Sundown Sinners

Chapter Four: Deadman's Dawn

I was going to die. I knew this, and yet I was still kneeling naked on the ground of my cell, the Sheriff's cum dripping out of my ass and my own sitting in a crusting puddle in front of me. The deputies and Sheriff had closed the door to my cell and locked it with one of their many large, rusty keys. My body felt too weak to move, and it was in this state that I realized I had two new bars in my HUD.

The bars crouched in the far left of my vision, low to the bottom of my line of sight. I tried to decipher their meaning, but my head pounded, forcing me to shut my eyes. My hands cradled my skull as I tried to make sense of what was happening to me. One minute, I had been having the second-most mindblowing sex of my life, and the next, I felt like I was about to keel over. Was I even going to make it to the gallows?

I forced myself to open my eyes and squinted at the two new bars. One was taller than the other, sitting on the left with just a few centimeters of red substance sloshing inside of it. The second was shorter, but had a higher level of green substance. Judging purely off of the colors, I assumed the taller bar was my health indicator, and the squatter of the two was my stamina. If I was right, that meant that fucking the Sheriff had brought me down to emergency levels of health. Was it going to be like this every time I used the seduction mechanic?

The cell door rattled. I closed my eyes again. If I was going to die, I didn't want to give the Sheriff the satisfaction of looking into my eyes and realizing that I was actually a bit scared, even if this all was a game. Everything had been so realistic thus far, so wouldn't dying be the same? I really, really didn't want to find out.

"May I come in?" A voice asked. It was warm and smooth, strangely polite. This voice didn't belong to the Sheriff. I cracked open an eyelid and glanced in the direction of the stranger. The man was tall, at least six feet, and was dressed head-to-toe in dusty, worn clothes. A large black cloak covered a white button up and black vest, which fit the man rather tightly, as if they were made for someone half his size. His skin was dark, his hair a tight knit of curls cut close to his scalp. He was smiling gently at me, his eyes a mix of pity and concern.

"Who're you?" I grumbled, my throat hoarse from my failed seduction attempt. Unconsciously, I hid my crotch, dragging my knees close to my chest.

"I apologize for disturbing you." The stranger entered my cell and gently closed it behind him. A deputy rushed forward to lock us both inside. If the stranger noticed, he didn't seem to care. Maybe he didn't know who I was supposed to be? "My name is Josiah. I'm a Methodist preacher on the circuit. May I have your name?" His voice had a more southern lilt than I was used to thus far, but that wasn't the only thing that caught my attention.

Josiah had said he was "on the circuit." Back in the days of the wild west, preachers belonged to a loop of settlements where they would travel across hundreds of miles on horseback. They would ride alone, stopping wherever people gathered: barns, saloons, cabins... even open fields. They held services and were frequently present for hangings, funerals, weddings, and pretty much everything else. They didn't have a church or a single flock, but a community that they served out of a saddlebag. And, more interesting than anything else, they came in a variety of ethnicities and social backgrounds. Making Josiah black and from the South was an interesting choice, Bertie. But, what did it mean?

"They have been calling me Mallory." I mumbled, unsure of what to do with myself. I was mostly naked, my clothes torn from my violent sexual experience. My body prickled with sweat and dried semen. I probably smelled bad, but I was past the point of noticing.

"Is that not your name?" Josiah asked, taking another step into the cell. He didn't seem afraid of me. Instead, he seemed to be attempting to soothe me, as if I were a wounded baby bird on his doorstep. I don't know why, but for some reason his attitude irked me. If I was supposed to be a dangerous outlaw, why didn't he treat me like one?

"I don't know." I answered simply. "I can't remember much about myself. But I have a feeling I'm not Methodist."

If that had offended him, he didn't show it. Reverend Josiah Boone seemed to be a very stoic man. He was young, too. Probably no older than twenty-five, but I found it hard to truly tell. The people in this video game universe looked gritty and real from a distance, but up close, their skin was free of blemishes and wrinkles. Maybe that's just because I had only met younger people. Maybe that was a flaw I could exploit to piss Bertie off.

"That's alright, the Lord ain't keeping a roll by denomination. Anyway, I'm not here to convert you. I'm here to help, if you'll let me." Josiah sat on the ground across from me and pulled out a Bible from his pocket. It was a thick tome, its pages loose and torn, the leather bindings falling apart at the spine.

"How could you help me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice gruff and uncaring. I wasn't aware of any cases where a preacher could get a convicted man out of trouble. Then again, this could be an interesting game mechanic. Maybe I had to seduce him too? I glanced at my health bar and cringed internally. I probably wouldn't survive another seduction attempt. "Could you get me out of here?"

Josiah's smile turned a bit sad as he crossed his legs. "Unfortunately not. I'm sorry." He bowed his head a little in apology. Even though I hadn't been expecting him to help, I felt my heart sink a little. This is a game, I reminded myself. None of this is real.

"Then how could you help?" My voice came out hard and rough. Josiah didn't cringe away. Instead, he tapped the cover of his bible with two fingers.

"I can help you set things right, at least a little."

"Right with who?" I scoffed. "God?"

Josiah's smile widened. "Sure," He placed the bible on the ground in front of him and pulled out a notebook that was in slightly better condition. A pencil followed close behind, but stayed in his hands. He may have been a benevolent saint traveling across the frontier to save men from sin, but he wasn't going to hand a convicted criminal a pointy object. Smart. "And anyone else you want to write to. If you're local, a letter can probably reach your family by the end of the week."

"I don't think I have any family." I told the man in front of me. "I can't remember much, remember? I just woke up in here with a name tacked onto me by the Sheriff. He said I run with the something Boys, robbing trains and shit."

Josiah nodded slowly. "To be honest, you don't look much like Hank Mallory." He bit his lip as soon as the words left his mouth. "But then again, those posters are never quite as accurate as you want them to be." He corrected.

"You could tell me I'm the Queen of England and I would have no choice but to believe you." I mumbled sarcastically.

"You don't look much like her, either." Josiah responded.

"I must have misplaced my corset." I snarked.

"Forgive me for tarnishing your modesty." He snarked back.

I stared at the preacher for a long time before I finally sighed, looking down. "I don't have anyone to write to, Reverend. I don't have any real want to be read a passage or sermon, either. I'm not sure if there's anything you can do for me."

"Well, I'm sure there's a couple of things I could do for you." Josiah's tone was softer. I looked up, taking the bait before I even realized what he was doing.

"I wasn't aware you were the sexual type."

"I'm Methodist, not Catholic." Josiah rolled his eyes. "And not what I meant. I could get you some water to bathe yourself with? Maybe some clean clothes? A notorious train robber like you must want to die with some dignity."

I paused. Was that his function, to restore dignity to the player before they went to the gallows? Or, was there a part of him that I was missing? Maybe there was something trapped in his dialogue that the game was begging me to unlock?

"Is there anything else you can do for me, Reverend?" I searched for the telltale vacancy that had happened with the Sheriff, but Josiah seemed more realistic than ever as he tilted his head to the side, confused.

"I could maybe get you something to eat?" He offered, his voice unsure.

My stomach rumbled in response, and I looked down at it. I had eaten this morning, right before I fed Rigatoni and went to Bertie's house. Had that been this morning? How long had I already been trapped in this game? My heart began to thud in my chest as panic welled up in my throat. No, I needed to calm down. The sooner I found a way out of this game, the sooner I could get back to my parents' house and that stupid, old cat.

"That would be nice, thank--" A loud ringing outside of the cell cut me off. I tensed, wondering if a quick-event was about to happen. After all, the game couldn't just start out with the playable character getting hung, could it? Then again, that would be pretty impactful. But, no... this was VR. Hyper-realistic VR. If you got hung at the very beginning and had to experience it as if it were really happening, a lot of people would rage-quit the game and never pick it up again out of spite. Sure, there would be a few die-hard gamers who would continue playing, but at least a majority of their audience would leave the game unplayed. Bertie had to have something else planned.

"The hanging of dangerous outlaw, Hank Mallory, will take place upon the sun's rise!" A voice called outside. More bells rung, and my stomach dropped more and more with each word. "The hanging of Hank Mallory! Sun's rise!" Another voice echoed, sounding further down the street. Josiah's hand landed on my shoulder, firm and comforting.

"That can be a hard thing to hear." He whispered, keeping his eyes trained on the window to the outside world. "More than a few men have gone crazy because of that announcement. But, it's better to accept it. Fighting them won't do you any good."

If the words had come from anyone else, they might have sounded threatening. Josiah, however, had a way of making them seem almost soothing. Soothing? Was he charming me? How the hell did that work? I felt a pull inside of me, as if something was telling me to trust the preacher in front of me. And yet, a part of me knew somehow that this wasn't my natural instinct. There was no warning, though, nor was there any indication. Instead, it seemed as though I was experiencing someone else's trust.

"How are you doing that?" I asked, shifting away from him slightly.

"Doing what?" Josiah asked, turning to look at me. One of his eyebrows was slightly raised.

"You're... calming me, somehow. Stop it. I want my emotions to be my own."

I expected him to deny it or act as if he didn't know what I was talking about, but instead he dipped his head slightly.

"I apologize. My stockmanship skill is quite high and it always seems to calm my horse. Recently, I've been using it on those who are close to death. I'm sure your constitution is strong, if you noticed what I was doing."

I stared at Josiah dumbly, my mouth slightly open. The NPCs were aware of their skills. Speaking of skills, how could I access my own? Everything seemed to be moving so quickly, and the new information was almost overwhelming.

"Wait, but--"

"Come on, now." Josiah interrupted, standing with a soft groan. His back cracked as he straightened his spine. If I remembered correctly, circuit preachers didn't last very long in their line of work. It was a job reserved for young men. No family ties, resilient bodies, something that breaks your body and spirit long before you reached retirement age. Josiah looked older when he stood up, as if his body carried the weight of years that hadn't quite happened yet.

"Where are we going?" I asked, not moving from my protective position on the ground.

"If you want to eat, bathe, and put on some more dignified clothes, we better get a move on." He placed his bible and notebook back into his pocket. "It's time to don your corset, Your Highness."

I didn't laugh, but I did stand. I covered my crotch with my hands as Josiah went over to the cell door and called out to the deputies, requesting for some food and a bucket of water. The deputies glared at the reverend with such vehemence you would have thought he was asking to fuck their wives and daughters. I guessed racism was still present, even in the game world. Then again, historical flavor would have had to agree with this interpretation. Becoming a preacher saved a man from some things, but racism was a hard bug to squash.

Eventually, an unsmiling deputy delivered a leaking bucket half-full of cold water. There was a small bar of lye soap wrapped haphazardly in an old shirt. No food arrived, but Josiah assured me he would find me a meal before my appointment. I guessed it didn't really matter if I was going to die. Less food meant less ability to shit myself when I was dangling by a rope in front of the whole township.

Josiah turned around respectfully as I doused myself with water and scrubbed away the remains of my failed seduction attempt. There was a distinct lack of privacy for my shower, what with the cell wall being entirely made of spaced-apart bars that faced the entrance to the Sheriff's station. The deputies watched me hungrily like wolves circling a calf, but they kept their hands to themselves and their bodies on the other side of the cast iron.

When I was finished, slightly musty clothes were delivered in a size too big. I put them on anyway, knowing no one cared what I wore to the gallows. Unlike the lavish executions of noblemen in Europe, western township hangings were crude and barely legal as it was. Justice was doled out by the people more often than not, and that made public hangings a rustic, unsubsidized affair. There was very little dignity in the wild west.

Josiah had managed to scrounge up a few crumbly pieces of stale cornbread and a glass of water. I didn't feel that thirsty, and from the murky quality of the water, I decided not contracting some kind of bug was better than staving off potential dehydration. I placed the cup to the side. The cornbread, however, I did consume.

The crumbly loaf was tough and grainy, sticking to my teeth and my tongue and my throat with a slimy, filmy coating. It wasn't sweetened, it wasn't fatty, and it wasn't warm. It tasted nothing like the cornbread you would eat during a potluck or at some barbecue restaurant. The fact that I could taste food in a videogame was astonishing enough, and the fact that it tasted like sawdust barely registered. Whatever work Bertie had put into this game was going to revolutionize the industry. Maybe I should have asked for more than ten grand.

The bread hit the back of my throat and I choked. It felt like I was swallowing cement. I reached for the cloudy water and downed it in one swig, but it barely helped.

"You finished, boy?" The Sheriff called aggressively from the other side of the bars. "Sun's nearly up. It's time."

Suddenly, the cornbread I swallowed felt like a lead weight in my stomach. I looked to Josiah, my eyes wide. He had a weak smile on his lips, his eyes downcast. He held his hand out for the remaining crumbs of bread without a word. I swallowed hard, nearly choking. It felt like my throat was closing up. Was I going to cry? As I handed him the remains of my last meal, I could see my hands shaking slightly.

This wasn't real. How many times did I have to remind myself? I wasn't really in a prison cell in the 1890's. I wasn't really going to die from being hung in front of a jeering township. I wasn't going to feel the pain. This was a video game... I would find my way out of this.

The cell door swung open with a creak, and the Sheriff and three deputies entered. One of the men, taller than the rest, held a thick, hemp rope in his hands. The other two men, one portly and the other thin and short, held a black hat with a wide, straight brim and a wooden box. Josiah placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned in close to my ear to whisper.

"Just do as they tell you, Hank. It'll all be okay. Resisting would just make things worse." I glanced at him, but he held no malice in his expression. Instead, he looked sad. Solemn. He didn't seem to particularly like being here, helping these men hang me for a crime I didn't even remember committing.

"Hold your hands out in front of you, boy. Nice and easy." The Sheriff's hand rested on the butt of his revolver. If I made any wrong moves, I had no doubt I would be full of holes long before I did any damage. And with Josiah standing so close and the hard look in the Sheriff's eyes... well. I had a feeling I wouldn't be going to Hell alone.

Slowly, I raised my arms and offered them to the man in front of me. The deputy worked quickly, binding my wrists together with the scratchy rope. The knots were tight, squeezing the blood from my hands better than any tourniquet. I felt a pounding at the back of my skull, as if my brain was ramming against its prison, trying desperately to escape before it died along with me.

"Here's how this goes, Mallory. Though, I'm sure you remember from the days when you still served the people as a physician instead of robbing them as a criminal." The Sheriff remarked sarcastically. "I will walk in front. You behind. The reverend will stay beside you, and my deputies behind you. You will be marched from this office to the town square, where you will be read your final rites and given a chance to speak your final words. Any deviation in absolute obedience from you will be met with a bullet." He jabbed his finger hard into the right side of my chest. "That bullet will pierce your heart quicker than you can scream for forgiveness, you hear me? No funny business." His gaze left no room for debate. I said nothing.

The Sheriff took a step back with a hum. He gestured to the other two deputies.

"Deputy Brown has your hat, found at the scene of the crime. Deputy Jones has your wedding ring. If you wish, you can wear both during the process."

I looked to the two men, then to Josiah once again. My hair stood on end. I felt so cold, I was close to shivering. If I spoke now, I was sure my voice would break. Hell, I might even cry. I clenched my jaw tightly before giving a single, curt nod. The deputies performed their duties quickly, placing my hat on my head and a tarnished, silver ring on the ring finger of my left hand. I could feel the tiny dents of an inscription on the inside. I wondered what they said.

"Now, get a move on, boy. We're wastin' daylight." The Sheriff turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the cell. I wasn't given the chance to hesitate. One of the deputies, I think his name was Brown, pushed my shoulder roughly. I stumbled across the uneven boards of the floor. I almost fell, but Josiah caught my arm at the last moment. The preacher hauled me back to my feet with a surprising strength. He kept ahold of my elbow as we followed the Sheriff out of the wooden building and into the crowded streets of the township.

The air was dusty and cool, the sun barely rising over the mountains, leaving the town bathed in a blue light. Everything looked haphazard and rough around the edges, from the creaky wooden buildings, to the carts with missing wheels, to the hard, wrinkled people. No one smiled or spoke as I was paraded through the middle of the dirt street, but their eyes remained on me without wavering. Josiah was whispering to me, but I barely heard what he said.

"You're doing great, Hank. You don't have to look at them if you don't want to. Just keep your gaze ahead, right at the Sheriff's back. That's it." His voice was warm and soothing, and felt very out of place in the world around me. I tried to focus on them, but my mind kept drifting back to the scraping of the Sheriff's boots on the rocks below, or how those rocks stuck to the calloused skin of my feet. Woodsmoke and the scent of fresh timber drifted on a cold breeze, signalling the coming of winter. It was mindblowing how much detail Bertie had managed to pack into this scene. Everywhere I looked, there was something or someone that proved the authenticity of this place. If I ever did get out of here, I would find it hard to deny his skill, even to his face.