Location: Armadillo || Mentions: NONE
"I'm going to ask you one last time, mister, and then I'll stop being so nice. Where did they go?" Two men stood outside under the open, now dimming sky of New Austin as the darkness of night was arriving in fast stride. One of the men stood tall and proud, though to the untrained appearing less than threatening to the normal cowboy out here on the arid plains. In his hand he brandished good old revolver, held firmly in its grip and swaying calmly by his side. So far, the talking man had not pointed it at the other one. The other stood not as tall or proud as the first, all beaten up and barely standing as he had just gotten up from his feet. The man was not a pretty sight to behold, neither his bruised eye and limping leg a sign of anything good having happened to the man.
"You can ask as many times as you'd like, pal, but I ain't talkin'. Not to a goodie two-shoes who'll get me hanged, you bastard." The broken man spat back at his interrogator, spitting a clot of blood at the blonde haired man. He was cleanly shaven and looked young, though the bags under his eyes spoke years of a difficult life. The blonde man sighed audibly, his eyes drifting down to his boots. Clearly he had not gotten the answer he'd wanted. The answer he needed. "If that's so…" he spoke up to his prisoner, head rising up as well as the revolver, pointed straight at the beaten sorry sod of a man. "Then I suggest you start running. I have no need for a silent man, and your kind's not welcome in this world either. I'll give you ten…"
The beaten man looked at first in angered confusion at the blonde man, until the cogs behind his eyes began to turn. Ten. Ten seconds. "Nine, eight, seven…" The count continued. He began to limp away as fast as he could, though it was too little, too late. "Three, two, one…" A shot rang out through the emptiness, wildlife scattering off in the distance, and then a quiet thump not too far away. The man was dead, shot through his back. The alive man stepped slowly over to his body, turning him around with his foot and looking at the dead man in his now empty eyes. "Our last lead, cold…God damnit…what now?"
Erik calmly rode into the only town he knew of in New Austin, his trusted stead Knegg carrying his human master on his back. Armadillo. It looked like a quaint little town, not too different from the one they had back home. Peaceful, open for newcomers. Hopefully. Erik longed for a drink, something to fill his empty stomach and cheer him up after today's failure of getting information; Where the "Gang" had gone off to. The only thing was that they had gone in the direction of Armadillo, but he doubted that they'd stayed there for too long, and decided to investigate around it. Came across a bandit who tempted him with hints, but never giving him a straight answer out of the bastard. And now he was dead, and Erik without clues.
"Perhaps tomorrow will come, and God will give an answer finally…don't you think, Knegg?" Erik asked his horse, who acted only as a horse should and went where Erik told him to. Without a reply from his trusted friend of a stead, Erik steared Knegg towards what must have been the local saloon, tied him to the post and made the now tiring steps up the stairs and through the swining doors. It looked just like any saloon, filled with exactly what Erik thought he'd meet of both people and mood. Erik walked slowly over to the counter and took a seat. "One whiskey, please." With the order put in, Erik reached into the satchel on his side and pulled out a worn piece of paper. On it was the unmistakable design of a wanted-poster, in the middle a few faces stacked beside each other of real mean-looking people.
These were the people who would pay dearly in blood. Erik would ensure that.