"Seems like a good idea," said Augustine, "Locals haven't proved too friendly."

The road was quiet, the only noise the steady, distant hum of heavy machinery from the mine. Above, stars began to poke through the bluish haze of dusk.

He looked around, fishing a smoke out of his shirt pocket with his free hand. With his long dark coat and upturned collar, his face slightly crooked- a broke jaw that'd healed badly years ago- and speckled with the dead miner's blood, he looked mildly sinister in the gathering darkness. A revenant from the old stories, looking to settle business unfinished in life.

"Name's, uh, Augustine, Lex Augustine," he said, lowering the gun but not holstering it, "What's got you mixed up in this, Kyra Ren?"

He turned, not waiting for the answer and rummaged through the truck's storage bin, pulling out the hat and gun the locals had confiscated. He checked the magazine on his pistol and shrugged, looking satisfied.

"You sure had these miners, or whoever they are, plenty spooked," he said with a faint smile, "Enough so they didn't notice me pull a blade. Didn't have much time for me at all, in fact- despite me shootin' down the sheriff, the barman, and plenty others. Makes me wonder."