[b]Colt "The Devil Spawn" Jackson[/b]
[i]Desert ---> Fairbank[/i]

The eerie sound of metal stomping against the rugged ground echoed across the vast desert land leaving in its wake a ripple of death – a trail of revenge and vengeance that could only be left by the coldest of killers. Various desert critters scurried out of the way as the bulky phantom steed rushed toward town. The night was silent; the slightest noise could be heard for what seemed like miles. There was no preamble to the explosive events that would unfold in the coming hours. Colt Jackson had been riding for days now in search of his latest targets. You see, Colt “The Devil Spawn” Jackson was once literally clinging to life by the thread of a rope but was given a second chance by a mysterious man. No, he wasn’t certain it was a man that cut him loose that day, it was something else. Something with the power to call forth creatures of the night like Chaos, Colt’s phantom horse. He wasn’t certain about his savior’s true identity but that much didn’t matter in times like these. Colt was headed for self-destruction; any time lived after the attempted hanging was all a bonus. Still, Colt was beginning to regret making the deal that day. It felt wrong, almost as if he had signed his soul over and was bound by a never-ending cycle of killing. Every morning, pegged by a distinct knife that faded into dark fog upon release was a note with the picture of a target. Usually it was a man and every now and then a woman but appearances were always deceptive because as soon as Colt found his marks, they became something else – inhuman. 

“’Nother fat business type,” Colt scoffed almost in disgust as he glimpsed at the picture of a cheeky man with a long, burlesque mustache and a monocle tucked deep into his left eye socket before folding the piece of worn paper back into the pocket of his pitch-black duster coat. Tipping the front edge of his high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat slightly forward, masking the trace of a sly but devious smirk, Colt eased his steed into the border of town. 

[i]Fairbank[/i], a sign with red paint read. Colt stood in front of a rather large, two-story place. Shooting off his horse, Colt walked Chaos over to a hitching post. It didn’t matter if Chaos was tied or not, the demon horse was bound to Colt but it was all about keeping appearances. A tied horse wouldn’t be looked at twice no matter its peculiarities. Colt was a methodical killer, a calculating infiltrator turned deadly in the heat of gunfights. Swinging the saloon doors open, Colt quickly canvased the heavy atmosphere inside. 

[i]A saloon maybe?[/i]

The heavy drinking and loudmouths seemed to indicate so but then he caught a glimpse of the women and the way they behaved told him otherwise. Brothel. He took seat on a corner and waved for a drink. A busty woman with a long dress and heavy makeup coquettishly suggested a room upstairs. Colt nodded and took to his drink. The woman headed upstairs to fetch one of the girls. It had been a while since he had lain with a woman but his humanness often took its carnal drive. 

Aside from a couple coinless, overly enthusiastic gentlemen, there didn’t seem like this was the place that took kindly to violence. “That’s a shame…” Colt whispered to himself as he took a big gulp, a cool drop of drink drizzling from his hard lips down toward his neck where a dark, bloodied bandana hid various prominent scars. He knew his target was here somewhere. Surely after wrecking the place, he’d have to flee before [i]they[/i] found him. He’d stay the night. Of course, things rarely turn out as planned…