“Gross.” Kitty heaved the man’s body off of herself and rolled out from under him. She glanced at her health and noticed the orb had gotten smaller. The bleed icon had to be dealt with. Kitty sat down with a scowl and thought for a few seconds before raising an eyebrow and shrugging. She opened the chamber on her revolver and withdrew a shell, biting the soft lead tip off. Clutching the shell carefully, she spit the bullet out and lifted her shirt, sprinkling the gunpowder into her wound. He had left a small but deep cut in her side, and dark blood welled up from within, small surges matching the beat of her heart. After damping the powder down with a finger, she stood and stepped around the bar looking for matches and strong drink.

  The small squarish bottle she chose sported a label that promised the finest spiced rum in the state, so she tore out the cork and gulped at it, noticing with pleasure that a little green icon appeared beneath her health orb, a medical cross inside an ephemeral shield. The rum flavor lived up to its claim too, which Kitty thought was a nice bonus. With that taken care of, she swept up a box of matches from a clean ashtray on the bar and popped one into life with a thumbnail, pressing it to her wound and grimacing away from the flare of fire and pain. She couldn’t help but scream as the powder flared to life and seared at her virtual flesh. The pain settings in this game were not to be trifled with.

  A small package arrived in her satchel, its weight and bulk merely existing where it had not a moment before. Checking her health to make sure the bleed icon had vanished, she reached into the satchel to see what her reward would be. A small book was nestled in place beside a package wrapped in white cloth. She opened the book first, discovering a sparsely detailed journal with a myriad of empty sections. Tucked away in a small pouch sewn into the journal's front cover was a folded pamphlet that detailed her new firearm.

  Remington Model 1875

  Often referred to as the “improved army” or “frontier army”, this simple six shooter was a staple in the west. A weapon found on many hips; this version of the classic Wild West revolver is chambered for .45 Colt.

  There was more, detailing the history and production of the revolver, as well as notable figures that were rumored to have used it, but Kitty skimmed over it without absorbing much. “Who do they think I am, Jimmy? .45 Colt, that’s all I need to know.” She stuffed the pamphlet back in its place, moving on to the journal portion labeled ‘Story.’

  “July 23rd, 1896. Taken prisoner by a pair of numbskulls for murder, am to be taken by train to be hanged.” The simple entry was followed immediately by another. “July 24th, 1896. Got free and killed them two bastards, but one of em stuck me with his knife. Got the wound sealed up but am in bad shape.”

  “Yep. Ignoring that.” Kitty flipped through the journal’s sections until she found a fold out map attached to the back cover, most of it greyed out. Only a thin, spreading line was exposed near the bottom, an indication of her train route weaving through an open desert. Her curiosity about the journal satisfied, Kitty turned to the package. As she unwrapped the cloth, she became aware of an unpleasant smell emanating from within. A wad of moist herbs was lumped in the center, and it became plain that the package was itself a length of clean bandage. Atop the herbs was a note and tiny leather pouch, kept separate from the mess with a scrap of oilcloth. She set the compress down and unfolded the note.

  Cowboy Medicine

  Perk quest

  The west being a dangerous place, the knowledge and application of medicine quickly became a valuable commodity. With trained doctors a rare luxury on the frontier, many turned to less conventional methods of care for their injuries. Deliver the pouch of herbs to any licensed doctor to complete this quest for a permanent perk.

  “Oooh . . . that sounds useful.” Kitty pried open the pouch to see a handful of nondescript dried herbs and shrugged before bundling it into her satchel and tucking the note into the front of her journal. The poultice she applied immediately, pressing the bundle of wet herbs to her wound and tying it tight around her back. The pain relief was prompt and very welcome; a cool soothing feeling spreading out from the wound. She noticed a new green icon appear beneath the drink buff; a glowing green leaf attached to an ephemeral shield. Her health orb began to pulse again, this time filling more with each slow blink of light.

  “Now I just have to survive long enough to turn it in,” Kitty muttered to herself.

  Looking around a moment provided some direction. She hurriedly stripped one of the men, trying on his obviously too big for her outfit. She was delighted to discover that the clothing shrunk to fit her perfectly as she slid into the shirt, so most of the rest of it went on too. As she was shouldering into his coat, she noticed the bloodstain soaked into the collar, but shrugged it on anyway. Moving to start working on the other man, she noticed a new icon on her heads up display.

  A different bleed icon had appeared, this one had wavering lines rising from it, leading Kitty to believe she now smelled of blood. With a shrug she stripped the other man, folding his shirt down as small as it would go and stuffing it into her satchel. A new portion unfolded from the inner side of the satchel; a small leather tab embroidered with the word “clothing” hanging from it. When she pushed the shirt into it, the satchel absorbed it, leaving plenty of room for more. Kitty grinned and shoved every article of clothing into the satchel she could find, even beginning to strip the men’s pants. She stopped quickly when she discovered the mess they had become upon the men’s deaths though, backing away hurriedly as the stink hit her.

  “Yuck. This game is nasty.” She pivoted in place, looking away from the gore spatters and soiled corpses at her feet. “There’s a fine line between realism and sadism guys!” Her shout went unanswered.

  Kitty turned with a shrug and went back behind the bar to continue looting. She snatched all the bottles of alcohol she could find and bundled them into her satchel, smiling appreciatively when another new fold opened in it labeled ‘Consumables.’ There was a little bit of money in the bar’s register as well, and that went into a fold labeled ‘Finances’ which jingled lightly as she added the coins to it. Once it was in place a small icon appeared above her food and water indicators, stating that she now had 65 cents to her name.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Swiping anything that looked even remotely useful, she crammed it into her satchel and watched as the new fold “Crafting” opened to accept most of it. As she added a glass ashtray, it went into a fold that called itself “Junk”, so she didn’t bother taking any more of those. All in all, she grabbed ten bottles of varied alcohol, five tins of matches, and a stack of clean rags she found under the cabinet. As she was taking a quick inventory of the items in her journal, the door behind her slid open.

  “What in the hell??” a man’s voice said. Kitty spun to see another man wearing a tin star on his jacket staring at her. “She killed em! Get the rest!” He hauled a revolver from his holster.

  Kitty thumbed the hammer on her own gun and fired, causing him to duck into the space between the cars for cover. She fired again as he moved, and this time the bullet struck a civilian in the passenger car behind him. The hapless man’s head sprayed across the passengers behind him, and for a moment everything was silent. A well-dressed young woman sitting beside the dead man screamed, impossibly high pitched as she clutched at the gory mess that used to be her husband’s head.

  “Ronald! No!” Her wail was piteous as her voice broke. She struggled with shaking hands to put a small piece of his skull back in place, her eyes wild and distant as gore dripped from her face. The other passengers began screaming and moving towards the back in a panic as several of the heartier looking men amongst them drew revolvers of their own and moved to exact justice on Kitty.

  Her eyes wide, Kitty ducked behind the bar and thumbed back the hammer on her revolver for her last shot, trembling as she did. “Okay, realism has been clearly defined now.” She rose up and fired the revolver, specifically aiming for the glass on the door this time. It shattered, and the men took cover to avoid any more incoming fire, shouting oaths and making strategy between themselves.

  Kitty rummaged in her satchel and drew out a bottle of whiskey, a clean rag, and a box of matches. She popped off the cork with her teeth and spit it out, shoved the rag into the bottle and tipped it to wet the cloth. That done, she struck a match and lit the bottle, standing up to fling it at the doorway. The make-shift Molotov burst against the doorframe and splashed flaming liquid all across the entrance. She felt another package deliver itself in her satchel but couldn’t deal with it just then.

  Her attackers’ approach mitigated; Kitty moved to the other end of the bar to make her escape but stopped to look back. Men with long guns were advancing through the passenger cabin now, and the screaming woman clutched at them with blood slick hands, begging for their help and wailing in agony. One of them helped her to her feet and began trying to move her away from the action, but she clutched at her dead husband and erupted in fresh wails. Kitty shuddered and ran, heaving open the opposite door and fleeing into the cargo car beyond it.

  Daylight and wind ripped at her stolen clothing as she traversed the small space between cars, and she glanced to the side to see a desert landscape. Swaths of brownish scrub dotted a baked plain, with the occasional green cacti breaking up the monotony. Glancing to the other side, Kitty reeled from vertigo as she looked off a sheer cliff edge that sank away into nothing. The edge of the map was rather terrifying to look at, an unending void that stretched down into a bottomless chasm. Kitty shook her head clear, stepped into the cargo car and took a moment to swap out her empty revolver with the one she had picked up from her second kill. A glance at its chambers revealed it was empty too, and she grunted in frustration while gripping his knife instead.

  A man with a heavy looking shotgun stepped into the car from the other side and noticed her. “Hey! What’re you doin’ in here!?”

  Covered in blood and gripping a knife as she was, Kitty looked herself up and down a bit before offering him a shrug. “Nothing good. Mind if I just leave?” she asked.

  Not waiting for an answer, Kitty ducked back between the cars and hugged the side of the clattering vehicle for support as it shuddered around a raised red rock abutment. She glanced back and forth, seeing an open patch of soft looking sand approaching. With a shake of her head, Kitty made her decision and jumped, landing in a roll as dry sand was kicked up all around her. Bullets began to whine through the air and strike the ground in her proximity, so she rolled and scrambled back to the slight cover the raised ground near the tracks offered.

  The train continued its course, trailing black smoke and rattling noisily on the tracks as bullets snapped through the air around her, and Kitty huddled on the hot sand. Within a few seconds the firing stopped, as the train had taken those operating the long guns beyond their optimal range. Kitty jumped to her feet and started running, cutting across the countryside and moving in a straight line away from the tracks. Without much in the way of a heading, she focused on getting away from the danger and self-inflicted horror behind her.

  Once she could no longer hear the train, Kitty stopped and breathed out her nerves, hands on her knees as the scene replayed itself in her head. That poor woman, covered in her husband’s blood and brains, desperately trying to get someone to help her. Kitty shook her head, then retched, before pushing the thoughts out of her head.

  “Never thought I’d miss the silver dust so much,” she muttered.

  With that, she decided it was time to take stock. Reloading the revolvers was a bit cumbersome, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The sheer amount of time it took her made Kitty decide that reloading in a fight would probably just get her killed though, and that thought was somewhat discouraging. She needed a good scattergun, those she could work with.

  Her health was still slowly going up, but the icon for her healing buff had started to pulse, which gave Kitty pause for concern. The overall health bar had only gone up about a quarter, and she had a couple of new icons that seemed a bit concerning in her HuD. A series of wavering lines above an icon of the sun was outlined in red directly below her thirst bar, and as she watched it, the damned thing ticked down. More concerning was her own face in a bounty poster with a surprisingly healthy amount at the bottom; 450 dollars. This icon was also outlined in red and seemed to have welded itself to the center of her HUD, or Heads Up Display, so that it was partially visible no matter what she was interested in, only fading when she returned her interest to her surroundings.

  Apparently raising hell had some rather severe consequences in this game. Not that she had the stomach for it after that shitstorm on the train. Kitty glanced at the journal, but the storyline was rather discouraging. It detailed her escape from the train and seemed to revel in the blood she had shed, making her sound like a deranged lunatic. She skipped past it to a new section with the label “Crafting” prominently displayed on a fresh tab.

  The single page attached to it had a detailed drawing of the Molotov she had hastily put together and labeled it a “Fire Bottle.” A simple recipe and instructions list were below the picture, detailing how to efficiently make one of these crude but effective weapons. Reading that caused her to remember the package dropping into her satchel on the train and she fished it out. A small spool of stiff but malleable wire was wrapped in a sheet of paper with writing on it.

  American Ingenuity

  Perk Quest

  With the majority of the Wild West being wilderness, the opportunity for store bought goods was limited at best. Creating your own items will be crucial for continued success outside of towns and cities. Work with your recipes to discover an advanced version of one or more of them, and then craft five advanced items for a permanent perk.

  0/1 advanced recipe learned.

  0/5 advanced items crafted.

  Kitty thought about that, her facial features going through a few quick motions as she mentally tallied her new task and the options she had for it. The spool of wire was identified by an attached loot page as Farm Wire. She shrugged and stuffed it all back into her satchel for later. Right then, Kitty needed to get the hell out of the sun, as her thirst bar was dropping lower and lower. She pulled out her journal again and unfolded the map, trying to decide on a course.