Witnesses

Chapter 1

 The sun beat down on the Mojave Wasteland as a grim figure trudged through its sands. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and duster, and a pair of black revolvers hung at his hips. A stopwatch ticked in his front pocket, and his shoulders were slumped as the sun beat down on his back. An empty canteen hung at his hip, and a sniper rifle was slung on his back. It was clear from his posture that his was one of a man that had not slept several nights, but despite it all, a single angry eye glared out from beneath the shadow of his hat.

Twelve days. Twelve days it had been since he'd begun tracking this scumbag. 12 days it had been since he'd laid waste to that town. Twelve days of persevering through this sun-baked shithole. But no more. He was close, probably closer than he'd ever been to this bastard.

The chase had taken him from one location to another, but now that he'd heard that the man had orders to lay waste to every single goddamned ranger station in the desert, he knew exactly where to go next. Ranger Station Charlie had been the closest location from the legionary camp that the man had stayed at, and now, it entered his view as he crested a hill.

He cursed as he peered through a pair of binoculars. He had been too late. Bodies were littering the area, and the station itself showed signs of damage, the walls cracked from explosions. Blood painted the scene, and it was clear that some men were still alive, wounded and dying on the floor. Still, only one thing mattered to the gunslinger. The legionaries were still here.

They looked ridiculous, in their football gear, but he knew that a few high ranking men were likely still inside, going off of the pair of guards at the door, sporting decanus helmets and better equipped armor. It was clear that this was too serious an undertaking to leave to the new recruits. They probably would have hesitated at the sheer savagery that the rest of the men were showing, mutilating the dead, or torturing the still-living.

The man's breath caught. In the thick of the brutality was him. That son of a bitch. He was wearing a golden helmet, and better refined armor then the rest, cobbled up from the Legion's enemies. Most would think that he held true allegiance to the group, given his rank, but the hunter knew better. This man was far more dangerous then the Legion could ever hope to be.

He slung the rifle from his back, then checked his watch. He should have some time before the other centurions came out. He'd just need to be quick about what went on next. Since it was too late to stop the Legion from taking the station, he'd instead turn to discouraging them from their goal while he killed his target. The bastard had no doubt been placed outside by his fellow centurions to oversee the men, but that didn't change anything. In fact, it only made his job easier.

He lined up the shot, aiming for one of the prime legionaries torturing a man. He knew that the asshole's helmet would protect him from headshots, but the men surrounding him had inferior gear. He squeezed the trigger, and the legionary's head was turned into fine red mist. The men surrounding him scattered, screaming that there was a sniper, but that did not end the shootings, two more men falling before they could reach cover. Others tried to find his position through peeking behind cover, but it was no use, bullets quickly entering their skulls as well. After he'd taken out three or four men this way, a sudden quiet came over the station.

The man grunted. It appeared that this merry band of murderers had finally gotten wise, but it was not over yet. He rose to his feet, then slung the rifle back onto his back. It was time to finish them off, before they could regroup and make his job harder.

He unholstered his revolvers, then slid down the hill, charging forward. One of the legionaries poked his head out into the station's entrance at the sound of boots running across the sand, but the gunslinger instantly raised his revolver and slammed the trigger, plastic shards flying into the air as the bullet tore through the legionary's helmet. He could hear one of his comrades cry out in surprise, but the cry was soon cut short as he dashed into the entrance and shot the other man in the heart.