The sun was high in the air and beating down on the poor sons and daughters of bitches down below with the hellish intensity they had all grown accustomed to through the generations that had made out into the desert then refused to die. If stubbornness were gold, the people of the Regal Desert would have all been rich instead of dirt poor bumpkins struggling day after day to put food on the table and water down their gullets.

The town of Oasis was dry and lifeless, as if the name was to mock the poor souls that dwelt there. They were much like the souls of the damned, too ignorant to know that they were already dead, doomed from the moment they left their mother's womb. The only two reasons outsiders ever even come through the dust-filled town was that it was roughly equidistant to several larger cities in the Desert and because of the people who lived there being willing to put up with any vice for precious chits. Even then, most visitors made it a point to get out soon after they came in if they wished to hold on to their money or their lives.

On this day, there was only a handful of visitors, with a bulk of them only seeking a place for them and their modes of conveyance to rest and recuperate before heading back onto the trails. Of those who had a more adventurous side, they went off to pursue their vice of choice, the one thing that Oasis excelled in providing. Brothels, saloons, drug houses, casinos, and other places of ill-repute were always bringing in customers to spend their money in a way the local parish was often jealous.

It was into one saloon that a gaunt and pale man shakily entered. From the way he stumbled, one would be forgiven for thinking he drank himself into a stupor, but the more one watched and observed him, the more one realized it was something else. It was as though he was moving his body for the first time, like a foal tottering in the woods. At least, that was what Isaac had noticed from watching the man make his approach. Now that the man was inside the saloon, however, Isaac had no choice but to watch from the outside due to his slightly too young age.

"What do you mean I'm too young?!" he yelled at the bartender about one hour prior.

"Look, even places like this have to have some standards," he replied while shaking his head. "Adults around here like to come and drink and forget about their kids for a while. Having you here will just be a constant reminder of how screwed they are."

"I am not a kid! I am thirteen! Teen! It's right there in the damn word! Now let me stay," Isaac hotly responded.

The bartender did not seem swayed by this, though he put down the towel he was using to wipe down his counter and began to rub his brow. He looked to Isaac to be in his forties, though the hardness of the years often made it difficult to estimate people's ages. Isaac had seen some people he knew back home look like the oldest of fogies yet they had only lived for about just over two scores. This desert ground people down to where Isaac wondered if the infinite sands were just the dust of the bones of everyone who had lived before him. The bartender gestured for Isaac to go, along with a "Just get out, ya hear. Go on, son! Get!"

The patrons of the establishment seemed amused by the exchange, with some snickering and a few outright guffawing. Those were all bound in having the common descriptor of having the most reddened of faces and wateriest of eyes. Isaac figured their livers at this point were likely pickled more than the eggs that sat in the large dirty jar behind the bar counter. He quickly surveyed the other faces in the saloon, hoping to find one that held even the most trace amounts of sympathy. Even the women working the oldest profession seemed to have hardened faces when they looked his way. Isaac, therefore, knew that he lost and headed back outside to wait and hope that he might find the right person who could help him.

Isaac crouched down to observe from under the saloon doors. The strange man made his way up to the bar, bumping into some tables and chairs along the way, much to the amusement of the patrons who did not end up getting their drinks spilled. The man appeared to get the barkeep's attention by sticking his hand up, only to have it drop oddly. The man himself seemed perplexed by this, as his dark eyes stared at the betraying appendage. Once more, his arm shakily raised itself up into the air only to have it drop like a wet sack of potatoes. Isaac did not know what to make of the man, though most of the patrons seemed to be undisturbed by him and were engaged in whatever activity they had taken part in.

"There is something really off about this man," Isaac thought to himself as he took in the man's features. His clothes and everything looked the part of the average gunslinger, with what looked like a large six-shooter sitting in a holster on his right side. His clothes were dark, and his hat a dark brown, which contrasted with his pale white skin. Isaac estimated that the man had spent roughly zero time in the sun based on the lightness of the man's skin. The only part of the man that any color was the area around the man's eyes, which was dark as if the man had also never slept a day in his life. If he had not just come in during the daytime, Isaac would have thought for sure he was looking at a vampire, like in the stories he used to hear by the campfire by his father. Isaac missed those stories, the warmth of the fire, the voice of his father. He was only a kid, but those memories were from a lifetime ago.

Back in the present, the strange man had finally gotten the attention of the bartender by using his other hand to help lift up his right one, though the performance was much like two drunks trying to keep themselves from falling ass over ankles.

"Can I help you?" the bartender said in an annoyed tone that suggested that he was not in his line of work for the hospitality. Here, the man really seemed to be at a complete loss. Isaac could see the man making movements with his mouth, but not in any way that could correspond to human speech. The man did not seem to produce any noise and also seemed simultaneously confused by this. Finally, he produced a sound, though it was a loud garbled yelp that sounded like a coyote that had just cried out. It startled the bartender, along with everyone else in the establishment, whose eyes locked onto the strange man.

"Son, what in the hell is wrong with you? Do you need a surgeon or something? The barber is two buildings down from here, if so. Otherwise, the next sounds I want to hear out of your mouth is a drink order."

The rest of the saloon watched, mostly out of curiosity more than fear, as though they hoped this was the beginning of some show. Isaac could hear murmurs in the crowd, with some people asking questions and others making predictions over what in the hell was wrong with this stranger. The strange man moved to place his hands on the counter, leaning heavily. It was now that Isaac noticed that the man was actually somewhat tall, but lanky. He didn't seem to have much fat on his bones, but he also didn't have all too much muscles. He wasn't sickly thin, but it felt like he was mostly skin and bones. After having his head down for a moment, the man exhaled before hissing, "whissssey." Isaac could barely hear him, being about twenty feet away, but that is what it sounded like to him, in a strange windy whisper.

"Did you say whiskey?" the bartender sighed. "All right then. Now show me your chits. There is no way in heaven or hell I'm giving you a drop without getting paid first."

At this, the strange man paused before tilting his head like a dog. His eyes then drifted down to his left before his hand moved down and brought up a cloth bag that tinkled as it moved. The man then dropped the bag which opened slightly and sent a few of the seemingly many chits inside spilling. Both Isaac and the Barman's jaws dropped, along with a few of the other patrons who were still interested in the proceedings. That was the most money Isaac had ever seen outside of the bank. It was at least two hundred Federation Chits, made up of chits in various denominations and enough to make the mouths of a few of the seedier types in the bar water.After taking a second to process this new information, the Bartender transformed into a new man.

"One whiskey, right away, sir. May I recommend my finest whiskey, a bottle of Golden Eagle I have been saving for one refined person like you. It is of the highest quality, barreled for decades in oak, made of the finest ingredients, brewed by a family that has been making such sporots for generations. Marvelous, though it does not come cheap, not that cost seems to be a concern for you." It worried Isaac that the smile of the bartender might go flying off his face if he kept up his grinning. The bartender produced a glass that he then hurriedly cleaned a smudge from using his breath and a rag. He began carefully pouring the whiskey into the glass as if it were nitroglycerin.

Suddenly, the strange man reached and grabbed the arm that was holding the bottle, dragging it through the air across the counter to the strange man's greedy mouth. At first, the Bartender protested in shock before letting go of the bottle and grabbing a decent handful of chits out of the bag instead. After letting himself smile contentedly, he moved to the register wherein he could safely deposit his gains. After that, he began to go about his business as usual.

It was not too long after that when the strange man had finished the rather large bottle. For a man that seemed unsure of his movements, he did a good job in keeping the booze pouring into his mouth and not onto his shirt and vest. It was only until he was onto the last few drops that any accident occurred, wherein he threw himself back too far in trying to get gravity to assist him in his efforts. This resulted in him falling back onto the floor, to the delight of those around him. He shakily picked himself up from the ground, making his way back to the counter to reach for the glass that contained the pourings that the barkeep had begun before the interruption.

While he gulped this down, Isaac noticed three men make their way to the strange man, smiling like coyotes. "Well look here, boys. We are in the presence of a man of extreme opulence. It would be rude of us to not say hello," said the largest of the three.

"Hello," said the other two, by Isaac's estimations, the lackeys of the first one.

"Now that we have gotten our hellos out of the way, how about you buy your new friends a drink or two?" the big man said as he smiled with browned teeth and patted the strange man on the shoulder with a hand the size of a skillet. He looked to be the opposite of the strange man, all fat and muscle with a deep tan. "Barkeep, let's get us another round on my friend here!"

What happened next seemed to confound Isaac, as it seemed to happen so fast as to keep him from fully understanding it. Suddenly, the large man was on the ground, with the strange man standing over him. The two lackeys quickly jumped back. "Oh, goddamn you! You have done it now!" the large man said as he huffed his way back upright. "You have done it now! Do you know who I am? I am Hector Williams and I am the finest gunman in these parts. There isn't a single gunner faster or more accurate. I could shoot the balls off a housefly from two hundred yards. Come on, we are taking this outside."

At this, Hector and his men quickly pushed the strange man out through the back door into the alleyway that ran behind the saloon. Isaac quickly ran around the side of the building to get to the corner where he could hopefully see what would happen. To his surprise, no one in the saloon seemed to come out to watch. From what he could hear coming from the back door, it sounded as if most people concluded that the shootout was a lost cause for the stranger.

"He may be an asshole, but Hector is good. I've seen him take out some tough guns before and this guy looks to be a few cards short of a deck."

"I'll say, he could barely stand. He must be some imbecile."

"I want to know what kind of imbecile has that amount of chits?"

"Must be a congressman."

Laughter came from behind the door, as everyone inside seemed to wait for Hector and his men to come in from the back with grins on their faces and new drink orders on their tongues.

Isaac wasn't so sure. There seemed to be something off about this stranger, as though there was something he couldn't quite see, an anti-mirage. He waited and watched. If this Hector wasn't half bad, he could try to talk to him after he finished, though he wasn't sure talking to a man willing to gun down another in a back alley was a good idea. Then again, desperate times call for desperate measures, and he was beyond desperate.

After moving the strange man to a spot in the ground and making sure he wasn't about to fall over as soon as they left him to stand on his own, Hector took his place about twenty feet away, with his lackeys flanking his sides. He had his hand and pistol at the ready. It was a large revolver of some fearsome caliber that would have looked comical were a smaller man to hold it.

"Okay, now. You ready?"

The strange man did not reply.

"I said, are you ready?"

Still no reply.

"Okay, then. Your funeral."

BANG. A shot rang out. The ringing in Isaac's ears stopped as his brain finally finished processing what had happened. There Hector stood, gun drawn, with smoke drifting out the barrel, a smile on his face. His two lackeys stood briefly shocked before smiling and patting him on the back and congratulating him on another successful shootout. Isaac looked to the strange man and could see that the shot had been dead on through the man's head. Isaac closed his eyes and said a quick prayer to the gods.