It appears you've met with a terrible fate.

Surprised? Or just indifferent?

Either way, it's a rather unfortunate end all the same.

One you had no control over.

Quite sad, really.

However, it doesn't necessarily have to stay that way.

..?

What if I told you that there's a way to go back?

..!

Yes, a bid for your very salvation.

To redo events and grant yourself a more… favorable outcome.

But it's not something that can just be handed to you.

You will have to earn it, and that in of itself is no easy task.

But if you're truly committed, you'll possess it in no time at all.

...Oh no, it's not something you have to do for me.

But I'll send you to where you can prove your mettle.

After all, everyone deserves a second chance.


Those had been the old man's words before dumping him into the Breach, and into possession of a random cultist. After putting his borrowed body through the paces of Gungeoneering he eventually made it to the the Inner Vault. Now atop the altar's pinnacle, with The Gun That Can Kill The Past and ammo in hand, he was ready to carry out what had enticed him to challenge this forsaken crypt. The whole ordeal had been more bullshit than harrowing; the threat of pain and death had left him long before he fell that first time to a Gundead's bullet. It was really only a matter of trial and error and sheer determination to make it to the end. And considering what his alternative was, this was nothing.

But now was where he needed to get serious. He doubted he'd get another go after this, literally making this his one shot. And it wasn't gonna happen if he kept standing there, so bracing those robed arms before him, he willed the fingers to pull the trigger one more time. After the shaky startup, he immediately felt the explosive blow to the head of his psyche, ripping him away from his tentative hold on reality and into the shapeless, colorful whirlpool of time. Straight down into that second chance.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Enter the Gun-geon! (Enter the Gun!)


Generating…


Abandoned Mines

The Past (6 Months Prior)

Casey awoke once more in darkness. Only it was the itchy confines of a burlap sack instead of the endless nothing of the afterlife, and the fact he could *feel* something like discomfort was extra assuring. There were murmurings, whispers around him; damp cool air brushing against his bound legs that contrasted with the stuffiness of the sack. He immediately remembered being tied up in these final moments, while several hands on his back carried him along to who-knows-what. He still felt a little groggy from whatever they did to knock him out in the first place, but he was far more alert and aware of how much danger he was in.

In just a few moments he'll end up biting the big one again. If he was to avoid that, he had to act fast. He could wiggle a bit; perhaps enough force could get him off this express ride to Hell. Whatever it takes to get free.

(Use Blank)

(Struggle)

Imagine his surprise when he felt the familiar smoothness of a tiny cylinder in his possession. Something that he'd used in dire emergencies, or if he was hunting for secrets. And there was nothing more dire than now, he thought as he set off the little round. In a burst of light and kinetic energy his restraints, the covering of the sack, and the people carrying him were blown off like autumn leaves, allowing him to fall and hit the floor unbound.

The first thing Casey discovered was that he was back in his original body: same grubby paws, same shitty camo jacket, same greasy head of hair. Next he took in his surroundings, finding himself in a large, dank subterranean cavern, lit up by some eerie-ass red lanterns. A few yards away was a deep, wide hole which he had been seconds away from being tossed into by...

"The hell happened?"

"Was that a bomb?!"

"What's going on?"

The group of people wearing heavy coats and mining hats scattered about the place. A few of them were staggering or lying on the ground from the Blank burst, but close to a dozen were standing around in a wide circle. The darkness of the cave blotted what parts of their faces wasn't already obscured by their headgear, so they were essentially a mob of uniformly-dressed shadows… with country accents. From being in the body of a cultist, to landing in a sea of them; hell of a return to the living.

"Shit, the kid's loose!"

Seemed the Blank's effect was just as short-lived here as in the Gungeon, Casey determined as he saw the outer ring of cultists begin to stir and move inward toward him. He leaned forward and planted a paw down to make a run for it, but stopped upon noticing an M1911 lying just a few inches from him. He knew the pistol was an M1911 because it had the same shape, coloration, and even wear of those he had picked up in the Gungeon.

Without delay he grabbed the gun and raised it up.

"Back the hell off!" he shouted, cocking the hammer and frantically waving the piece at his captors.

"He's got a gun!"

"How'd he get that?"

"Whose is that?"

"None of you come near me!" Casey warned as he got up shakily on his two legs, never lowering his weapon.

"Now now, son, take it easy. Let's be calm about this."

"Eff you! I'm not holding still for anything!" While wildly gazing about himself for any comers, Casey spotted the archway some yards behind him embedded in the solid rock, and the shadowy corridor beyond. Exit. He furrowed his brow and scowled at the cultists. "I'm getting out of here, and none of you are stopping me."

There was a tense pause, until one of the cultists stepped forward and said, "We cannot let you do that."

"That right? I'm not tied up so there's really jack shit you can do about that."

"There's a whole lot more of us than you, kid."

"Like that matters to me. I'll just even you out; don't think I won't do it."

"Just put the gun down and it won't have to come to that," said one cultist as some of his fellows began to edge forward to the harried miscreant.

"All of you stay back! I'm not gonna say it again!"

The cloaked creeps paid no heed, instead slowly approaching him as one. Seeing them undeterred by his weapon made Casey's arms stiffen with panic as he jerked them side to side. However, the tension snapped when something lunged in from his right. One of the cultists that had been knocked down earlier had sneaked up to make a grab, but Casey twisted around and popped off a round into their left shoulder.

The rapport rang loudly all over the cave, practically muting the grunt of the stricken cultist as they collapsed to their knees. Casey looked, stunned at what he'd done; shooting an actual person was nothing like taking out some cheery waddling Gundead. But the shock proved to be momentary; without thinking he turned and fired at a cultist trying to get the jump him, getting them square in the chest.

Casey backpedaled before turning and sprinting for the exit to avoid any more surprises. In seconds he's practically at the archway, but before his foot could hit the threshold, something tall and solid sprang up in front of him and clutched his throat with a viselike grip.

"Get your scrawny ass back there!"

The hand on his throat lifted and tossed Casey back like a sack of deer pelts onto the ground. The young feline groaned but scrambled back onto his feet, looking at the one who thwarted his escape. Same coat and headlamp ensemble, if a bit skinnier than his fellow cultists. But he seemed to blend in with the darkness, as though he were a living part of the scenery. An impression further helped by the fact that his lower half looked more faded compared to the rest of his body.

A truly unforgettable personage in Casey's eyes, especially when it's the same exact prick who had conked him out in the first place. Feeling a rise of anger rather than fear, Casey braced his arms to show he meant business. Unsurprisingly the ghost freak didn't look intimidated in the slightest, instead giving a mocking chuckle.

"Riled up, are ya? Heheheheh. We can't be havin' any of that now."

"Don't antagonize him further, Eide! Just knock him out already!"

"Don't worry, I've got this handled." With a wave of his arms, the spook rose upward, his feet dangling over empty air. "I'll make sure to put him down properly this time."

BLESSED ACOLYTE

EIDE

Before Casey could register exactly what had just happened, the cultist shot forward like a burst of wind. His Gungeoneering instincts kicked in as he fired in a split second, but his target had relocated a few yards back and to his left before the bullet could reach him. This latest surprise left him vulnerable to a backhand across his left cheek that made him falter and spin partly around. He kept his balance, however, and turned and fired two rounds in rapid succession, only for them to split empty air.

"What?" Casey sputtered, struck by a sense of deja vu as the cultist reappeared several yards away to his right, looking down on him.

"Built up some resilience, eh?"

The transparent yokel then glided forward at a fast even pace, prompting Casey to fire before he got too close. His target vanished once more, only this time Casey was prepared, dodge-rolling to the right before getting a fist to the back of the head. Reorienting himself smoothly he took aim and shot a round, catching his attacker in the side.

"Gah! Damn punk!"

The cultist called Eide strafed away in retreat, allowing Casey to reload with a fresh clip that had inexplicably materialized in his jacket pocket. Once cocked and locked, he turned to face the hovering hick right as he pulled back an arm and swung to send out a… hail of red bullets of varying sizes, their luminescent shells lighting up the cave walls as they spread out. Without a pause in his momentum, Casey leapt over the bullets and rolled back up onto his feet, firing off three of his own rounds to send his opponent float-fleeing to evade.

"Dammit Eide, watch where you're firing those things!" one of the observing cultists shouted out, which seemed to peeve the one member actually doing something.

"How bout watching the exit and staying out of the way!"

Though none of the three bullets hit Eide, Casey didn't lose heart over it. Just like the High Priest, he thought, that bullet spread affirming his sense of familiarity with this would-be murderer's schtick. Tries to psych you out with the disappearing act, but nothing the delinquent hasn't had ample experience in dealing with. Just had to stay on his toes and never lose sight.

Rather than send another wave of bullets, the flighty cultist disappeared, then popped up somewhere else a split second before reappearing in a different spot, then did so several more times in rapid succession. Eventually he popped in right before Casey's face, thrusting a palm hard enough into his nose to waver his vision and make him taste copper. Damn sloppy, and right after getting himself stoked up! Eide reached forward to snatch his prey, but Casey fought through the pain and shot off two rounds wildly. A bullet caught Eide in the crook of his left elbow, resulting in the sickening pop of metal bursting through flesh.

"RAAAHH! Son of a #& *ing Bitch!"

The cursing cultist immediately zipped right the hell back from Casey, getting himself over to one side of the large pit.

"Could really use some back-up about now!"

Suddenly, a line of cultist sprung up from a row of random crates and rocks, armed with hunting rifles which they held to the shoulder and lined up.

"Shoot to wound," said one of them right before they all fired. Only instead of super fast piercing slugs, Casey saw them as fairly sluggish red and white globs (it's insane just how honed his senses had become!). Casey leapt forward over the first line of rifle rounds, then backwards from the second line before kneeling and returning fire.

Two cultists fell before the rest took cover behind the crates, but no sooner had they hid then Eide teleported close to Casey's left. He turned, then felt the hard chop against his forearm, making his hand go slack and lose its grip on the M1911. Before he could make a grab for it, that same heavy hand planted itself around his neck once more, giving a good squeeze to force some air out of his lungs.

Gasping and choking, Casey could do little but squirm as he was lifted from the ground, this time carried along as Eide floated backwards.

"That's it from you. You're gettin' in that hole and appeasing Him."

Casey would have cursed himself out if he wasn't busy fighting for breath. After all that and this jackass was gonna do him in. Only a few seconds left. He had to get free again; he couldn't give up now. As he beat uselessly against that solid arm, one his paws brushed against a familiar bulge in one of his jacket pockets. Then he remembered: they always came in pairs. With his feet dangling inches from the edge of the hole, Casey activated his remaining Blank.

Another blinding shockwave of light and force broke Casey free from his captor and back onto solid ground. Eide was thrown back, clear over the hole and past the crates and other cultists that got jumbled about, then slammed hard with his back against the cave wall. His helmet came off as he bounced directly toward the pit. Casey saw the look of surprise and horror on his face before the abyss swallowed him without a sound.

Suddenly, the entire cavern started rumbling as rock particles fell from the ceiling.

"Cave-in!"

The shout did little good, for right then the whole place shook fiercely and dropped a veritable avalanche of rubble on everything. Casey witnessed several crates and a few cultists get crushed before rocks came down around him and blotted out the light. Shortly after that, everything came to a standstill.

Casey sat in silence for about a minute, getting air back into his lungs. After his breather, he pulled himself up and pushed aside one of the rocks that landed close to him. Stumbling out from his enclosure, he found the cave to be a total wreck. Most of the lanterns had been crushed, so there was hardly any illumination left. Still enough for him to see that the hole had been completely blocked up with several massive boulders, however. No way anyone's gonna be falling into that again without some serious digging equipment, or explosives.

To his right he spotted something on the ground, and taking a few trepid steps over the rubble he came upon his dropped M1911. Squatting down to pick it up, he took a glance to where the exit archway was, and felt relief at seeing it unblocked. As he rose back up, a nearby groan grabbed his attention.

A few yards from him he saw a cultist sprawled out on the ground, crawling his way from a rock pile, the top of his helmet dented badly and the lamp smashed in. Turning himself onto his side, he gave a few ragged breaths, looking to the remains of the hole.

"You… you have no idea what you've just done. That was Possum Springs' very livelihood." He raised his head to scowl at Casey. "You goddamn idiot. Why did you have to fight it? You could have been useful for once."

Casey looked at his accuser, then began walking toward him slowly.

"What good was it to you? Is your life really that precious? We've watched you for years. You have done nothing with yourself; time and again just making trouble, doing drugs, leeching off others like a useless bum. And now the one time some good can come from your miserable hide, you go and screw it up. Just like with your life."

The bastard just wouldn't shut up.

"You've got no aspirations, no real purpose. You just take up space and get in the way of upstandin' folk. Exactly like rank garbage."

The cultist felt a foot plant itself against his chest, pushing him onto his back. He grunted and glared anew, only to be looking past the barrel of a pistol and into face of hard, raw hatred. This intimidating sight only garnered a weak, derisive chuckle.

"That's how it is. You're not only trash, you're a bonafide menace. Didn't take ya long to grow accustomed to killing your fellow man. Blood like yours is bound for destruction. Well, go ahead and shoot. You've already damned this whole town; what's one more to the pile?"

Casey kept his gun trained, his heartbeat and the old man's breath filling his ears. No fear, no ounce of regret on the cultist's face. Only grim certainty over what was about to happen. What he expected to happen.

In the time it takes to end a life, Casey made the decision to lower his gun, turn around, and walk away. He headed straight for the archway, paying no mind to other possible survivors. Over the threshold, through a ruined chapel the weary youth plodded without pause. Within a narrow tunnel he came upon some rails that led to the solemn red light of a freight elevator, active and waiting.

Slam of the gate and pull of the lever, and Casey ascended from the depths that were to be his resting place. Once at the top, he looked down and remembered the gun still clasped in his paw. Disgust flashed through his eyes before he dumped the weapon down the gap by the elevator. Unburdened, he continued his walk uninterrupted toward freedom.

A soft breeze brushed against his ruffled fur and whiskers upon emerging from the mine: the first breath of fresh air in his old body. The sky above still held traces of the setting sun, bathing the quarry around him in an ominous reddish orange hue. Casey wasn't affected by that, though, as he resumed walking. After a few yards of pebbles and uneven ground he came upon a rock embedded in the earth and came to a stop. He looked at it for several moments, then crouched down and sat against its flatmost side.

Casey Hartley, gunslinger triumphant, sole survivor of the Black Goat's tribute, stared blankly at the slope that would lead him to the rest of the world, arms resting atop his knees, lost to his thoughts. Minutes of idle thinking later, he leaned into his arms and cried. Whether they were tears of relief or despair, he didn't know. Only that he was alive, back in his own time, and very, very much aware of the kind of person he truly was.


Thanks for playing!

You killed the past. The Gun—

"Casey!"

"Huh?"


The shout snapped him from his momentary grief, and raising his head he spotted something small and a bit round running down the slope. When it came to a stop two yards from him, he immediately recognized the ratty orange shirt, the clipped ear, and the large soul-consuming eyes.

"Mae?"

"Oh god, it really is you," she said with profound relief. "Are you okay?"

"...I'm fine, yeah." Casey replied mechanically, unable to hide the confusion in his tone. This was further confounded when another voice arose close by.

"Hold on, Mae! Wait for us!"

Looking past the stout kitty lass, Casey saw four other figures hurrying down the slope. At the head of the group was none other than Gregg in his usual leather jacket and jeans ensemble, followed by his boyfriend Angus and Bea weirdly enough, who was carrying a flashlight. And following behind at a more casual pace was… Germ? Yep: same hat, same jumpsuit, same blank expression. Casey was utterly stunned at seeing literally all his friends down there in that godforsaken quarry.

As he tried to get his brain back on track, the motley group had descended and approached the rock. Once there, the alligator shined her beam on Mae.

"You seriously have to stop running off like that," Bea scolded her friend. "It's dark enough for you to trip over something."

"Forget that! I found Casey." Mae waved her arm over the befuddled young man as proof. When everyone looked at him, a dramatic gasp went out of Gregg.

"Holy crap, Casey! Are you okay, man?"

"He says he is," Mae answered.

"But is he really? I mean he's got blood on his face!"

Mae looked back to her dumbstruck friend, then remarked, "Oh shit you're right! Though, it kinda looks like a nosebleed?"

"Hi Casey," Germ said plainly, giving a wave as though they were passing by on the street. This had become too much for Casey to take just sitting down.

"What are you all doing here?"

"We came to rescue you, duh!" Gregg said excitedly, raising up his arms and showing off the crossbow he was carrying. As a matter of fact, Casey noticed that everyone but Germ were loaded with backpacks and satchels. Even Mae had a baseball bat holstered on her back like some zombie outbreak survivalist, or something like that. Things were already weird enough without making those kinds of comparisons.

"Seems he rescued himself, by the looks of it," Angus pointed out, which caused Gregg to lower both his arms and his excitement.

"Oh, yeah. It seems that way, Cap'n."

"How did you escape? Did you run when they weren't looking?"

"No, I broke out," Casey said to Mae in a low, shaken voice. "They had me tied up in a bag, wanted to dump me in a hole. But I got free and… fought my way out."

"Damn. With what, your bare hands?"

"No Gregg. I had a gun, took some out."

"Oh man, we totally missed out on the action. I'm seriously bummed out by this!" Gregg whined, eliciting a stern cough from Bea. "Uh but you're out here safe, and that's what's most important. Even though we didn't get to see you do it."

Like any responsible adult, Bea merely dismissed Gregg's words with a head shake, then asked a more pertinent question to keep things on track.

"How many of them were left when you got out?"

"I dunno. There was a cave-in; bunch of them got crushed. The hole they tried to throw me in got closed up, too."

"Well that's incredibly convenient," Angus said. "Saves us even more trouble."

"But whoever's left might be on their up. We should get out of here."

"You're right, Bea." Looking to Casey, Mae said, "We can talk more about this after we get to the car."

"Car?"

"I'm parked just outside the woods." Bea nodded in the direction they came from. "Are you good to walk?"

"I can carry you," Angus offered, but Casey carefully stood back up.

"I'm good. Just needed a rest."

Mae nodded approvingly. "Awesome. Now let's ditch this hellhole."

"Yeah! Let's Go Go GO!"

The party began moving at Gregg's urging, however Mae noticed Germ heading in the opposite direction.

"Germ?"

"You go ahead without me," he said in his usual neutral tone.

"Are you sure?" Gregg asked, getting a nod in reply.

"We can't all fit in the car, and my house is close by. Also, there's something personal I need to do."

The look the bird made left no room for disagreement, something that Gregg understood perfectly.

"Okay. Let's meet up tomorrow at the Party Barn."

"Sure. Later." As the group began leaving again, Germ said, "Oh, Casey?" Having grabbed the tom's attention, he added, "Glad you're safe."

"...I appreciate that, man."

Farewells said, Casey and the rest resumed the walk up the slope. Once they were over the crest, Germ walked ahead and came to a stop before the entrance to the mines. He simply stood there, staring into the darkness while silently pulling out a cylindrical object from his jumpsuit. The gleam that arose in his eye was only matched by the flame given off by the lighter in his other hand.


Thanks for playing!

You killed the past. The Gungeon remains...