Under the Gun Train Scene

The sun was almost below the horizon. Shades of pink and red exploded throughout the sky, with the sun glowing a deep red behind the bare trees. The loud roar of a train is heard coming from behind the shiny, snowy mountains that surrounded the trees. The glow of the train, faint at first, began to grow brighter and brighter as it approached.

The train had around ten different cars attached to it, most of which housed passengers. One of the train cars towards the front came into focus. It was completely full of people, most of which busy with their own shenanigans and trying to rest as the night approached.

Unlike the rest of the passengers, one man stood out the most. The man's foot was carelessly pressed up against the seat in front of him. He slouched low in his seat with his arms crossed and his hat hung down. A cigarette hung from his mouth, nearly falling out, as he was dozzing off.

He wore a black and white checkered coat that extended down to his calves. He sported a black, denim vest on top of a checkered, yellow shirt with black, decorative padding on both sides of his upper chest. He had fairly long, messy, auburn-colored hair that connected to his darker auburn beard and mustache, which was around medium length. He wore a gold-colored cattleman hat that appeared to be getting dirty.

The sun shined through his window, causing him to react in surprise. He shook his head and then used his right arm to shield his eyes from the light. He took the cigarette out of his mouth.

"Shit, it ain't night yet? Damn," he groaned.

A woman sitting across the aisle stared at him; he made eye contact with her briefly, and she looked away.

Scottie put the cigarette back in his back, leering at the lady and examining her physical appearance. He nodded and raised an eyebrow.

"Ahh, see something that interests you, ma'am?" remarked Scottie.

He gave her a toothy grin, and she briefly looked back at him before turning away again.

"I ain't seen much, I can tell ya that," she sternly said back.

"Eh, not the worst I've heard," the man boasted. He laughed dryly and then looked down at the seat in front of him before turning back to her.

"Since we've made each other's acquaintance, what's your name?"

The woman sighed and looked up at the roof, accepting the situation she put herself in. She reluctantly turned her head towards the man.

"Margaret," she huffed. "Margaret Downes, if you must know."

"Margaret Downes...huh, the name suits you," he replied. "It's a tad familiar, though I meet too many folk these days I don't even know who's who half the damn time."

She chuckled a tad. "I get that. Too many people around these days."

"You travelin'?" the man asked her, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"I suppose so," Margaret shrugged. "Work related business, mainly."

"Same here," chuckled Scottie. "Can't never get away from work."

Margaret laughed dryly, taking a deeper look at the man. Something was just off about him, and she knew it.

Scottie looked at her, then suddenly realized how rude he was being. "Oh, er, my name's Scottie Cassidy. Pleasure to meet ya."

Margaret nodded.

"I like that name," she said.

She pulled a pocketwatch out of her skirt pocket and checked the time. She closed it and looked around impatiently, then looked at Scottie once more.

"Takin' its time, right?" he asked her. "Train rides always go by so damn slow."

"Certainly," Margaret laughed.

Scottie took another drag on his cigarette and glanced out the window. He noticed the silhouette of someone in the car ahead of his smacking someone with the back of a gun. He narrowed his eyes and put the cigarette back in his mouth.

Margaret noticed that something had caught his attention. She glanced around at the other passengers in the car with them; they were either reading newspapers, silently sleeping, or engaging in their own quiet conversation.

"Where you from, by the way?" she asked, hoping to distract him.

Scottie darted to her, meeting her eyes. He examined Margaret's clothing; she wore a white dress shirt and a dark red, striped skirt that extended to her ankles. Her blonde hair was done in a neat pun with some few strands of curly hair escaping down the sides of her cheeks and reaching her shoulders.

What stood out the most about her was the necklace she wore - the shape of a crown.

"Ah, I'm sorry, ma'am, guess I'm still tired," began Scottie, turning away for a moment.

He'd seen that crown before, though he didn't want to make any rash assumptions.

Margaret nodded. Suddenly, the train began to shake and suddenly halt to a stop. All the passengers in the car looked up in confusion. Scottie quickly checked out the window once more, seeing a couple bodies strung out across the aisle floor in the car in front of him. He tsked.

"Guess we're here," he mumbled to himself.

Scottie heard the cocking of a gun beside him followed by the panicked cries behind him. He sighed and slowly turned his head to his left, spotting Margaret standing beside him holding a revolver to his head.

"I guess we are," she declared. "I do wish you'd just keep to yourself."

He raised his hands up. "And here I thought we were gettin' chummy," he teased.

Margaret turned to the panicked passengers. A man sitting in the very back wearing a dark brown jacket and black hat glanced at her and then stood up. A couple of passengers sprinted to the back of the car and were confronted by him. He pulled a shotgun from his back and fired at the two without hesitation.

The two passengers fell to the ground, immediately dead. The rest of them cowered in their seats and ducked for cover. Margaret motioned toward the door to the following car, and the man began to walk down the aisle.

"Scottie Cassidy, it was nice to meet you," Margaret remarked.

She fired her revolver at him. Scottie rolled himself onto the floor and jumped out towards her. She tried to fire again but narrowly missed as Scottie tackled her. Her gun fell to the ground.

The two fell into the aisle of the car. Margaret's accomplice sprinted towards them, readying his shotgun for the killing blow on Scottie.

"I just wanted some goddamn sleep," Scottie hissed.

He got up, pulling out a dark, navy-colored revolver with the gold initials 'S.C.' embedded on the right side of the gun. The gun was adorned with various different engravings, and the wood of the grip was polished and shined in the red sunlight.

As Scottie aimed at the man, the whites of his eyes flashed a yellow hue. He fired a round from his gun without aiming directly. The bullet spun in the air and seemingly locked in on the man, darting straight for him. Before he could react, the bullet entered the man's right shoulder blade. He dropped his shotgun and fell in pain, gripping his bleeding shoulder.

Scottie laughed, turning towards Margaret. "The Royal Flush doesn't impress me so far, ma'am," he spat, winking at her.

Margaret reached out and placed her hand on Scottie's forehead.

The whites of her eyes also flashed yellow, alarming Scottie. Scottie's vision suddenly blurred, and his hearing grew very muffled. He lost his balance and fell back, hitting the ground hard.

"Son of a bitch," he tsked to himself.

Margaret got up and patted her skirt, then undid her bun. She leaned down towards Scottie, who was still very disoriented from whatever she just did.

"How 'bout that?" she teased. "You know, you're real charming, but I ain't got time for this."

She kissed his cheek and then stood back up, glancing at her dying friend. The train cars rattled once more, followed by the sound of a loud explosion towards the back. She heard screaming before it fell silent.

"If you'll kindly excuse me," she began, as Scottie groaned and pinched his brow.

Margaret waltzed out of the train car as the wind danced with her long, curly hair. Her skirt began to peel off slowly as a result of the wind. She pulled it all the way off to reveal another skirt beneath it with designs of multi-colored crowns all over it. Margaret walked into the next train car, seeing three other men.

The three men were shooting passengers one by one, and each of them wore black bandannas with crown insignias on the front of them.

"Boys, I'm here now," shouted Margaret, waving excitedly.

She walked towards them, eyeing a man crouching in his seat and desperately holding a knife. The man took a deep breath and leaped out at her with his knife. One of the three men swiftly turned to her and shot the man in the side. He fell to the ground, dropping his knife.

"That was a close one," Margaret laughed. "I applaud you for tryin'."

The man who shot him removed his bandanna. He had a thick, black handlebar mustache and a goatee running down his chin. He wore a dark blue jacket and had on a pearly white, buttoned up vest with a grey, collared shirt. He had a black and blue tie that was neatly tight around his collar.

"You're actin' a bit too carelessly," he cautioned her.

Margaret rolled her eyes and walked forward. "Clyde, I do as I please," she scoffed.

Margaret walked past the other two men and glanced at the car ahead of them; multiple gunshots rang out, followed by the train shaking violently as it started up again. She lost her balance and fell, as did the rest.

"Christ, what the hell are they doin' up there!?" shouted Margaret. "God damn it, Riley..."

A gunshot sounded off from behind. Margaret turned around in the direction of the gunshot, watching one of the men fall to the ground almost instantly.

Behind him stood Scottie, effortlessly leaning against the side of a chair and his gun resting by his side. His cigarette hung from his mouth once more.

"You're not much of a people person," he teased. He took his cigarette out and threw it out an open window. "It's okay, I have my moments, too."

He began to walk forward, but quickly stopped, touching his head. He had a throbbing headache and his vision was still rather blurry. Margaret laughed.

"Don't feel so hot, huh?" she spat. "It takes a while to wear off, so you may as well get some shut eye you were whinin' about earlier. I can help, if you'd like."

"Who the hell is this?" asked Clyde, getting up off of the ground and rubbing his head.

His forehead was cut and bleeding, though not severe enough to completely put him out of commission.

"A thorn in our side," tsked Margaret. "You deal with this, I'll go catch up."

Margaret glanced down at the man's body, chuckling.

"Disgusting," she remarked, as she continued to walk towards the next car.

The train shook once more, though less violently. Scottie shook his head, making eye contact with Clyde. He spun his revolver out from his holster, hip-firing twice at Scottie.

Scottie immediately dove on the ground, narrowly missing the two shots. Clyde scoffed and ran forward, followed by the other member who had just gotten up.

Scottie looked up at Clyde and the other man quickly closing in on him. He glanced upwards at the ceiling, noticing that it had begin to tear as a result of all the shaking.

He thought of escaping to the roof of the car, thinking he had enough time to pull it off. He then pulled out his revolver and aimed, firing three rounds that broke a hole in it. With haste, Scottie got up and was immediately shot in his right shin.

"Ahh, fuck!" he winced. "Shoulda just got you two pieces of shit instead..."

"Just what is it you're even attemptin' to do here?" inquired Clyde, laughing. "This a last ditch effort?"

"I can easily gun the two of you down in half a second," boasted Scottie, reaching down to his shin in pain. "But I seriously need to get to the front of the train, though I assume y'all won't move out of the way."

"Fair assumption," commented the other man, cocking his shotgun and aiming.

Scottie shrugged his shoulders and spun his revolver. His eyes flashed yellow once more, and he fired. From his point of view, the bullets were fired off haphazardly and both were clearly going to miss their intended targets.

The bullets pulsated as his eyes moved across them, and they instantly changed direction, aiming directly for the man with the shotgun. Before he could even pull the trigger, both bullets embedded themselves into the man's jugular.

The man instantly fell to the ground, blood spewing everywhere from the impact of the bullets. Clyde looked down at the man in horror, hearing another gunshot ring out. Before he could even turn around and face Scottie, the bullet shot him directly in the crotch.

His eyes immediately widened as he froze in shock, falling to the side. He slammed his head on the ground.

Scottie quickly spun his revolver back into his holster, wiping his hands off. He clicked his tongue and began to walk towards their bodies, though the sound of a loud explosion followed by the train car shaking disrupted the eerie silence of the car.

He fell over, slamming his injured shin directly onto the ground.

"The fuck!?" he yelled out.

While on the ground, he looked to his left and noticed the body of a woman lying there with her hands covering her face still. He noticed the horrific expression of her face, and saw four bullet holes in her chest. He sighed.

Scottie pulled himself up off the ground, though struggled to do so. He held onto the side of a chair to slowly lift his injured leg up, groaning in excruciating pain in the process. A small pool of blood immediately formed from where his leg lay briefly.

The train car door opened from behind him. He coughed.

"Caught off guard?" questioned a voice from behind.

Scottie slowly turned around, spotting an African American man with his face covered with another one of the black bandannas with the crown. He sported a black hat with a rather flashy red buckle on it. For his clothing, he wore a pink and white shirt with a rather lavish and decorative black vest on top of it. He had on a crimson coat with dark crimson dress pants and neatly polished black boots.

Scottie peaked behind the peculiar man, noticing that there were no other train cars behind the one he was in. In the distance, he saw the other train cars that were detached and up in flames.

"Right, about that," began the man. "You see..."

Cutting himself off, he grabbed Scottie by the neck and pulled him forward, slamming his knee into his chest. With his other free hand, he grabbed hold of Scottie's revolver. Scottie quickly pushed back, squeezing the man's hand and pulling him back. The man, struggling, let go of his neck and slammed his head into the wall.

"You clearly value that," he pointed out, eyeing the revolver. "It's a pretty nice lookin' weapon, I'll give you that. I think I'll take it off your hands."

He kicked Scottie's head into the wall once more and crouched down, ripping Scottie's revolver out of his holster carelessly. He examined the weapon, taking in the artistic engravings all over the gun and the shiny handle. He noticed the initials 'S.C.' and scoffed.

"Ah. It's you," he said, eyeing Scottie's bloody face.

As if a switch had gone off, the man angrily reached out and yanked Scottie up from his shirt. Scottie groaned, struggling to break the man's grip. He marched towards the door, kicking it open with strong force, and hurling Scottie on the outside of the car. His body was nearly about to fall onto the tracks entirely.

"Scottie Cassidy," hissed the man.

He grabbed onto his bandanna and ripped it off. Underneath, his nose was entirely crooked with scar marks on the sides of it. Part of his right cheek was scarred as if it was burned. He had three, long scar marks going down his neck and a bullet wound on the left side of his neck.

"What a sight for sore eyes," Scottie scoffed. "Though, I liked it better when you had that thing on. How's life, Bill?"

Bill glared down at him. He glanced at Scottie's revolver in his left hand, and Scottie also followed suit. Seeking the opportunity, Scottie pulled his body upwards and shoved Bill over. Bill dropped the gun as a result and fell back into the train car.

Scottie hastily reached over to grab his gun, though failed to realize he was pushing all of his weight on his injured leg. He yelled out in pain and tripped, failing over and hitting the railing of the train car.

He looked around at his surroundings, noticing a waterfall coming into view nearby and a steep ravine.

"I don't have time for this shit, Bill," he sighed. "Let's play this game later, alright? Deal?"

Scottie limped forwards on the outside of the train. He noticed there was only one more train car ahead of him and then the main motor unit. He gripped the railings tightly as he pushed his body forward.

Bill climbed out of the train car and turned towards Scottie, who was struggling to escape to the front. He eyed the ravine and waterfall quickly approaching.

Bill then climbed up on top of the train car. He struggled to stand up against the powerful winds coming his way. His hat and jacket blew off as he slowly began to walk. He looked down and saw Scottie, making eye contact with him.

"Havin' some trouble over there?" Bill hissed.

"Suit yourself," sighed Scottie. "I'll enjoy this."

Without a second thought, Scottie squinted his right eye to hone in on Bill and fired his gun, closing both of his eyes.

Suddenly, Scottie winced in pain, screaming out. He opened his left eye slowly and found himself on top of the train car where Bill just was. His body was shaking from pain, and he could not see out of his right eye. He raised his hand to his right eye and touched it, seeing that his hand was covered in blood, and he still couldn't see.

'What the hell...?' he thought to himself, extremely confused. 'How did...?'

He eyed Bill, who was standing where he just was a second ago. Bill's eyes flashed yellow for a brief moment.

'Oh, no...'

Scottie lost his balance and fell over the side of the train. As he fell, Scottie heard the sound of the waterfall growing louder and louder.

The train crossed over the ravine as he fell into it, eyeing the train and the tracks growing more and more distant. Scottie slammed into the lake beneath the ravine and was instantly swept away by the strong currents into a river extending outwards.

Bill, watching him fall, leaned over the railing to watch. The train car in the front opened up and Margaret stepped out, walking towards Bill.

"How goes it out here?" she asked, looking back at the ravine.

"He was so confused!" shouted Bill. He turned to Margaret and began to crack up, barely holding himself together.

Riley made his way over to Margaret and Bill, as the train slowly pulled to a stop. Riley, wearing a deep purple duster coat, black dress shirt, and a dark brown cowboy hat, glanced down at the ravine. He had long, black hair that extended to his shoulders and flapped in the window with a messy goatee.

"You good to go?" he teased Bill, his voice very coarse and deep.

Bill's laughing began to subside, his hands were shaking. He gripped the railing hard and rocked himself back and forth, murmuring to himself. Margaret looked at his and rolled her eyes.

"We lost Clyde and 'em," she mentioned, looking down. "Did you get the card?"

Riley nodded, reaching down into his coat pocket and pulling out an eight of clubs playing card. The card tingled with a bizarre energy, almost as if it was alive. Bill eyed him.

"Never heard of someone with more than one of these," he remarked. "First time for everythin', I suppose."

'NOTE: The following part of this scene is subject to change due to the fact that I am no longer satisified with how I wrote the card acquistion and/or consumption, but at the time I thought it was good to go. Do read it, but it is going to change. '

He lifted it up to his mouth and opened it up, pushing the card in. He wrapped his tongue around the card and begin to chew on it. He swallowed it after chewing for a few seconds and then gritted his teeth in pain. He fell to his knees and pounded his fists on the metal floor. Bill eyed him.

"Always the worst part," remarked Margaret, turning away.

Riley began to sweat profusely. He grabbed onto his shirt and began to rip it off his body. He threw the pieces of his shirt off the railway and began to calm down. His chest was dark red and looked as if he had just been burned alive. His skin began to turn purple and peel, scabs slowly starting to form. Steam released from it and blew his hair back.

He turned to Margaret and Bill, his eyes glowing yellow.

"Let's get outta here," he said, as his eyes went back to normal.

Margaret and Riley began to walk off, leaping off of the train. Bill started to follow, though felt himself stand on something hard, nearly tripping. He took his foot off the ground and spotted Scottie's revolver. Bill reached down and picked it up.

"You won't be needin' this."

Bill placed the gun in his holster and glanced at the dead bodies in the window of the train car. He narrowed his eyes before jumping off.