Chapter 1: The Drifter Arrives

The sun hung like a rusted coin over Redwater Ridge, bleeding orange across the cracked earth. Heat shimmered off the desert floor in waves thick enough to drown in.
Ryo Kazehara walked.
His boots kicked up crimson dust with each step, the color that gave this godforsaken town its name. A tattered poncho draped over his shoulders, hiding the twin revolvers holstered at his hips. His black hair fell over his eyes—eyes that had seen too much for nineteen years.
Ahead, the town materialized like a fever dream. Wooden buildings leaned against each other like drunks, their paint peeling under the merciless sun. But mixed among the old frontier structures were sleek metal towers, neon signs flickering in daylight, and the hum of generators powering who-knew-what behind reinforced walls.
Old West meets new hell, Ryo thought.
He'd heard the stories. Redwater Ridge: where bounty hunters outnumbered lawmen, where you could buy a cybernetic arm cheaper than a decent meal, where the Brass Vultures ran data like other gangs ran drugs.
And somewhere in this cesspool was the man who murdered his parents.
Ryo's hand drifted to the photograph in his pocket—creased, faded, stained with blood that wasn't his. His mother's smile. His father's steady gaze. Both dead five years now, their bodies left in a burning lab while their killer escaped with the Crimson Core.
The weapon that could make any gunslinger unstoppable.
The weapon Ryo would destroy.
---
The main street opened before him like a rotting wound. Cowboys with chrome-plated arms leaned against posts. A woman with circuit tattoos glowing beneath her skin counted chips outside a saloon. Somewhere, bass-heavy music thumped from speakers mounted on a water tower.
Ryo walked through it all like a ghost.
Then he heard the scream.
His head snapped toward the sound. A woman—young, maybe his age—stumbled out of an alley, clutching a satchel to her chest. Behind her, three men emerged. Not quite human anymore. Their eyes glowed red, mechanical implants visible beneath torn skin. Brass Vultures, judging by the insignia burned into their necks.
"Should've paid your protection fee, sweetheart," the lead thug growled, his voice distorted by a vocal modulator. "Boss doesn't like thieves."
"I'm not a thief!" she gasped. "That data was mine—I created it!"
"Don't care." He raised his arm. It split open, revealing a plasma barrel where his hand should've been. "Say goodnight."
Ryo's body moved before his mind caught up.
He crossed the twenty feet between them in three heartbeats, his hand already on his revolver. The shot rang out—clean, precise, impossibly fast. The plasma barrel exploded in a shower of sparks, severed cleanly from the thug's arm.
The man howled, stumbling back.
His two companions spun toward Ryo, weapons rising.
"Bad idea," Ryo said quietly.
He drew his second revolver and fired twice. Left gun, right gun. Two shots. Two perfect hits. The weapons flew from their hands before they could even pull the triggers.
The thugs stared at him, then at their useless hands, then back at him.
"Walk away," Ryo said. "While you still can."
The lead thug clutched his mangled arm, rage and fear warring on his face. "You just made a big mistake, kid. Brass Vultures don't forget."
"Neither do I."
Something in Ryo's voice—something cold and final—made the decision for them. The three men turned and ran, disappearing into the maze of alleys.
Ryo holstered his revolvers and turned to the woman. She was still on the ground, clutching her satchel, staring at him with wide eyes.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded slowly, then found her voice. "That was... how did you shoot that fast?"
"Practice." He extended a hand. "Can you stand?"
She took it, letting him pull her up. Up close, he could see she was younger than he thought—maybe seventeen. Dark skin, bright eyes, hair in tight braids. The fear was already fading, replaced by something sharper.
"Thank you," she said. "Those assholes have been after me for weeks."
"What's in the bag?"
Her grip on the satchel tightened. "Nothing that concerns you."
Ryo shrugged. "Fair enough. Stay out of trouble."
He turned to leave.
"Wait!" She grabbed his arm. "You're new here, aren't you? To Redwater Ridge?"
"Just passing through."
"Then let me give you some advice, gunslinger." Her eyes hardened. "This town eats people like you for breakfast. Fast draw or not, you don't survive here without allies."
"I work alone."
"Yeah?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Then you'll die alone too. This isn't the old frontier anymore. The outlaws have tech now. The sheriffs are corrupt. And the Brass Vultures..." She glanced toward the alley where the thugs had fled. "They'll come back with friends. Lots of friends."
Ryo studied her for a moment. "You offering to be my ally?"
"Hell no. I'm telling you to leave before you get killed." She adjusted her satchel. "But... if you're looking for someone, I might know people who know things. For the right price."
"I'm looking for a man," Ryo said quietly. "Goes by the name Zero Vance. Wears a mask. Stole something five years ago."
The woman's face went pale.
"Oh shit," she whispered. "You're *that* crazy."
"You know him?"
"Everyone knows Zero." Her voice dropped to a hush. "He's not just some outlaw, stranger. He's a ghost. A legend. People say he's got the Crimson Core—that he's more weapon than man now." She shook her head. "If you're hunting him, you're already dead."
"Then I've got nothing to lose." Ryo tipped his head in farewell. "Thanks for the warning."
He started walking again.
"Hey!" she called after him. "At least tell me your name! So I know whose funeral to attend!"
Ryo glanced back over his shoulder.
"Ryo Kazehara."
"Ryo Kazehara," she repeated, testing the name. "Well, Ryo Kazehara, I'm Maya. When you inevitably need help not dying, come find me at the Rusty Circuit—the cantina on the east side. First drink's free." She grinned. "The bullets you'll have to pay for."
Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd with practiced ease.
Ryo stood alone in the street, the sun beating down on his shoulders.
Zero Vance. The name that haunted his dreams. The man who destroyed his family.
Somewhere in this town of rust and ruin, that man was waiting.
And Ryo would find him.
No matter what it cost.
---
He found a boarding house as the sun began to set, painting Redwater Ridge in shades of blood and shadow. The room was small—a bed, a chair, a window overlooking the main street. He could hear music and shouting from the saloons below.
Ryo sat by the window, cleaning his revolvers with methodical precision. The ritual calmed him, gave his hands something to do while his mind worked.
Five years of searching. Five years of dead ends and cold trails. But something had finally led him here, to this broken town at the edge of civilization.
He pulled out the photograph again, studying his parents' faces in the dying light.
"I'm close now," he murmured. "I promise."
A knock at the door made his hand drift to his revolver.
"Who is it?"
"Management," came a gruff voice. "Got a message for ya."
Ryo opened the door cautiously. The innkeeper stood there—an older man with a mechanical eye and scars that told stories. He held out a folded piece of paper.
"Someone left this at the desk. Said to give it to the new gunslinger in town."
Ryo took the paper. "Who?"
"Didn't see their face. But..." The innkeeper leaned in, his voice dropping. "Word of advice, son. Whatever you're here for, consider leaving. Tonight. Redwater Ridge has a way of swallowing people whole."
"So I've heard."
"Then you've heard right." The old man turned to leave, then paused. "Sheriff Blackthorn's already asking about you. That's never a good sign."
When he was gone, Ryo unfolded the paper.
Written in sharp, precise handwriting:
*Looking for Zero? So are a lot of people. Most of them are dead now. If you want to live long enough to find him, meet me at the Hanging Bridge tomorrow at noon. Come alone. Come armed.*
*- S.Q.*
Ryo read it twice, then held it over the candle flame until it caught fire. He watched it burn, the ashes drifting down like black snow.
Tomorrow then.
Outside his window, Redwater Ridge came alive with neon and noise. Somewhere in that chaos, his parents' killer walked free.
But not for long.
Ryo holstered his revolvers, lay back on the bed, and closed his eyes.
In his dreams, he heard his mother's scream. His father's final words: *Run, Ryo. Run and don't look back.*
But Ryo had never been good at running.
Only shooting.
---
**END OF CHAPTER 1**