1st Bullet: The Parcel from Death

Vadars had been awake for hours before Rosner decided to talk to him.

They rode in a straight line toward a cluster of dark shapes on the horizon—buildings packed too tight to the point where it seemed the citizens and travellers would suffocate, walls patched instead of built. The town looked like it had lost a few arguments and learned nothing from them.

Vadars squinted. “That place looks angry.”

“It’s poor,” Rosner said.

“That’s worse.”

Rosner didn’t argue.

The wrapped cargo shifted behind them. Vadars didn’t look at it. Rosner told him not to, which usually meant it was either expensive or alive.

“So what’s the job?” Vadars asked.

“Delivery.”

“To whom?”

“A council.”

Vadars frowned. “Councils complain.”

“This one pays.”

Vadars accepted that logic immediately.

Rosner continued, “The town’s called Brinehook. Mining settlement. Half abandoned. The other half wants to be.”

“Sounds friendly.”

“They don’t like Killrights.”

Vadars perked up. “Then why send us?”

“Because we follow The End's orders and get paid for doing it."

The rookie didn't bother questioning The End. Also known as Death. Ever since the concept of space, time, beginning, end, alpha, omega and all that jazz, The End had been, well, The End of it all. As Killrights, their job was to exterminate threats but that wasn't his job. What was the point of being called a Killright if they didn't kill anything? They were just delivery boys with cool titles. Frauds even. The thought made Vadars sick like drinking spoiled milk.

As they entered the town, people either gave their glances at the midnight black horse and the middle-aged looking man on the stead, long hair tied into a ponytail whilst the hoodlum boy with a cross-stich on his cheek, at the back kept the luggage balance and stable. The ones who knew who they were just off the uniform minded their own and kept to their business. 

The town itself used to be a popular trade spot. As Rosner told him before, the mine's discovery led to the booming populous of the land. Traders and businessmen hounded at the materials and equity they could gain but after eating more with no appetite, the materials soon were all taken. Any further in the mines would lead to a collapse and destroy about half of the town, leaving it in more ruins than it already was.

The parcel they held was just as mysterious as Vadars' Captain. He was just told that his squad was selected to do the task. Not that he was excited but staying in the barracks at HQ another day would make him lose his head.

"So, what's the package?" Vadars asked.

"That's confidential," Rosner replied. They arrived at an inn and met an ostler who guided their stead in a decent resting spot. The stable was practically empty due to the rise of automobiles so their stead, Tunker, would enjoy the solitude. 

Rosner and Vadars entered the small yet roomy saloon floor of the inn. Drinks were passed by a single girl who looked around Vadars' age. She was quick with her feet, food and beer stains on her dirty apron and a hair tie keeping that huge, light red mane away from her freckled face. 

"Tilly! Bring another round," shouted a cowboy from a booth. With the swiftness of a hummingbird, Tilly brought ten mugs of beer that looked as if she pulled it out of the air. The cowboys stared in awe and awkwardly applauded her, not knowing what to do after seeing such an incredible act.

Tilly, the waitress, wiped a drop of sweat from her brow before seeing the young man in the black cloak. She gave a little wink that made Vadars' eyes widen before being dragged off by his Captain.

"Enough eyeing the broads," he simply said before getting to the owner. He was a short, pudgy man with a moustache that hadn't seen water in years. His eyes were small but his ears were ginormous. He seemed stupid but smart in ways that would swindle even a swindler. 

"Sir Killright," he muttered. "What can I get ya?"

"A room," Rosner requested. 

"All we got is singles left. You can make the boy sleep in the stable if you want. Looks seem to fit," he said before reaching a key. Vadars' eye twitched and before he could start to tear the man up, Rosner pinched and pulled his ear. The owner gave a key to Rosner and they both left. Vadars muttered and curseed and kicked the stair rail before heading to the room.

Greeted by the small single crappy bed and creaking floorboards, the Captain kicked off his cloak and boots and rested on the bed. It was lame and old, sure, but it was better than the ground and his youth days.

"Can we at least switch turns this time, Cap?" Vadars asked.

"You know the answer better than your own name," Rosner yawned. "Go entertain yourself or something while I sleep. Don't do anything that'll make me blow your head off."

Snorting, Vadars dropped the leather-wrapped parcel and slung his oversized bag over his shoulder before leaving the room. The whole place was a joke. Nobody respected Vadars at all. Even with this Killrights rookie pin, people walked on by. But what could he expect? That's been his whole life, being treated as a doormat. Even back then in the village.

The village where all his pain burned.

He didn't even realize where he had gone. He was in the stable. And there he saw the waitress, Tilly.

Trying to be as discreet as possible, Vadars turned heel but Tunker neighed. Tilly snapped her head around and chuckled.

"I never thought I'd see a Killright in these parts," Tilly spoke, her voice drowning in a thick country accent. "Is it true you guys don't even sleep and you just rest underground in the Badlands?"

"Huh?" Vadars asked. "No we don't. Well, I know a guy but that's just him."

Tilly chuckled. "Could that guy possibly be yourself? You look like you just came out of a wrestling match with a Barmybear."

Brutal. Could he live life without someone commenting on his rugged appearance? Possibly not but maybe this is what he was like to other people.

"Let's say I did fight a Barmybear," Vadars prodded. "You'd think I win?"

"I'd say four times out of ten. Six on a good day."

"I like me a truth-speaker." Vadars let out a smirk that shifted the cross-stitch on his cheek and Tilly smirked back. He walked on over to Tunker and stroked the horse's mane.

"The name's Tilly," she said, standing next to him.

"Keinricht. Vadars Keinricht."

"Wow, you'se a full name typa' guy?"

"Everybody's gotta know a Killright's name. There's the honour in it."

Tilly gave a mischievous grin. "You're an odd fella, Mr. Killright."

"I could say the same about you, Ms. Waitress."