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[b]”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - The Magnificent Seven: Part Two[/b]

[center][i]“You think I'm brave because I carry a gun? Well, your fathers are much braver, because they carry responsibility — for you, your brothers, your sisters, and your mothers. And this responsibility is like a-a big rock that weighs a ton. It bends and it twists them until finally it buries them under the ground.”[/i][/center]
[center][indent]-The Magnificent Seven[/indent][/center]
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[indent][b]New York City, New York[/b][/indent]
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The road to New York was different than before. But then, the difference a hurtling fire bike and a dinky old panel van was nothing to sneeze at, neither. The rush of countryside exploding into the wealth and concrete of the city became slow, rolling hillsides that gave way to nothing but wide plains of grass. Wasn’t nothing of particular interest, but it was better than staring at the five other men assembled with him.

Every rumble of the van along the road set each of them to hushed groans, hands coming to nurse the fresh wounds. It was hard to look at ‘em like this, cut up and bruised but still bein’ shipped out to fight. The body heat of six fellers jammed into the same metal tube wasn’t helping much either. Just more uncomfortable memories bubbling to the surface.

Instead Vigilante held his hat in his hands, tracing its contours with his finger. Gazing out into the great green yonder. Billy Gunn had told him once, when he was knee high to a grasshopper, that they had the whole of this country mapped or carto-graphed in some way or another. He could hardly imagine it, then. The desert seemed to stretch off and beyond into infinity from the roof of his house, to the tune of guitar strings from the house below. But no, he’d pored over the map of the route like it was one of them Dollars trilogy movies. Frank had said somethin’ about not worrying about an ambush or nothin’, but the Soldiers were none too careful. Just their way, n’ that.

Speaking of, it was a shame to see Frank go. Man had his mission, n’ Vigilante wasn’t the sort to stop him from it. He’d been more than kind to help the Soldiers this far, anyhow. Now it was just a matter of finishing the fight.

The first signs of the city were starting to crop up, now. Gray and brown industry clawing their way from the ground and marking the sky with lines of smog.

“Changed country.” The Star Spangled kid remarked beside him. His mask was off, and his mop of curly black hair hung loose around his face. He was toying with a billy club they’d “appropriated” from SHIELD before they loaded into the van and drove to meet their destiny.

[color=#f92a0e]“Yessir. I suppose it is.”[/color] The developed world before them began to reach for the clouds. Vig didn’t much fancy himself the sort to be able to comment, but Warpath seemed well and truly removed from everywhere else. Here was a place that was a tangle of roads and alleyways, full of folk careful to mark each and every little divot they saw fit to pass. He supposed it that the sense of adventure had gone. People were content to build towers so high they could see the world entire. They seemed to forget that just the [i]view[/i] wasn’t much worth it.

Well, Vig wasn’t much for sentiment anyway. It was one of them towers they’d come to attack, and it was more than rightly time to start getting ready. The day’s first light was already starting to refract off the glass of the monoliths they passed. Just about go time.

Vig hauled himself to his feet, grabbing at a piece of cargo netting that lined the inside of the van.

[color=#f92a0e]”Well pardners… This is it. We all got our part to play, let's keep it in tune.”[/color]