Glenn stood somewhere in one of the few dusty streets of York. He couldn't tell the time of day, it was cloudy and overcast. It could be early morning or evening and he wouldn't know the difference. The light from the sun seemed to come from all places at once, a single unifying glow. He could see well enough in the pale light afforded, filtering on overhead from those many, many clouds. In his hand was a gun of dark metal with an old and worn grip. The Dragoon's hammer was cocked back and his finger was on the trigger. He held it at arms length pointed at a man who stood a few short feet away, holding a similar weapon.

"Come on," Brandon said. "You know I can't let you leave, Glenn."

"You ain't got a choice. I gotta go."

"Christ, Glenn. You blew a hole in the jailhouse. We picked you up with Hexx. What happened to those people back there?"

"We needed to eat."

Brandon's mouth drew into a thin line.

"It's not too late to turn yourself in, little brother. You're a Douglas, after all, and that means somethin' around these parts. I know the judge, he's a fair man. We can help you."

Glenn's expression was a sharp and dangerous smile. He rolled his eyes.

"Cut the shit , Brandon. Ain't nothin' you can do right now, nothin' you should do. This ain't about you or me or the fuckin' Douglas name. I gotta do this. You got no fuckin' idea what these guys are up to, what they're capable of. You take me back to that prison cell and they'll swarm in on you from every which way. You want York to burn?"

"I think you overestimate your importance, Glenn."

Glenn made a humming, musing sound. "Maybe."

Brandon stepped forward.

"Don't move," Glenn said. "Brandon, I mean it. This ain't goin' down the way you like, but you still got time to back off. I'll leave, just stay the fuck back."

Brandon took another step forward.

"God damn it, I said stay back! I don't make fuckin' threats, brother. Don't play this game, you ain't gonna win."

"You ain't gonna shoot me, Glenn," Brandon said. He took a step forward.

Glenn shot him.

Brandon Douglas' face erupted in a shower of red. His lifeless body thumped to the dirt and sent clouds of dust rolling up into the air. Glenn kept the gun pointed at the air where he'd been standing like he half expected his brother to rise up again. He lowered it slowly and looked down at the corpse. He didn't look so much like Brandon anymore. He could have been anyone, any man. Brandon's face had never had so much blood on it. His eyes had never looked so lifeless.

"I told you," Glen said, and he felt his stomach turn over on itself.

A door burst open from a building to his right and Glenn drew his gun again. A woman came running out, she was clutching at her skirts. Her face was pretty, even now when it was so stricken with fear, pain, and grief. She stumbled next to Brandon's body and sank to her knees, defeated, and she cradled his bloodied head in her lap. Glenn crouched down on the other side of his brother's body. The woman was crying silent tears and Glenn appreciated that. He hated hearing a woman crying. Seeing it wasn't so bad as hearing it.

"You his wife?"

She nodded stiffly. She wouldn't look at Glenn.

"Guess that makes you my sister-in-law."

"We're not family," she said coolly. "You're a God damned coward."

"Hmm," Glenn nodded and stood. He holstered the gun and walked away.