Dick-Ache and Letty, three cycles earlier:

It's gettin late in the night, and the only ones left at the poker table are other sharks like us. Billie's probably doing dirty dirty things with the bouncer, after gettin herself kicked out earlier for fightin -- I ain't seen him back since he escorted her out. And Twister left to do god knows what. Ride along a mountain ridge in the moonlight while chewin tabaccy and hummin' a ditty? It's hard to tell with him.

Would you like to know more?

Ellen tells a story

Kain... you've been asking me about Sam, and I haven't really given you a straight answer, and there's this letter and I don't know what to do, and -- but -- just listen, okay? I should probably start from the beginning. It's...

The thing is, "Samuel Tarmalin", whoever that was, *died* during the war. I don't know what he went through out there, what he saw, but it completely destroyed his mind -- there was nothing left. When my Pa brought him in from the desert, babbling about the Old Woman, we basically had to teach him everything from scratch. How to walk, talk, tie his boots... the only thing he knew how to do was shoot, that's it.

Now, we eventually tracked down his service record for him, which is how we know about his past. But the Sam that came out of the desert wasn't the Sam that went in, you know? He created this dopey naive gunslinger out of bullets and desert myths and homemade breakfast, and we watched him do it right in front of us. And we loved him for it. He was *our* Sam, right? He was my brother.

But now, that dopey gunslinging Sam is dying, too. He thinks the gunslinging bit is why he failed in Malachi Flats, why Father Lelland died and why he got shot... so he's throwing it all out, the Old Lady, the gunslinging, even the breakfasts. He hates himself so much for what happened that he's killing himself off, bit by bit... and there's nothing left, underneath. I've been *trying* to bring him back, like my Pa and I did after the war, but it's -- it's not working...

So there's a guy I know back in Peace River, helped him keep some indiscretions quiet... He knows a lot about all that occult mumbo-jumbo, I figured he might have heard about some Old Lady magic that could bring Sam back, like it did before, right? But he sent me this instead. It's *hopeless*. I'm going to have to watch Sam die, aren't I? I'm going to have to watch my brother die, and once he's gone, there'll be nothing left, you understand? *Nothing*. I -- I can't do it, Kain, please help me, I can't do it, please, just... please...

* * *

My dearest Miss Cranby --

received your latest missive with great interest /
am rather convinced your Mr Tarmalin is currently dissolving in Chronozonic acid /
nothing to be done but to see what takes his place once "he" is gone /
if you would be so kind as to keep me apprised, & c., & c. /

Forever your servant,
Lysander Morwin, esq.

Please find enclosed excerpts from an ancient Terran text pertinent to the subject.

* * *

"Aleister Crowley embodied the destruction of Egoic Self structures as Chronozon, the Devil 333. Chronozon, we are told, is the all-devouring guardian of "the Abyss" (The Abyss being a suitably dramatic and evocative term for an experiential "gap" in human consciousness.) The term can be applied to that state of mind during which Individual Egoic Self-consciousness begins to cannibalize itself rather than confront the usually frightening fact that Personality is not "real" in the existential sense and is simply a behavioural strategy... Think of the chattering mind annihilating itself in unstoppable self-examination and you will hear the voice of Chronozon.

The rewards of a successful crossing of the Abyss are many, but a failed attempt can leave the magician broken inside."

A Day With Sam

1. Another nightmare. Another night of bullets and blood and the bodies of my friends. Doc says I need rest to get better, but what he don't get is, any more rest'll kill me dead. Alone in my bed with Father Lelland and Koldur and Preston Hill rotting to bits all around me, I can't take that shit anymore. Gotta drown it out. Gotta get away.

* * *

2. All I do is shoot people. All I do is get people shot. I'm like a gun. Can a gun have friends? I don't want Kain to get shot. Or Gade, or the Doc, or Ellen oh god Ellen don't die bleeding in my arms, don't die Ellen, don't die, I can't save you, I can't save you...

All I can do is shoot people. All I can do is get people shot.

* * *

3. Been drinking for a while, now, but it isn't working yet. I can still see Father Lelland spitting blood. I can still see that Gilmore kid trying to find his leg with red little fingers. I can still see poor old Sam Tarmalin holding in his guts, bleeding out on the basement floor. Why isn't it working? Why is shooting the only thing that lets me forget? Two more hours till work. Two more hours until I can shoot again.

Two more hours with Father Lelland, with PFC Gilmore, with poor old gut-shot Sam Tarmalin.

* * *

4. This asshole wants a gun duel? Can't he see I'm busy having a drink with my ghosts? I managed to get rid of Gilmore, I think one more drink might do it for Koldur...

A gun duel ain't shooting. It's waiting, and thinking, and thinking, and thinking. About Preston Hill sitting bleeding against the outside wall of the bar. About Koldur lying crushed under a burning car. About Ellen wheezing, wheezing, trying to breathe with a punctured lung. Why won't this fucker draw already?!

Don't fucking shoot my holster, you asshole, shoot me, shoot *me*! A gun is for shooting people! A gun is for getting people shot!

* * *

5. I open the door and leave the world behind -- there's work to do. Costume, gear check, prepwork... There's a rhythm.
Entrance
two, three
Draw
two, three
Shoot
two, three
No time to think. Gotta shoot.

* * *

6. Time for bed. The gang isn't here yet, but they will be by morning. Goodnight, PFC Gilmore. Goodnight, Preston Hill. Good night, Koldur, and good night, Father Lelland.

Good night, Sam Tarmalin. See you all tomorrow.