Witnesses

Chapter 7

A few months later...

"So, what did you learn today?" Miles chuckled as they walked out of the burning wreckage of the train behind them.

"That you can't drive for shit." Hawthorne muttered. "But I guess mission complete anyways."

"Hold up, if he hadn't decided to—never mind." The gunslinger sighed. "I need a drink."

"About time." Hawthorne grumbled. "How long has it been since last time? A few months?"

"Yeah, after you got useful." Miles replied, then frowned. "You're going to need to increase your range sometime soon though."

"Why?" Hawthorne grunted. "I've been doing pretty fine as is."

"I have plans to move up." Miles explained. "I've been stuck in the middle for far too long."

"What do you mean?" Hawthorne raised an eyebrow, and Miles lifted a hand to his forehead.

"You can be annoyingly dense at times, you know." He said. "You know how my ability is manipulating the flow of time?"

At the magician's nod, he continued. "What do you think I've been using it for?"

"Combat?." Hawthorne guessed, and the gunslinger shook his head. "Your age then. You keep on complaining about how long you've been at this, but you can't have been doing it for that long."

"I have." Miles growled, then yanked something off his back. Hawthorne staggered back as the gunslinger aged exponentially, hair whitening as lines and spots began to cover his face. When the process finished, he was looking at an absolutely ancient man.

"W-what the hell?" He stuttered. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Age usually doesn't set in this quick." The old man croaked. "But maybe some...100? 200 years? Since the Old West anyway. It's hard to remember like this."

"What the—so the getup isn't just for kicks?" Hawthorne asked incredulously, and Miles barely managed to shake his head. "Well, I'll be damned. How have you managed to stay where you were for this long?"

"Rank stagnation and hierarchy bullshit." Miles grumbled as he refastened the device, and a blue light enveloped him. "I remember now. It was 112 years, but I was born near the end of the War, so...145?"

"Jesus." Hawthorne muttered. "How are you even alive in that state?"

"I'm not fully aged in spite of...other factors." Miles grunted, then threw off his duster, revealing a four-legged device latched onto his back. "But the real reason I'm still able to keep working is through this. Helps keep me alive."

"What does it do?" Hawthorne replied, but the gunslinger shook his head.

"You know better than anyone that one does not tell all his secrets." He said, and a portal opened up in front of him. "Now, you said you wanted a drink?"

"Yeah," Hawthorne said hesitantly. "But we're not done."

"Oh, you'll find out what it does eventually." Miles replied. "Now let's go."

"Fine." Hawthorne said, and with that, they crossed again, this time into a loud, well-lit street beside a canal. "What is this place?"

"Ketterdam, the Barrel." The gunslinger replied. "Fun little place, if you enjoy getting shanked."

"Or if you want to get rich," Hawthorne chuckled as he saw a trio of drunk men stagger out of a gambling palace. "But I doubt we're here for that. Which place?"