Dark Days of Crackshot

The day Dan gave us our orders, I decided to take a trip. The station where it would all go down was just a few towns over. Preferring to fly myself than take the train or carriage roads, I packed a saddle bag to overnight along the way.

The long flight gave me time to think, and my reminiscing took me back to how Scattershot and I got mixed up with this crew. Pinto hadn't had enough for me and I had left town looking for more. I earned enough doing some trick shooting to afford a nice hotel and still feeling cocky, I joined a card game and got in a little deep, 4,000 bits deep. When I couldn't pay up, I had to make a break for it. What I didn't know was that I had been playing against Wildcard the head of the Crimson Saddles, one of the bigger cartels in the area.

His pegasi finally cornered me over a little spit of nowhere, and I was holding them off from a high cloud, but running short on ammo. Dirty Dan and the Dirtfoots happened to be camped below. I guess he admired my skill and sent his pegasi to save my ass, I had to stay for protection, and now I've been running with them for over a year.

Scattershot on the other hand joined up a little more willingly. He started a bar fight with a couple Dirtfoots in our headquarters. They beat the ever loving shit out of him and brought him to Dan for judgement. I happened to be there and I asked Dan to go easy on him. Dan offered to let him join, and he did. I've regretted it ever since.

The monotonous beating of my wings and my own thoughts had distracted me from my surroundings. I looked around, getting my bearings when I noticed a commotion below. On the wagon trail I was following, was of all things, a wagon. A wagon that happened to be being raided, and not by Dirtfoots. This was still our territory, and I had a duty to defend it.

I shouldered my rifle and hovered, three targets. Easy enough. The skulls of the first two exploded as the 300 grain bullet penetrated and immediately expanded. I caught the third in the throat as he jerked his head back in terror. I dropped from the sky, rifle on my back and stood over him. He was writhing and spraying blood everywhere, eyes rolling back in his head out of pain and fear. I waited a moment to gauge the pattern to his convulsions, then swooped in and sank my knife into the base of his skull, severing the spinal cord. He was still and the light faded from his eyes, mouth agape.

I turned to see whom I had rescued, a family of four. A mare stooped over the still body of a stallion, waling as an old nag attempted to console a small foal, still in diapers. "I'm sorry for your loss," I said, expressionless as I wiped the blade of my knife on the mane of my victim, "Go to the Fetlock inn in Mesa and ask for Dirty Dan. Tell him what happened here and tell him Long shot sent you, he'll set you up." I took to the skies once more, not waiting for a response. It was no longer my problem.

It was getting late and I needed to make camp. I selected a high plateau and built a small fire to make the coffee. I sat and brooded a moment over the job to come, our first hit order, the fact Dan took it, that I had to make the kill. I had killed before, but never as a plan with a name and history. And this bothered me. I banked the fire and wrapped myself in my bedroll, drifting off to sleep.

I arrived in the town of Coltsdale mid morning the next day. I hovered over it an studied its layout. A large main street ran down the center. The city hall housed a large clock tower, a potential perch to take the shot from as there were few clouds available his time of year. The railroad and train station were a few streets over. The train depot consisted of three sets of rails, a low warehouse, a water tower and a large platform to receive passengers. From this angle the water tower seemed to be the best spot. But with little to provide cover, there would always be the possibility of attracting attention, especially after the shot had been made.

I decided to land and get a drink and mull the possibilities over dinner. Settling down before the saloon, my attention was drawn by a raucous from within. A dark red earth pony in a sweat stained duster and battered hat flew through the double swinging doors an landed on his face with a solid thud. An equally battered saddle bag followed close behind. He got unsteadily to his hooves, "Hey! Yoush be careful withsh that!" He slurred covering his head and wincing. I was confused until I noticed a long red stick poking from the bag. My eyes widened in surprise and I hustled inside, leaving the drunken pony to gather his belongings and stagger away.

Sitting at the bar, I began to take stock of the denizens of the town. Not much more than some sodbuster earth ponies, the regular contingent of weather pegasi, and a few unicorn shopkeepers. I watched and listened as I nursed the warm beer that had been served me with my oat gruel, this was new t a high class establishment. The town was generally sleepy, peaceful and unused to excitement. Reminded me of home. I dropped a bit on the counter and walked out to roam the town.

The sheriff's office wasn't much to look at. The earth pony sheriff was asleep in the rocker on the boardwalk. A beanpole of a unicorn with bottle bottom glasses sat at a desk in the window doing some clerical work. Not much to be concerned about.

I wandered further down the street looking up at the clock tower trying to find a sheltered spot invisible to the street below. It didn't afford much cover. I moved on towards the train depot. The townsfolk didn't afford me a second look, though I watched them intently.

As I reached the depot, I walked a ways down the track and stood beneath the water tower. I had a clear view of the platform, even from ground level. The space was wide open with three rows of tracks to the left and the wide street to the right. With the exception of the ticketing building, there wasn't another building for at least fifty yards in any direction. This would be it, this is where I'd make my shot.