Chapter 1: The Outlaws Dept

The stairs that lead up to Blackwater's train station creaked as the young man made his way inside. He kept his head down, avoiding any available eye contact. The shadow from his father's hat disguised his identity to the rest of the world. He didn't want to be recognized. The ridicule and fear that innocent civilians showed to him due to his recent actions had brought him into a state of carelessness. But, why should he care anyway?

They hadn't experienced everything he had over the last few years. Folk were just quick to judge anyone who wouldn't follow the rules of a broken society. The same society that used fake propaganda to build up the public's opinion on outlaws and no good individuals. Law men and the army were the real criminals, but the thing was, nobody seemed to see it that way, except him.

He entered the small building, pushing the doors open with his hands effortlessly. It was generally quiet, except from the hushed muttering coming from two lawmen at the other side of the room. He shifted his sight towards them briefly, but didn't lift his head up. From the corner of his eye, he could see them glaring suspiciously at him. The shining light of the room reflected on their badges distastefully. He scoffed at the sight of the polished silver which shunned his eyes.

Although, it was nothing new, he had been looked down upon in each town he passed through since that vengeful day when he dueled Edgar Ross, and finally killed the bastard after a bullet to the head. That all happened about a year ago. And, during that year, he had killed lawmen or any government man in his sight, innocent or not, he didn't care. He was a wanted man, a lonely cold hearted killer. He owed as much as $10,000, just for killing lawmen alone. He was majorly wanted in the states, and was chased by bounty hunters every day. He was brought into police custody at least once a week, but he always managed to smuggle himself out of any trial, either through force, or a bribe with whatever little money he had.

He had also turned 20 during that year. Some say he was no longer a boy, but little more than a man. Or a rebellious young adult who sought vengeance for his father a few years ago. Whatever he was, he knew he had to change, for the good of his future. After all the lawmen he had killed, he didn't feel guilty, he felt rejuvenated and satisfied at pulling the trigger. He would never feel any different towards it.

"You just goin' to stand there, boy?" One of the lawmen spoke with an unnecessary deep voice that brought him out of his thoughts.

Although, he didn't take the lawman into his direct sight, he could see that the officer had raised a suspicious cut brow and swiftly drew his hand over his holstered pistol. He showed no emotion, but only twitched his hand with his family's famous trigger itch trying to take over him once again. Rage ran through his veins, but kept his urge to kill the law man unprovoked. He wasn't going to start anything. He had come to renew himself... Or at least to put things right from wrong, in some ways, he guessed.

The man rolled his eyes at the law man, adjusting his hat to hang and shadow over his face even more, causing his features to retort into a darkened scowl of built up rage. He stepped forward towards the barred window of the bounty payment clerk office where a man, stuck up from society, although, worked long hours to earn a wage at menial labor expectations stood. Bola hatted and sharply suited, the mans' features wrinkled into disinterest and distant, although, when his eye caught the sight of him, his brow raised.

He stood tall and strong with a sense of no harm, his arms rested freely at his sides. Clearing his throat as the working man before him leaned onto the wooden desk, which rested a bell and some paper work, he could tell in his browned eyes that he was waiting.

He remained stubbornly silent, scanning the suited gentleman, until he mustered a husky low voice, almost as if he hadn't spoken in a very long time. "I've come to pay off my bounty."

The gentleman cocked a brow at his husky tone, for it was almost unheard. After a moment, he nodded emotionlessly, standing straight with his face clearly uninterested. "Name?" He sighed out deeply, staring at him with half closed expectant eyes.

At that, he froze, a frown moulded his lips, his face stayed in a fix of concentrated hatred. Sighing deeply, he lifted up his gaze, the shadow lifting off as light fought against it, making him recognisable to the eye. He drew his hand into his pockets, digging deeply as he ignored the gentleman's scrutinizing glare. Retrieving a pardon letter from the very bottom of his pocket, he slammed it down onto the desk, staring blankly towards the man before him.

"The names Marston," he said, at last, softened in a serious tone. "Jack, not John."

At the name and his uncovered face, the gentleman and law men glared at him, their faces retorted into sharp daggers that pierced at his heart. It was clear. They wished him death, not even a thought to spare his troubled life, no, it was only death.

The room clearly tensed, for the officers drew their hands over their holstered pistols, glaring sharply at Jack to focus in on their target. Although, he tried his best to keep himself calm, his fingers clenched and straightened out beside his own holstered pistol. He kept calm, for he new shooting first would cause further problems for him.

Jack shook his head, releasing a low growl through his gritted teeth, but he kept his face fixed in blank concentration. He stared back at the glaring gentleman sharply, for his eyes glinted a hateful brown. He eyed the pardon letter in complete despise, but slowly took it in, glaring sharply at Jack.

"You deserve to rot in the flames of hell," he muttered deeply. "All those lives you took with the bullets from your gun, and you think a pardon letter will repay for that? You disgust me."

Jack scowled at his words, but kept himself calm, adjusting his hat with a stiff readied hand. He cleared his throat once more. "Well, it's still valid, isn't it?" He shot back sharply, his defensive soul glinting through the brown of his eyes.

The gentleman, through all his reluctance and displeasure, filed the pardon letter, confirming it with a stamp into the Marston criminal record into one of the selves. After that, he glared back at Jack. "One day you'll repay for your misdeeds, and not just in the form of a pardon letter, but in either blood or a jail sentence." And with that, the man went silent, just glaring at Jack like he was dirt on the ground.

Jack rolled his eyes, before chuckling lightly, almost mockingly. "Well, so be it if it does," he said, crossing his arms smugly. "It's not like I have anything to live for anyway," he sighed mainly to himself than anyone else, for a glum expression caught his features, before he threw it away. Clearing his throat again, he tipped his hat in a mocking farewell. "Good day, gentlemen," he chimed out in a mocking voice, before turning around to leave.

He headed for the door, still feeling their sharp glares stabbing him in the back. Hell, he swore he could even feel the officer's gun barrel pressed against his spine. He could only frown once he turned, for his lips never bore a smile anyway. His eyes were half closed in deep disinterest as he walked with heavy steps towards the door, although, he stopped once he caught the posting board out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, curiosity taking over him as he drew his attentive eye at the nailed bounty form on the wall. He cocked a brow, for the image it bore on its yellow glow was of a woman. It surprised him, mainly because the bounty was of a woman, for women normally stayed quiet and followed society as they were seen to behave. Quiet, polite and useful around the house; most were of expected that nature, but a lot were of them rebelled, just like Bonnie Macfarlane, he guessed.

Shaking his thoughts away, he stepped forward to view the bounty form. His brows cocked at the sight, for the image was a monstrosity that shunned his eyes. The image of the woman showed that of mangled, knotted hair that went past her shoulders. Soulless savage eyes of that of a bear, bruised cracked lips and dirty patches across her face. A lone long scar bore her left cheek, although, the distasteful colouring brought out all of these features with black ink, written obviously by the hands of a grudging government man.

Jack sighed out deeply, dropping his shoulders as he shook away the sight, discarding the image from his brain. Shivering from a quiver crawling up his spine, he frowned darkly, reading the words upon the form. They read in bold, plain and straight, the words:

'CONNIE SANDERS

ROBBERY AND PETTY THEFT

LAST SEEN IN ARMADILLO

$300 ALIVE

$150 DEAD'

At the words he read with ease, Jack's face blanked and steeled up, for he felt nothing. He didn't care. It was only another criminal that went against the rules of a broken society - like him - but now he was free. He was free from the law and government forces now. But the question that repeated itself in his mind. How long would it last for?

XD sorry it took so long to update, I've been really busy lately, but I hope you like it. Until next time :)