Summer, 1873
Somewhere on the outskirts of town.

It was early in the morning, not too early, but Charlie always found himself to be up before most people in town; despite the fact that this town was always bustling with children and foreign workers in the morning, it was unusually calm, and Charlie liked that. It'd been quite a few years since this old man had fallen off the outlaw wagon, and it was all because of one man, one marshal that Charlie had to kill, and it quilted him out of the lifestyle as a thief. But that's neither here nor there; it was just recently Charlie's birthday, he had turned fifty-five years old, and oh, my did he feel that age. In the last fifteen years or so, he'd managed to buy himself some property and a house, nothing extravagant, but he could call it his own, and although it did seem archaic when compared to the slightly more modernized version of the town he once knew, it didn't matter to this fello, he was happy just to wake up again.

Not having to look over his shoulder still felt like something unusual to him, he was so used to being hunted, to being on the run, to fighting for his life.. that he never really did learn how to live a regular life, he never had anyone to teach him how. Being the only surviving member of not only his family, but of his old gang, of his old military friends, even outliving the younger woman whom he settled down with, and his only son, who was shot down in the streets like a dog, it wasn't easy on poor old Charlie. He'd become quite the alcoholic, drinking purely with the intention of forgetting his life, having no interest in a buzz or having fun in a drunken stupor; he wakes up, drinks, eats, drinks some more, contemplates when he'll die, then drinks some more.

So with that being said, Charlie was more or less a ghost around town, fast becoming nothing more than a 'legend', someone that everyone seemed to know, but nobody seemed to like. It was around 7am now, and Charlie was already opening his second bottle of whiskey, today was particularly rough, as it was the anniversary of his wife's death and his night was filled with terrors. He sat in a spacious wooden framed room, seemingly a foyer, equipped with nothing more than a comfortable leather chair and an end table; on it sat a large clear bottle of whiskey, and Charlie's trusted revolvers- it'd been awhile since he used either one of them, save for the random critter every now and again.

He was wearing the clothes he always seemed to wear, only slightly different than what he used to in his younger day; it was a brownish tan coat of sorts, unbuttoned showing his holsters along the waist, on top of dark brownish black pants, tattered and torn with age. He stood up and half-staggered to the kitchen, and as he opened the fridge, or whatever makeshift device he'd put in it's place, his face showed a look of frustration- he was out of whiskey. 'Damn.' he thought to himself, obviously confused since he thought he'd refilled it the night before, but apparently not since he had been incredibly intoxicated. So the adventure begins: wonder down to the city, and pick up some booze; as he came to the front door, beforehand grabbing his revolvers and dropping them into their holsters, he took his old hat from an antique-looking stand in the corner, and placed it on his head securely.

The door creaked open with an eerie sort of fashion, and closed with the same shriek; and after slowly walking down a set of stairs on his front porch, he was on his way to town. The sun was shining, but it was surprisingly cold for this time of month, and upon looking to the sky, Charlie noticed the unusual amount of dark clouds on the horizon 'We've got a storm coming.' he whispered to himself as he saddled up his horse, whom was also getting older as well, and hopped on. With the light nudge of his spurs, they began moving down a wide dirt trail, at a slow pace, of course. About one hour had gone by, and Charlie had just arrived at the edge of town, hearing the sounds of clashing steal from a blacksmith and smelling some type of sulfur along with it.

His horse was tied to a post outside the saloon he used to frequent as a young man, and as he entered, he was greeted with many a tipped hat, "Charlie Hatfield!" shouted the bartender, who recognized him right off the bat, an old acquaintance one could assume, and this was the man Charlie approached, "Good mornin', Ellis. I'll be needing three or four bottles of whiskey. I don't care what kind." the words barely left Charlie's lips as the bartender pulled out a crate of bottles, "Here ya go, I know what you like. Seein' as you helped me out with that problem last week, you can have this on the house." whispered Ellis, trying not to cause a problem with the men sitting nearby. With that being said, Charlie nodded his head with gratitude and took the crate, making his way back outside abruptly.

The crate was quickly lashed onto the side of his saddle, and it was just then that a fell shriek quieted the hustle and bustle of the town's main road, followed by one gunshot, then another, and a tall man fell to the ground. "You're next lady, but not til after me and my men have our way with you." that was all Charlie heard, and in the brief silence, only a moment or two passed by, causing Charlie to realize.. nobody was going to help; what had happened to the good nature of people? He didn't feel like he owed anybody anything for his wicked ways in the past, but it wasn't an option to just let this poor woman succumb to that sort of fate. He looked to the ground, spitting out a brownish-clear liquid that one would assume was from his chewing tobacco, and he rested his hands on the handles of his revolvers, before he walked out from behind his horse, and towards the conflict.

"Let the girl go; Nobody hear wants or needs a problem, but I can't allow this to happen." Charlie sounded harsh in tone, his voice still high-pitched despite his age. The other thing that hadn't changed with time was his speed on the draw, surprisingly enough, and that might just get tested in the near future.