"Yeah. Well. You ain't got a warrant out on you for murder, so the 
horizon probably feels a mite more welcoming." 


"I'll accept that as a possibility, but if | don't make the horizon in the 
next couple of hours you'll be stuck digging in the ground all by your 
lonesome." 


"Shit. You make Riddle every night without a hitch. Get fed, get 
fucked, and get back on the road." The old man winked. "And if you 
think you can convince one of those Belle girls to come back out 
with ya, I'd appreciate it.” 


Jacob laughed and turned his horse to go. 


My precious butterfly; 


When the Confederates overran us at Gettysburg, | 
thought I'd spend the rest of my life searching for the 
kind of peace and tranquility | had the night before the 
battle. We were all so certain of our righteousness. Yet 
there | lay in the mud afterwards, trying to come to terms 
with the loss. 


I've never told you about that battle, or the horrors that 
we suffered in captivity. | did not feel the need to lay that 
burden on your shoulders. Yet you have lightened it 
somewhat. If I'd known then that one day I'd have found 
one such as you, | could've endured a thousand years of 
captivity with those Southern bastards and a thousand 
more besides. 


Even with the war's end | failed to find tranquility, but my 
love, you have brought peace to my heart. The house in 
which our family will be blessed and borne is finally built. 
The arrangements are made with the Jennings coach 

company. Pack up your things, and bid San Francisco a 
fond farewell. The town of Riddle has need of your light. 


Last night | slept well. | await your arrival and the start of 
a new life together. 


With love and always yours; Conrad Drake. 


Riddle town Marshal Conrad Drake's hand twitched. The man on the 
other end of the bar stared at Conrad with a practiced eye. They 
both knew this would come to a showdown. The room, previously 
roiling with noise, was silenced in anticipation. Then the man on the 


other end of the bar grabbed his shot glass and downed it, followed 
by Conrad. 


The two men continued their stare-down while Joanna watched from 
the front door of the bar, and the man Conrad had been drinking 
with passed out. The onlookers rolled their eyes and went back to 
their own drinks and games. Conrad used the bar to steady himself 
as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small red capsule, and 
swallowed it. 


The marshal noticed Joanna looking at his badge as she 
approached him. "Agent Kirkland?" 


Joanna nodded. "! went to your office but it was locked." She 
paused. "A reprobate outside said he was awaiting the conclusion of 
your business here so that he could be arrested?" 


"That's just Phillip. Man has a propensity for public urination." 
"| noticed." 


"It's my own damn fault for having Miss Lula cook him his meals. 
Man ain't never had it as good as he does inside my cells." 


Joanna picked up the empty shot glass in front of Conrad and 
examined it. "Regardless. | would speak to you in the privacy of your 
office, if you have concluded your business here?" 


Marshal Drake looked at the bartender. "Tell Miss Lula I'll settle up 
next time I'm in. And thank her for the cornbread." 


Joanna and Conrad both walked out the door of Saloon No. 19 into 
the street. 


Mother, 


| yet live. | cannot tell you where | am or what | am doing. 
| apologize. Abe is not well. We met by purest 
happenstance on the battlefield in New York. He fought 
for his home and | for my principles yet our bond of 
brotherhood proved stronger than death itself. 


| do not think the east will be a safe place for us 
anymore, regardless of who succeeds in this horrid war. 
My time here is limited. | write this letter only to inform 
you of our survival, and to impart the news of Abe's 
health. We will stay here until he is well enough to travel. 
Please give Iris our love. 


Your loving Son; Jacob Kane. 


Jacob Kane could hear the sounds of Riddle behind him as he left. 
The horse under him rebelled almost as much as he had at the 
thought of leaving before the sun rose. Still if he was to add to the 
deposit at the bank tomorrow night, he'd need to hurry. He whipped 
the horse once, and finally got underway. 


The landscape of Wyoming's Red Desert spread out before him, 
and the cool night air encouraged him onward. Jacob crested a hill 
just in time to see a group of riders on black horses trailing behind 
an incoming train. Jacob's heart jumped into his throat at the sight, 
and he pulled his horse to turn around. 


The horse, however, neighed in distress at the very sight of the 
riders and threw him to the ground. Jacob tried to hold on but the 
horse ripped itself from Jacob's grasp and bolted away. 


Jacob grabbed his forehead in pain and felt a slick wetness on his 
skin. He shook his head, reached for the pistol on his hip and 
checked to see if it was loaded. Three riders had broken from their 
pursuit of the train at the sound of his horse and were now headed 
in his direction. He had five shots. 


Jacob knelt down at the top of the hill and targeted the lead rider. As 
he pulled the trigger, he knew his first shot had missed. He pulled 
the lever back for the second shot and pulled the trigger. The lead 
rider slumped in his seat but remained upright. The remaining two 
riders began to fire back at him with their own pistols. 


He tried to crouch down further but a bullet caught him in the 
shoulder. He flew backward and rolled down the hill, screaming in 
pain. He lay there, only half conscious, as the riders drew closer. 
Then, as the sun's first rays shone over the horizon, he passed out. 


The town marshal is a drunkard who speaks of inanities 
as fact. | believe he missed his calling as a writer, the 
fantastic tales he has spun whilst we've investigated the 
attacks have been at the very least entertaining. He is 
currently regaling several prisoners with a story of how 
he destroyed a creature of the night with feline urine and 
silver bullets. 


Following the telling of this tale and the conclusion of my 
meal, we will seek out a prospector at the doctor's office 
down the street. Reportedly, this prospector was brought 
in this morning half-delirious and speaking the name 
Virgil Jones. Mr. Jones is a known road agent, wanted in 
the Dakota Territories for stagecoach robbery. If this 
young man knows where to find Mr. Jones, | will bring 
him in for questioning. 


Excerpt from the journal of Agent Joanna Kirkland. 
August 9th, 1878. 


Conrad and Joanna entered the infirmary. The floors were covered 
in blood and a variety of other dried liquids. The whole place smelled 
strongly of formaldehyde and death. Jacob Kane lay on a bed in the 
back of the room. He whimpered, to no one. 


Joanna turned to Conrad and whispered. "This seems like an ideal 
situation for a doctor." 


"It would be, if we still had one. We wired to Cincinnati about the 
whole mess but until some enterprising fellan decides to come this 
way, | think we're gonna be out of luck." 


Joanna walked up to the bed of the man and took his hand. "Hello. 
Can you hear me?" 


Jacob looked up at Joanna and smiled. "| can, ma'am." 
"Who shot you?" 


Jacob looked over at the marshal for a moment before continuing. "I 


scraps of translucent red tissue of various sizes. Tissue 
was observed to twitch spasmodically for several hours 
before activity ceased. Material preserved for further 
study. 


Setting: Coarse 

Output: Subject was divided up into organized piles of 
tissue, including but not limited to (presumably) muscle 
tissue, two piles of ground bone tissue (the significance 
of this division, if any, is unknown), teeth, skin, a total of 
approximately seventeen (17) meters of esophageal 
tissue divided into numerous coils, and approximately 
fifteen (15) kilograms of rotting human flesh littered with 
splinters of bone, shreds of fabric, and a tattered 
laminated ID tag identifying its owner as D-09355. As 
with the first test, SCP-939 tissue was observed to 
convulse for several hours before ceasing activity. 
SCP-939 remains preserved for further study; human 
remains incinerated. 


Setting: 1:1 
Output: [REDACTED] 


Setting: Fine 

Output: The same SCP-939 specimen. Respiration was 
noted to have halted. Test subject was immediately 
relocated to a reinforced concrete containment chamber 
and observed remotely via CCTV. Installation security 
forces were ordered to high alert. Twenty-four hours 
passed with no signs of activity from the subject. Subject 
proved unresponsive to all stimuli and was pronounced 
dead thirty-six hours later. Necropsy was unable to 
identify a cause of death nor any anatomical revisions 
attributable to SCP-914. Remains preserved for further 
study. 


Setting: Very Fine 
Output: A heap of smoldering white ash. 


Name: Dr. 


didn't see their faces." 


"The gentleman who brought you in said something about a Virgil 
Jones." 


"Ahh. Yeah. We have a gold claim out in the desert. All the deposits 
at the bank are under my name. | was hoping someone could see to 
getting them transferred." 


"Where's the claim?" 
"The old Anderson Mine. Marshal can tell you where." 
Joanna looked up at Conrad who nodded. "Thank you, sir." 


"Thank you ma'am. You mind if | talk with the marshal a spell? | got 
some other business to put in order." 


"Of course." Joanna stood up and let Jacob's hand go. She moved 
to dust off her shirt but smeared blood across it instead. She 
stopped for just a moment before composing herself and leaving the 
Doctor's office. 


"Connie. You know what comes next." 


Conrad nodded, moved to stand beside the bed and removed his 
hat. He pointed at Jacob's shoulder. "That's gonna end you." 


"Yeah." Jacob pointed at Conrad's hunting knife. "Figure you can 
end it quicker for me." 


"Your brother still an asshole?" 


"It ain't his fault. He ain't never been quite right after he died. He 
knows about you though." 


"Alright." Conrad grabbed the knife from his belt and plunged it into 
Jacob's chest. The man's chest heaved once, and then was still. 
Conrad moved to clean the knife on some nearby rags and left the 
room to join Joanna outside. 


An hour after Conrad left, the geometry of the room went wrong for a 


moment. There was a low hum as Jacob's body fell upwards into the 
air and then slammed back into the bed when the room's geometry 
became more sane. Abel sat up in the bed where Jacob had just 
been, cracked his neck, and a black pistol materialized in his hand. 


What strikes me as most troubling is just how 
appropriate your leaving is. | wish you could've stayed. | 
wish we could've built that family you begged me for. | 
cannot conceive of what the future holds for us, but | 
know my future doesn't lay down the train tracks in San 
Francisco with you. You're stronger than | ever could be, 
because | can't even try to leave this life. 


If | could cover the distance between us every night | 
would. But it is wrong of me to hold you back if | will not 
go to where you are. Fly free, my beautiful butterfly. Find 
love where the world is warm and soft. I'll add the tale of 
your love to my stories. No one will believe you were as 
perfect as you were. 


Excerpt of a Love Letter. Conrad Drake. 1875. 


The sun was hanging low in the sky, but the fire above the mine was 
untended and burning out. Joanna and Conrad, already dismounted, 
walked towards the mine entrance. Both had their hands on the 
guns at their hips, waiting for a confrontation. 


"Virgil! | know you're in there." 


The old man's voice echoed off the walls inside the mine. "Take 
another step marshal and I'll blow your goddamned head off." 


Joanna took a half a step back while Conrad continued to shout. 
"This pretty lady here just wants to talk to you." 


"We're outside town limits marshal. You got no call to ask me about 
anything. Pretty lady or not." 


"She's with the UIU. You can talk to her or the next two dozen 
agents they send out here." 


There was a silence for several seconds, then a rustling inside the 
mine. Virgil shuffled out of the mine. He looked at Joanna and raised 
his eyebrow. "What do you want?" 


Joanna stepped forward again. "Two weeks ago a postal wagon on 
the road to Rawling disappeared. Where were you?" 


The old man shook his head. "Here. | don't roo wagons no more." 
"Can anyone corroborate that?" 

"Jacob Kane." 

Conrad shook his head. "Jacob's dead, Virgil.” 

Virgil rolled his eyes. "How long?" 

"Long enough." 


"| done told that asshole havin’ the deposits in his name was a bad 
idea." 


Joanna cocked her head to the side and pulled the gun from her 
holster. "You're under arrest." 


Conrad's eyes went wide. "The fuck he is. You said you needed to 
ask him some questions. They're asked." 


"Even if | had a guarantee he's not behind the wagon robberies, he's 
wanted in Dakota." 


The old man's hands went to his belt. "You better talk her down 
marshal. I'll kill her." 


Conrad took two steps back and pulled his own gun, pointing it at 
Joanna. "Look. You're new out here, so you don't know the score. 
He will kill you." 


Joanna stared Virgil down. "How?" 
"It's complicated." 


A fourth voice from behind Conrad spoke up. "It is very 


complicated." 


Virgil looked over Conrad's shoulder and saw a man in black with a 
gun trained on Conrad's back. Virgil pulled his own pistol, almost 
provoking a response from Joanna. Virgil didn't turn his body, 
however, and instead pointed it at the new arrival. 

"Abel. | need your brother." 

"You'll have him. Eventually." 


"No. I'm thinking now. You done murdered enough folk to bring the 
UIU down on my head. | want my share of the gold." 


The four of them stood there, guns trained on each other for at least 
a minute while the sun sank further in the sky. Conrad spoke first. 
"You gonna shoot me in the back Abel?" 


"I'll make it a fair fight. Turn around." 
"No." 


Abel pulled the hammer back on his black pistol. "Then again you 
did shoot me in the back last time." 


Virgil held his gun up higher as he spoke. "We don't have time for 
this. The sun's going down." 


Conrad nodded and dropped his own pistol. "| know." 


Virgil cracked a small smile. "So we all wanna hide until morning 
and shoot each other then?" 


Conrad shook his head. "No. I'm thinking we fight the riders instead." 


Abel's body untensed a bit. "Virgil can't beat them. You can't beat 
them. I've lost three times." 


"What riders?" Joanna interrupted. 


Conrad dropped his gun, as did Abel and Virgil. "The 682nd 
Cavalry." 


"| think | saw them when | first came here? They chased my train." 
Abel stepped forward. "Yes. They do that." 


The sun dropped below the horizon and the sound of hoof beats 
began. Abel, Virgil and Conrad stepped away from the mouth of the 
mine and turned to face the riders in the distance. 


Conrad looked back at Joanna. "I'd suggest you get out of here." 
Conrad pulled a red capsule out of his pocket and placed it into his 
mouth. "I've always wanted to do this." 


"What about the law in Riddle?" Joanna said, stepping backwards. 


"You seem to care a lot about the law. It can be your problem now, if 
you want." 


Joanna wasn't sure what to make of the scene in front of her, as the 
three men stepped forward into the night. Abel dressed in black, 
pulled a large gun from thin air. Conrad spun the chambers on his 
pistols to make sure they were loaded. Virgil let his dusty coat fall to 
the ground behind him and he suddenly seemed smaller to her. He 
turned his head around fully to face her without moving his body and 
smiled a crooked, twisted smile. 


Her eyes went wide and she turned to run to her horse. The full 
moon rose from behind the dark riders and the three men readied 
themselves for the battle. 


Abel laughed a bit. "So what's the plan Condraki?"