, to reach for the silver revolver. His muscles strained like leather as he stretched his arm as far as it could. A cold tear cascaded down his cheek.

The two men ignored the struggling man on the floor and walked to Cass' limp body. They bonded her hands and legs and stuffed a gag in her mouth. Then, they stuffed her, feet first, into a dark burlap sack and tied it up. One of the men picked her up and draped her body over his shoulder. They headed for the door.

One of the kidnappers rubbed his torso and he had a bandage on one of his hands. The man with the bandage stopped and looked at Colt, who was still struggling to reach the revolver. The bandaged man walked towards Colt and stood looming over him. Colt looked up at the man.

"Good, I want you to look at me," the man said, with an all too familiar voice. He removed his mask and revealed his face; it was Ivan. He kicked Colt's hand down, picked up the revolver on the table and threw it across the room. The heavy silver gun landed on the floor with a thud. Ivan bent down and looked Colt deep in the eyes. Ivan's eyes were filled with pleasure, "I was a pretty damn good shot when I shot your father, mother, and brother in the head, Colt," Colt looked down at the floor, more cold tears streamed down his face, "Look at me!" I van kicked Colt over and onto his back so that he was looking up at the ceiling. Ivan stood further over Colt and looked him in the eyes again, "I told you I would say it while you were lying in a pool of blood," he turned around and pointed to the other gang member who was waiting in the doorway, holding Cass, "and we got that cowgirl bitch of yours too," Ivan slapped Colt a couple time on the face, "See you around, buddy."

Ivan stood and headed for the door. Colt's vision began to fade. He looked down at the floor; a thin layer of his dark red blood caked the floor. He was losing too much blood and was going to pass out… and probably die.

The other kidnapper stopped Ivan and pointed to Colt with his free hand, "Ivan, Aleksander said we are supposed to kill him."

Ivan turned back to Colt, who was lying on his back and trying to stay awake, "There's no need to waste our ammo; he'll die of blood loss in a few hours."

"But," Ivan's worried accomplice piped up, "what if he yells? Isn't there a night guard? Didn't Aleksander say to avoid him because he was an ex-NCR sniper?"

"No, no, that night guard is with that 'Courier' guy. Besides," Ivan smiled and turned back to Colt, "Colt's too weak to do anything. He'll faint and then go into a coma and probably die. Now, let's get going; I want to be at the camp when the cowgirl wakes up so I can try her out."

The accomplice laughed, "You're a sly dog, Ivan."

The two kidnappers took their leave. Colt was left in a pool of blood, fading in between worlds. He couldn't hold on; he was losing too much blood. He pressed his hand against his wound, trying to slow the blood flow. But he was too weak to hold the muscle in his arms up and it fell, limp, to the floor. He had to hold on… for Cass… but his eye lids were too heavy…

"Cass…" Colt said, weakly, as he closed his eye and fell into a long, dark and bitter cold sleep.